Chapter 1

Ethan and Lucas finally returned home and offered a token performance of the birthday song.

But instead of being moved to tears as I usually was, I felt a wave of visceral nausea rise within me. I pushed the plate away. "I'm not hungry. You two eat."

Ethan's expression instantly darkened, as if I had committed some unforgivable sin.

"I know you're sulking about the Hannah situation. But can't you be a little considerate of her position? She just got divorced; her mental state is fragile. Lucas and I only went over to help fix up her house, just to cheer her up. That's all. Stop being so paranoid."

Lucas chimed in, his mouth stuffed with pizza. "Yeah, Mom. Auntie Hannah is all alone. Can't you have a little compassion?"

Watching this father and son duo stand on the moral high ground to condemn me, my heart felt colder than the blizzard raging outside the window.

It was my birthday, yet they had abandoned me in this empty house to provide free labor for a woman who certainly didn't lack money.

Every time I expressed dissatisfaction, they would roll out the same excuses: "She's pitiful," "We're just friends." It always made me feel like a narrow-minded, hysterical shrew.

In the past, I would always compromise. I would reflect on whether I was being too sensitive.

But this time, I was tired.

"You're right," I said, standing up calmly. "You really should go help her. In that case, I'm going to go find my friends to celebrate."

With that, I picked up my coat and clutch and walked straight toward the foyer.

The father and son froze at the dining table, clearly not expecting such a reaction from the doormat of a housewife who usually took everything lying down.

When Ethan finally realized I was serious, he rushed over and grabbed my wrist.

"Sarah, you're over forty years old. Can you stop acting like a petulant teenager? Do you have any idea how much pressure I'm under running the firm? How heavy Lucas's schoolwork is? We still carved out time to come back and cut the cake for you. Isn't that enough?"

Pressure?

I stared at them coldly. When they were designing that complex climate control system for Hannah, why didn't I hear them complain about pressure? When they pulled all-nighters drawing blueprints for her, why weren't they tired then?

But when it came to me? A discount rug bought haphazardly by the roadside was supposed to be a divine blessing?

"You're overthinking it," my voice was terrifyingly calm. "I'm not angry. I just want a change of scenery and a real martini. It's been a long time since I've had any time to myself."

"You are simply impossible!" Ethan let go of my hand, roaring in anger. "You've been emotionally blackmailing us all this time—isn't that enough? Are you not satisfied until you've torn this family apart?"

Watching him scream hysterically in the hallway, even kicking my rainboots across the floor, I felt absolutely nothing.

All these years, I had given up my career for this family. Yet now, on my forty-second birthday, simply because I wanted a shred of reciprocal respect, I was branded a "control freak."

I really had failed spectacularly.

I let out a self-deprecating laugh, my eyes stinging. Ethan turned to look at me, his gaze cold as iron.

"Look at yourself. Since you're so unhappy, let's just get a divorce!"

This was his trump card. In the past, whenever I heard those words, fear of losing my family would make me apologize immediately.

But this time, I didn't care.

"Alright," I whispered.

As the door clicked shut, the last thing I saw was the look of shock and disbelief on their faces.

Chapter 2

Even though it was late, my old friends rushed to the downtown bar.

We sat in a dim booth, drinking stiff whiskey and eating fish and chips. They teased me about how I had vanished from the face of the earth after marrying Ethan, practically becoming an invisible woman.

As the alcohol burned in my blood, for a fleeting moment, I felt like I was back in our days at design school, back when I was a rising star brimming with talent.

After hugging my friends goodbye, I glanced at my phone. The screen was clogged with missed calls, all from Ethan.

Just as I was about to turn it off, a message from Hannah popped up:

"Sarah, I am so, so sorry. I swear, the relationship between Ethan and me is purely platonic friendship. I was having a mental breakdown today, and they were the only ones who made me feel safe. I completely forgot it was your birthday. Please forgive me!"

The whiskey in my stomach began to churn. I grabbed a roadside trash can and retched until I was dry-heaving bile.

Finally, I typed back: "Stop acting. I don't care."

The chat box showed she was typing, but I tossed the phone into my bag.

When I got home, the living room was a disaster zone—even messier than when I had left. Pizza boxes were strewn on the floor; beer bottles were tipped over on the table.

I ignored it and walked straight toward the bathroom. Ethan came out of the master bedroom, looking impatient.

"You finally decided to come back? Reeking of alcohol... look at you. Clean up the living room before you go to sleep."

"Whoever made the mess cleans it up."

Exhausted, I collapsed onto the sofa in the guest room. Something hard dug into my leg. It was Ethan's tablet, unlocked.

The screen displayed his encrypted chat log with Hannah.

"Ethan, I shouldn't have made Sarah angry. It's all my fault. Maybe we should keep our distance for a while."

"Don't be silly. She's just insanely jealous; probably hitting menopause. It's just a birthday—not some national holiday. She's acting like a spoiled child. It's suffocating."

"Don't say that. She has a right to be mad. You should go comfort her."

"Thank you, Hannah. If only Sarah had half your talent and empathy."

Ethan stormed in and snatched the tablet, his neck flushing red with rage.

"Why are you always invading my privacy? We are innocent!"

"Whatever," I couldn't be bothered to argue. "I'm going to sleep."

My indifference stunned him for a moment, but he quickly adjusted his expression.

"Oh, right," he said, seemingly trying to smooth things over. "I bought you a new coffee machine. It's in the kitchen. Fully automatic—it'll make things easier for you."

I opened my eyes and looked at him coldly.

"Ethan, have you forgotten? That model of coffee machine is the prototype I designed five years ago at my last firm."

He froze, his eyes darting around nervously. Then he gave an awkward, dry laugh.

"Oh, right. Well... that's perfect then. You'll know how to use it."

Before marriage, I was a well-known designer in the industry. But after Lucas was born, Ethan said his firm needed his full attention and urged me to retreat to the domestic sphere to support him.

Now, looking at that obsolete machine I had designed years ago, I felt nothing but irony.

"I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight," I said. "Get out."

"Fine," he muttered. "Oh, and I have a client meeting tomorrow. I won't be back for dinner."

"Noted."

With that, I pulled the blanket over my head.

Chapter 3

Ethan paced in the hallway for a while before turning back to the bedroom.

The next morning, I was woken by a rough shove. I opened my eyes to see Lucas standing by the sofa, holding his design tube, looking thoroughly annoyed.

"Why aren't you up yet? I'm going to be late! Where's my breakfast? You haven't done anything?"

In the past, I would wake up at 5:00 AM every day to prepare a nutritionally balanced breakfast for him and double-check his blueprints. The price was my increasingly haggard face and eternal dark circles.

"I don't need your money," he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Auntie Hannah does yoga and makes French toast every morning. She's never lazy like you..."

Although he spoke quietly, I heard every word clearly.

Strangely, the heartbreak was gone, replaced by a sense of liberation.

"Set your own alarm from now on. As for breakfast, there's a Starbucks on the corner. Do you have money on your card? If not, I'll transfer some."

Lucas stared at me, dumbfounded, as if he couldn't believe these words were coming from the mother who used to cater to his every whim.

He stormed out, slamming the door so hard that items fell off the shelf.

I walked over to pick up the fallen objects. One was a complex wooden mechanical model—I had hand-carved and assembled it years ago to cheer up a sick Lucas. Wind the spring, and the entire castle would come alive with movement.

Lucas had been frail as a child, and this was the only thing that made him smile. Watching his focus, I had once suggested to Ethan that the firm could try developing a line of educational architectural models for children.

But Ethan had rejected the idea entirely. He believed architecture was serious art, not some boring "toy" that just spun around.

Eventually, the idea was shelved. Lucas grew up and tossed the model he once couldn't bear to part with into the junk pile.

I gazed at the model for a long time, then wound the spring. The sound of the gears meshing was still crisp and melodious.

A thought flashed through my mind. I grabbed the model and knocked on the neighbor's door.

Toby, who lived across the hall, was only six. He was an introverted child. After his parents divorced, he was left with his elderly grandmother and spent most of his time playing with blocks alone in the hallway.

When I handed him the model, his eyes lit up instantly.

"Whoa! This is so cool!" he exclaimed, gingerly touching the precise gears.

Seeing his joy, I couldn't help but think of Lucas when he was little—and the talent I had buried so many years ago.

Returning home, I dug out an old contact book and dialed my former boss, Mr. Wright. My palms sweated nervously as the call connected.

"Sarah? Good God, a rare stranger! What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Wright, I know this is sudden... I just wanted to ask, is the firm hiring?"

It felt insane. After more than a decade as a housewife, I was attempting to return to the cutthroat architectural design industry.

But to my surprise, Mr. Wright sounded thrilled.

"Are you serious? If you're willing to come back, that would be fantastic! To be honest, we're setting up a new creative department and are desperate for a director with experience and imagination. However... since you've been out of the industry for a while, you might have to start as a project consultant. Do you mind?"

"I don't mind!" I said hurriedly. "I'll prove myself."

After hanging up, I was so excited I spun around the living room. For the rest of the day, I stayed with Toby, exploring the mechanics of the model.

"You're amazing, Auntie Sarah," Toby looked up at me with adoration. "I wish you were my mom."

My heart warmed. Just as I was about to answer, a loud crash echoed from the hallway.

The front door was slammed open, and a man reeking of alcohol stumbled in. It was Toby's father, a violent drunk.

"Where's that old hag? Where's the money?" he roared slurringly, waving half a broken beer bottle.

Toby's grandmother screamed, running from the kitchen to try and stop him.

"Get out! I have no money for your booze!"

"You liar!" the man bellowed viciously, his eyes locking onto Toby. "Then I'll take this little brat. I'll sell him for drink money!"

He charged at Toby like a madman.

Time seemed to freeze. Disregarding everything, I threw myself forward, shielding Toby with my body and taking the blow with my back.

The sharp glass plunged into my shoulder, and agony exploded instantly. Warm blood soaked my sweater, dripping onto the floor.

Toby's terrified cries echoed in my ears as the world before me faded into darkness.

chapter 4

The lunatic was subdued by neighbors and security who rushed in, and the police dragged him away. I was rushed to St. Mary's Hospital by ambulance.

The glass shards had gone deep. As the doctor stitched my wound in the ER, the anesthesia hadn't fully kicked in, and I could still feel a drilling cold pain.

In that moment, fear drove me instinctively to seek support from my family.

With trembling hands, I dialed Ethan.

"Ethan, I'm at the hospital. You need to come, now."

"What happened? I'm in the middle of dinner with a VIP client." His tone was laced with impatience, and in the background, I could hear elegant violin music and the clinking of glasses.

"I was attacked. Someone stabbed me with a bottle. I've lost a lot of blood, and it hurts. Please, Ethan."

"Sarah, can you stop joking? You stay home all day—who would go out of their way to stab you? You're over forty; can't you stop inventing these cheap scripts just for attention?"

"I'm not joking!" I screamed, my voice rasping with despair. "I am in the ER at St. Mary's right now!"

However, his next words pushed me into the abyss.

"Enough. I know you're still mad about your birthday. But making up stories like this is crossing the line. I'm busy, Sarah. If you keep making trouble out of nothing, I really don't see the point in us continuing."

"Fine," I whispered, tears swirling in my eyes. "Forget it. Pretend I never called. Enjoy your dinner."

He hung up immediately.

I froze for a moment, then shakily dialed Lucas.

"Lucas, baby, it's Mom. I'm at the hospital. Can you—"

He cut me off before I could finish, his voice full of annoyance.

"Dad told me you made up some crazy story about being stabbed. I didn't believe him at first, but... wow, you really went there. Mom, can you just chill? Please? Give us some peace! Auntie Hannah is teaching me how to taste wine; don't ruin the vibe."

"What? Wait. You're with your dad? He said he was meeting a client."

But before I could get an answer, Lucas hung up.

In that moment, I felt like a solitary leaf drifting aimlessly in a vast, merciless ocean.

Suddenly, a thought struck me. I opened Hannah's social media page.

Sure enough, there was a new video. The location was tagged: "The Gilded Lily," a high-end French restaurant downtown.

In the video, Hannah was wearing a backless evening gown, raising a toast to the camera. Behind her, Ethan was cutting a steak, and Lucas was swirling a glass of red wine. Both wore relaxed, happy smiles.

The caption read: "On this cold night, so grateful for your warm company. #FamilyTime #BestFriends"

I recognized the restaurant immediately. It was where I had wanted to go for our tenth anniversary, but Ethan had dismissed it as overpriced and pretentious, taking me to get fast food instead.

Tears surged out, heavy drops smashing onto my hospital gown.

The husband who had promised to care for me for life, the son I cherished above all else—they had both abandoned me. In an expensive restaurant, they were lavishing the care that should have been mine upon another woman.

"Auntie Sarah? Aren't Uncle Ethan and Lucas coming to see you?"

Toby's tender, hesitant voice pulled me back from the vortex of emotion. He had been sitting quietly by my bed, his small face written with guilt and worry.

"They aren't coming," I said softly, wiping away my tears. "But that's okay. Will you keep me company for a while?"

He nodded vigorously and grabbed my uninjured hand. "Of course! You got hurt saving me. I'll protect you!"

Looking at his earnest expression, my heart ached.

For years, I had poured my soul into loving my husband and son. That love had been the foundation of my world.

But now, that foundation had crumbled.

It was time to let go.

I looked at the neon lights outside the window and made a silent vow: From today on, I would rebuild my own life, brick by brick.

Chapter 5

The doctor said I was lucky; no tendons or bones were damaged, just flesh wounds. After a few hours of observation, I insisted on being discharged.

On the way home, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Ethan.

"Why aren't you home yet? Where are you?"

"I told you, I'm out. Do you really need to run away from home over something this small?"

"Come back. I brought you a gift."

The last message included a photo of a scarf—in fluorescent pink, the color I hated most.

Out of curiosity, I checked Hannah's page again. Sure enough, the *real* gift belonged to her. She had posted a photo of a high-quality cashmere shawl, captioning it with thanks to her "thoughtful knights." The fluorescent pink scarf was likely just a free gift-with-purchase from the mall.

When I returned to the apartment building with Toby, I found Ethan pacing anxiously in the hallway. The moment he saw me, impatience flooded his face, and he stormed over.

"Where the hell have you been? And why is this kid following you?"

"We just got back from the hospital. Auntie Sarah lost a lot of blood," Toby interjected urgently, standing in front of me like a little soldier.

Ethan frowned, crouching down to look at Toby with a condescending air. "Listen, kid, lying isn't a good habit. Did she teach you to say that? Tell Uncle the truth."

"I'm not lying! My dad went crazy, and Auntie Sarah saved me!" Toby shouted, his little face turning red with agitation.

I gently patted Toby's shoulder. "It's okay, Toby. Go back to your grandma quickly; don't let them worry."

After sending Toby home, I went into my own apartment. Lucas was sitting on the sofa playing on his phone, not even bothering to look up.

In the past, seeing him up this late, I would have already gone to warm up some milk. But now? I couldn't care less. Let his "Auntie Hannah" worry about him.

Ethan followed me into the room, dangling the cheap shopping bag. "Here, bought this especially for you. See if you like the color."

"Keep it to shine your shoes."

"What is that supposed to mean? I picked this out specifically for you!" Ethan argued defensively.

I ignored him, walked straight into the bedroom, and dragged my suitcase out of the closet.

"What are you doing? Why are you packing?"

"I accepted a job at Mr. Wright's new company. It's far away, so I'll be staying in an apartment near the office. I'm not coming back."

Ethan paused, then let out a scoff of disbelief. "Are you serious? You've been a housewife for so many years; do you really think anyone will hire you? What are you going to do there—work the front desk?"

"I don't mind. At least the front desk has dignity."

My calm answer made his face darken further.

"So that's it? I've done so much for you, and this is how you repay me? Sarah, have I ever mistreated you? What have I not given you? What more do you want?"

Ethan blocked the closet door, trying to stop me from packing.

"What have you given me? A pink scarf I hate? or that children's drawing board you bought me years ago when I asked for professional drafting tools? Oh, thank you so much for that. But don't worry, I don't need anything from you ever again."

I zipped up the suitcase, yanked it upright, and walked toward the door.

"Where are you going in the middle of the night?" Ethan demanded sharply.

"I don't have to answer you."

I opened the bedroom door without looking back.

But before I could step out, Lucas suddenly exploded. He rushed over and grabbed my arm in a death grip, screaming, "Mom! How long are you going to keep this up? Stop acting crazy! Go make dinner!"

His violent pull tore directly at the wound on my shoulder. The agonizing pain of splitting stitches shot through my entire body.

"Ah!" I couldn't help but cry out, stumbling forward as fresh, bright red blood instantly soaked through my shirt, dripping onto the floor, drop by relentless drop.