Theater: NovelMaster | Language: English
Synopsis
The day after my husband Brandon was diagnosed with cancer, I got two notifications on my phone.
The first was a medical billing notice from the hospital.
The second was a fraud alert from my bank.
The $50,000 personal loan I had just taken out had been wired directly to a boutique floral shop.
Without even changing out of my work uniform, I rushed over to the flower shop to see what was going on.
Instead, I found Brandon behind a cluster of giant sunflowers, passionately making out with his first love, Nicole.
Seeing me burst through the door, Brandon didn't panic at all.
He just stepped in front of Nicole to shield her.
"I'm dying anyway. Before I die, I just wanted to sleep with the woman I actually love one last time."
"The doctors say my stomach cancer came from heavy drinking."
"What they don't know is that the only way I could ever bring myself to have sex with you every night was by getting completely wasted."
His confession hit me like a physical blow.
I stumbled backward, knocking over a ceramic planter and smashing it to pieces.
When I first learned he had stomach cancer, I panicked, took out a $50,000 high-interest loan, and picked up two night shifts.
And all this time, the only woman he ever loved was his ex.
"Give me back my fifty grand. We're getting a divorce," my voice shook violently.
The moment money was mentioned, Nicole immediately stepped forward.
"No way. That fifty grand is your emotional compensation to Brandon."
After being thrown out of the shop, I was in a daze.
I stepped into the street and was hit by a truck.
When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn—right back to the day Brandon was diagnosed with cancer.
Staring at Brandon's medical reports in the hospital hallway, I knew for certain that I had been given a second chance.
Brandon's knees buckled, and he almost collapsed to the floor.
This time, I didn't reach out to catch him.
"The upcoming chemotherapy and targeted treatments will be very expensive. Please be prepared," the oncologist advised.
In my previous life, I had taken out a $50,000 loan that very night and applied for two graveyard shifts online.
This time, I wasn't going to be an idiot.
Back at our apartment, Brandon emptied out our joint savings onto the table and glared at me.
"This little bit of cash won't even cover my first round. Did you stash away secret money behind my back?"
Seeing my silence, my mother-in-law, Martha, blew up instantly.
"He's talking to you! Are you deaf?"
"My son has cancer, and as his wife, you don't show an ounce of concern!"
"You cold-blooded bitch!"
I replied coldly, "You already took every penny from our savings account. I don't have a single cent left."
Martha pushed further. "Then take out a bank loan! Max out your cards!"
I gave a dry laugh. "Why don't you take out a loan against your name?"
Ignoring their outraged faces, I walked straight into the study, pulled open the desk drawer, and took out Brandon's old phone.
He used it for mobile games, and he had never changed the passcode—it was still Nicole's birthday.
I opened his transaction history.
Just two days ago, a $10,000 charge caught my eye.
A luxury jewelry boutique.
I had never received any jewelry.
Obviously, it had gone straight to Nicole.
Yet last week, when I had crippling menstrual cramps, he couldn't even be bothered to walk downstairs to grab me a bottle of Advil.
I kept scrolling down. The receipts were endless.
Cosmetic clinic bills.
Designer clothing stores.
None of it was for me.
I screenshotted every single transaction, compiled the receipts, and sent them to my private email.
Then, I opened our joint emergency checking account.
There was only $3,000 left in it. Without hesitation, I transferred every cent into my personal account.
Once finished, I put the phone back, walked into the kitchen, and pan-fried a salmon fillet for myself.
Just as I sat down to eat, Martha stormed over and snatched the plate right off the table.
"Your husband is battling cancer, and you can still stomach food?"
"You only cooked for yourself! You didn't make him a damn thing!"
Brandon held his mother back. "Mom, don't waste your breath."
He pulled out a chair across from me and put on a sorrowful, guilt-ridden expression.
"Babe, I know you've had it rough with me these past few years. But this is a matter of life and death. Once I beat this, I promise I'll make it up to you double, okay?"
"Please, pull out whatever savings you have left. Save my life first."
He reached out to hold my hand.
I pulled away, grabbed my phone, and thrust the screenshots of his expenditures on Nicole right in his face.
"Go ask Nicole for a loan. You've been so generous to her; she must love you enough to pay your bills, right?"Brandon froze when he saw the bank statements.
Then, he slammed his fist on the table and jumped up, red-faced with rage.
"You went through my phone?! Chloe, do you have any concept of personal privacy?!"
"You blew our marital assets buying luxury gifts for another woman, and you want to lecture me on privacy?"
Brandon took a deep breath, trying to bury his guilt under aggressive entitlement.
"Nicole's husband was abusive to her! I was just helping her out!"
"I only broke up with her back then because of you! What's wrong with me making it up to her now?"
I laughed out loud. It was truly pathetic.
"Brandon, are you suffering from memory loss? She dumped you back then because you were broke. What did that have to do with me?"
"The only reason you married me was because I never asked you for a dime, and I was stupid enough to pay your way through life."
Hit right where it hurt, Brandon's face turned pale, then green.
Seeing her son cornered, Martha immediately resorted to her signature drama.
She threw herself onto the floor, slapping her thighs and wailing at the top of her lungs.
"What a curse! My poor son works himself to the bone to provide, and you're digging through his accounts like a vulture!"
"So what if a man spends a little money on business contacts?! You heartless monster, you're trying to drive him into an early grave!"
I didn't even look at her.
"I don't have money. And even if I did, you wouldn't see a dime."
"When you die, my life still has to go on. I'm not drowning myself in debt for a corpse."
Brandon looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel.
"How dare you curse me to die!"
Just then, the front door clicked open. Our twelve-year-old daughter, Emma, walked in with her backpack.
She froze, shocked by the chaos in the living room.
Martha scrambled up immediately, grabbing her granddaughter and sobbing, "Emma, look at your mother! Your father has terminal cancer, and she's refusing to pay for his treatment! She's stealing our money and running away!"
Emma dropped her bag. Seeing Brandon looking haggard and pale, her eyes welled with tears.
She turned to me, her eyes filled with betrayal and judgment.
"Mom, how can you be so selfish?"
"Dad has cancer, and all you care about is money! My friends' parents would donate plasma or sell everything to save family! Why are you so heartless?!"
My hand rested on the bedroom doorknob. I looked at the daughter I had carried for nine months, the child I worked three jobs to put through private school in my past life.
In that past life, she had looked at me with this exact same disgust, accusing me of driving her loving father to his death and humiliating her in front of her friends.
"He's your father. If you want to save him, go get a shift at McDonald's and pay for his chemo yourself."
I opened the bedroom door, stepped inside, and locked it behind me.
Outside, the sounds of Brandon banging on the door and Emma sobbing echoed through the hallway.
I tuned it all out, opened my laptop, and began drafting the divorce petition.The next morning, Brandon was officially admitted to the hospital for chemotherapy.
I went to work as usual.
Throughout the entire morning, Martha called me twenty times on SnapChat and my cell.
I kept my phone on silent, calmly finishing my quarterly spreadsheets.
After clocking out, I stopped by a convenience store, bought the cheapest bouquet of white carnations, and took the bus to the city medical center.
Oncology ward, twelfth floor. The air was thick with the sharp smell of bleach and antiseptic.
I stopped in front of Room 3. The door was slightly ajar.
Brandon was propped up in bed, an IV line taped to the back of his hand.
Sitting right beside him in a delicate white dress was Nicole.
She held a thermos, gently blowing on a spoonful of chicken broth before feeding it to Brandon.
Her eyes were rimmed with red, tears trembling on her lashes.
Brandon looked at her with pure adoration, as if her presence alone erased his terminal pain.
What a touching scene of eternal romance.
I pushed the door open.
The metal hinges screeched loudly.
Both of them stiffened instantly.
Nicole sprang to her feet, nervously smoothing down her dress.
"Mrs. Miller... please don't misunderstand. I heard Brandon was sick, so I just brought over some homemade soup," she said in a fragile, quivering voice, tears ready to spill.
Brandon immediately jumped to her defense, glaring at me. "I asked her to come. Throw your tantrums at home, Chloe, don't bring your crazy into the hospital."
I ignored him completely. Walking straight over to the nightstand, I tossed the white flowers on top, followed by a printed hospital billing notice.
"I don't misunderstand at all. In fact, I should thank you, Nicole."
"Brandon's first round of targeted immunotherapy is ready. The bill is fifty thousand dollars. I simply don't have that kind of cash."
I pulled out my phone, brought up my PayPal QR code, and held it out to her.
"Since true love is priceless and chicken broth doesn't cure stomach cancer, why don't you cover his medical bills? PayPal or Apple Pay?"
Patients and families in the neighboring beds poked their heads around the curtains to watch the drama unfold.
Nicole's face drained of all color.
She instinctively took a step back, her eyes darting around. "That... that's between husband and wife. I'm just an old friend. Where would I get that kind of money?"
"An old friend who took his $10,000 for spa trips and jewelry? An old friend who takes thousands in pocket money from him every month?"
I took a step closer, towering over her. "When you're spending his cash, you're soulmates. When the hospital bill arrives, you're suddenly just an old friend?"
"Shut up!" Brandon yelled, straining to sit upright. The violent movement yanked his IV line, and he groaned in agony.
"Brandon, I... I have to run the shop! I'm leaving!" Unable to face the truth, Nicole snatched her purse and bolted out the door.
"Nicole! Wait!" Brandon reached out desperately.
The sudden strain triggered violent chemo side effects.
A wave of agonizing spasms hit his stomach. He slumped over the edge of the bed and began vomiting uncontrollably.
Bile mixed with the chicken soup splattered all over the linoleum floor.
A pungent, sour stench filled the room.
I put my phone away and watched from two paces back, completely detached.
Martha walked in with a pitcher of hot water. Seeing the mess, she dropped the pitcher, screaming as she lunged toward the bed.
"You wicked monster! Are you blind?! Help him clean up!"
"It's chicken soup made with true love. Even the vomit must smell sweet to you. Clean it up yourself."
Leaving those words behind, I turned and walked out.
The fallout happened faster than I anticipated.
By the evening of the third day, Martha called, claiming Brandon's condition had taken a turn for the worse and demanding I come to the hospital immediately.
The moment I stepped out of the elevator, Martha and Brandon's older brother, Mark, ambushed me in the corridor.
Martha gripped several legal forms in her hand and slammed them onto the metal armrest of the bench.
"Chloe, the hospital issued a final ultimatum! If we don't pay a $15,000 deposit by tomorrow morning, they're cutting off his meds!"
"Brandon is your husband! Sign this power of attorney right now so we can put the condo on the market!"
The condo was bought before our marriage using a $30,000 down payment my parents gave me. After we got married, I added Brandon's name to the deed to keep peace in the family. Now, they wanted to mortgage or dump it behind my back to a shady cash buyer.
I pushed the papers aside, reached into my bag, and threw a stapled stack of financial records right into their chests.
"You want to sell the condo? Sure. But let's settle this account first."
Mark frowned and picked up the papers. Martha leaned in to look.
It was a complete transaction history of Brandon's primary accounts over the last two years.
I had spent the entire afternoon pulling it through my connections at the bank.
Fifty thousand dollars in liquid savings.
Not a single dollar had gone into mutual funds or savings.
It had all been broken down and wired in six separate transactions into a business account registered as "Petal Moments Floral LLC."
"If you have this much free time, look up who owns that flower shop," I said coldly.
"Your son didn't just use marital assets to fund his mistress. He took our entire life savings to bankroll her business."
Mark's face went rigid. He threw the papers onto the bench, dead silent.
Martha squinted at the numbers, her expression flickering with guilt.
For barely two seconds.
The next instant, she snatched the papers and hurled them directly into my face.
"So what?!" she shrieked, spitting all over my face.
"The money was earned by my son! He can spend it on whoever he damn well pleases! What's wrong with a man having a muse on the side? It just proves my boy is capable!"
She lunged forward, grabbing my collar with both hands.
"He's dying right now! What is a damn condo compared to his life?!"
"Are you going to stand there and watch him die?! That apartment should belong to the Miller family anyway!"
"If my son hadn't agreed to marry you, a nobody like you wouldn't even have survived in New York!"
She was losing her mind, her sharp nails scraping toward my cheek.
Mark stood by, watching without uttering a word.
Down the hall, nurses paused their rounds, hesitating whether to call security.
I wiped the faint bead of blood from my scratched cheek with the back of my hand.
Then, I pulled a fresh document from my purse and laid it flat on the bench.
"I'm not saving him. Let him die."
Martha's hands froze in midair.
I looked straight into her crazed eyes.
"This is the divorce petition. The apartment stays mine. The car will be sold to cover his outstanding debts."
"And Brandon leaves with absolutely nothing."Martha lunged forward like a rabid dog, trying to rip the paperwork to shreds.
"I won't allow it! You won't take a single red cent from my son!"
Our screaming match in the hallway had already penetrated the thin hospital doors.
I shoved her back hard and took long strides toward the elevators.
Suddenly, the room door was violently thrown open from the inside.
Brandon leaned heavily against the doorframe, clutching the copies of the divorce petition and the bank statements Martha had slipped him earlier.
The veins on the back of his hands bulged with desperate rage.
He knew he was backed into a corner.
Without my signature, the condo couldn't be touched.
And the money Nicole held would soon be frozen by a court injunction.
With a savage jerk, Brandon ripped the IV catheter right out of his hand.
Blood sprayed out, splattering across his pale gown and the doorframe.
Inside the room, Emma, who was peeling an apple, let out a terrified scream.
Brandon looked completely unhinged. With bloodshot eyes, he stumbled toward his daughter, shouting hoarsely:
"Emma! Your mother wants me dead! Get your phone out! Record this and post it all over TikTok and Facebook! Let everyone see how this monster treats her dying husband!"
Emma was trembling from head to toe.
Looking at her father's bloody hand and his twisted, desperate face, she bit her lip, took out her phone, and tapped the camera on.
The lens pointed right through the open doorway, aiming straight at me as I paused and slowly turned around in the hallway.
The phone camera locked onto my face.
Emma held the device in a death grip, her hands shaking.
Brandon clutched his stomach, wheezing heavily, staring at me like a predator waiting for me to break under the weight of moral guilt.
Martha shrieked beside him, "Record it! Let the whole world see how this poisonous bitch drives her own husband into the grave!"
I took a slow step forward, standing squarely under the brightest overhead light.
"Did you get me in focus?" I asked, looking straight into Emma's eyes.
She flinched back half a step, her lips turning pale and dry. She didn't dare say a word.
I pointed at the private school crest embroidered on her blazer.
"Once you've got it, go ahead and post it."
"The second that video goes live, your private school tuition next semester, your $60-an-hour private piano lessons, and those $200 sneakers on your feet are all canceled."
Emma's eyes went wide with shock. Her phone tilted downward.
"Chloe, don't you dare threaten a child!" Brandon roared from the doorway.
"I'm not threatening her. I'm informing her."
I shifted my gaze to Brandon. "I will divide the marital property through legal channels. Starting today, I will not spend another single dollar on this family. You, your mother, and your daughter can take your dying body and your mother's meager social security check, and go live your grand romance."
I turned and walked straight into the elevator.
When I got back to the condo, I pulled my hard-shell suitcase from the top of the closet.
I packed only my clothes for the current season. My passport, social security card, bank cards, and the original property deed were secured in the hidden compartment.
Brandon had once gifted me a gold necklace; I unclasped it and left it lying flat on the nightstand.
Once packed, I sat on the sofa and opened my phone.
I canceled the auto-pay on the apartment's broadband and terminated the recurring billing for gas, water, and electric utilities.
Then, I called the bank to report Brandon's secondary credit card—which I had been dutifully paying off—as lost and canceled.
Dragging my suitcase to the foyer, I tossed my spare house keys onto the entryway table.
The heavy lock clicked shut with a metallic snap.
I had severed the parasitic tube this family used to bleed me dry.
I rented a small studio apartment near my office.
The first night I moved in, the room was completely bare—just a single mattress and a wardrobe.
At two in the morning, my phone screen lit up.
It was a text from an unknown number:
“Mrs. Miller, you are truly heartless. Brandon is writhing in agony on his bed, and they won't even give him a pain pump because the account is delinquent. Aren't you afraid of karma?”
Chapters (4)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Watch & Promotions
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