The Wife Who Killed My Father

To force me to break off our engagement, my fiance orchestrated the bankruptcy of my father's company, leaving him with millions in debt. The shock triggered a heart attack, and my father was rushed to the emergency room.

As I knelt, begging my fiance for help with the surgery costs, my childhood friend, Sarah Grant, suddenly returned from abroad. She arranged for a doctor for my father and stayed by his bedside day and night with me. But a week later, my father suffered another sudden heart attack. To let him depart in peace, Sarah knelt by his hospital bed, vowing to marry me and love me for the rest of her life.

After the funeral, heartbroken, I canceled my engagement to my fiance and married Sarah.

But five years later, I accidentally overheard a conversation between my ex-fiance and her.

"Your trick was brilliant, wasn't it? Making Mark, that leech, willingly give me up. Do you think if he knew that you were the one who caused his father's death, he'd want to kill you?"

My hand, pushing open the private room door, froze. Inside, my ex-fiance's taunting voice continued.

"You really are heartless. Mark grew up with you, treated you like his own sister. I bet he'd never in a million years guess that you were the one who ruined his father's company."

"If it weren't for Julian, I wouldn't have taken the blame for you all these years. As much as I dislike Mark, I would never do something that would literally cause someone's father to die."

A wine glass was set down heavily on the table. Sarah, her voice tinged with drunken anger, retorted, "I'll spend my entire life making it up to Mark. I helped you back then because I wanted Julian to be happy. If you ever dare to hurt Julian, to make him shed a single tear, I'll end your life."

The woman across from her chuckled, clicking her tongue in admiration. "Such devotion. Too bad Julian met me first. You should just focus on your Mark, after all, you caused his father's death. Be careful not to be haunted in your midnight dreams."

A glass "bang" against the door, shattering. Footsteps approached rapidly. I took a deep breath and bolted downstairs to the bar.

I grabbed a glass and downed it in one go. I never drank, and the burn brought tears to my eyes. The words I had just heard echoed repeatedly in my mind.

The person who caused my dad's company to go bankrupt wasn't my ex-fiance, but Sarah, the woman who had paid for his surgery.

And my father's second heart attack a week later? That was also because of something Sarah said. No wonder my dad stared fixedly at Sarah just before he passed. At the time, I naively thought it was his gratitude and a final entrustment.

My wife, who had shared my bed for five years, whom I held in the palm of my hand, was the indirect cause of my father's death. And these years of marriage, this fabricated love, were merely her supposed "compensation" born of guilt.

It was utterly ludicrous.

Sorrow and fury surged within me.

My gaze fell on the glass in my hand when Sarah suddenly embraced me gently from behind, burying her head in my neck, her voice soft with a touch of drunkenness. "Mark, why did you leave for so long? I missed you so much... Let's go home. Mark, I love you so much... so, so much..."

Over the years, whenever Sarah got drunk, she would mumble her love for me. Her friends always said that drunken words were honest words, and that Sarah truly loved me deeply. But now, all of it seemed exceptionally ridiculous.

I subtly pushed her away and helped her into the car.

Sarah lay on my lap, her brow unfurrowed, her breathing even, as if asleep. "Julian... Julian... why didn't you choose me, why..."

This time, I finally heard it clearly, the name that appeared countless times in her dreams.

Julian. Julian Harlow.

The man who stole my ex-fiance, and Sarah's true love.

So Sarah had never forgotten him. She had even married me and pretended to be loving for his sake. I had underestimated her love for Julian.

The phone clattered from the woman's pocket. I bent down to pick it up, and a message notification popped up on the screen.

"Sarah, thank you for helping me with drinks tonight. I can't accept the necklace you gave me, it's too precious."

The next second, I saw Julian Harlow's social media post: "Love is priceless." The accompanying image was an incredibly dazzling necklace, precisely the unique one in the world that a mysterious rich man had bought for a hundred million dollars, according to the news.

I knew Julian Harlow had posted it specifically for me to see.

This week, Sarah had been so busy she didn't have time to eat, which led to a sudden stomach illness and a trip to the emergency room. But the moment she opened her eyes, she flew to England. I was furious and heartbroken then, thinking she was sacrificing her life for work. Only later did I learn she went to an auction. Even if she was in so much pain she couldn't stand straight, she still went to bid on the world's most precious necklace, to offer it to her true love.

Against my better judgment, I entered the lock screen password. After typing the last digit, it unlocked successfully.

It was Julian's birthday.

Sarah never let me look at her phone, saying we needed to give each other personal space. The moment it unlocked, Julian Harlow's bright, handsome smiling face appeared. No wonder Sarah's eyes would soften mysteriously every time she unlocked her phone.

I tapped on the photo album. It was filled with consistently named folders. "Julian at Ten," "Julian at Eleven,"... "Julian at Twenty-Five." Each album documented Julian Harlow's smiling face at different stages of his life.

Among thousands of photos, not a single one was of me, not even of her. Only Julian. Just like her heart, from beginning to end, it only held Julian Harlow.

I opened the notepad and found Sarah's diary.

[20XX, Sunny. Julian cut his leg on a branch today. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have planted trees in the yard.]

[20XX, Sunny. Julian got married today. As long as he's happy, anything I do is worth it. I live to make him happy.]

[20XX, Rainy. I got married. The moment I saw Julian in the audience, how I wished he was the one standing beside me.]

The car pulled into the driveway. Looking up at the bare yard, I felt cold all over. Originally, there were two peach trees in the yard, which Sarah had specifically transplanted from my family's old estate. My father had planted them for me when I was ten years old. Whenever I saw them, I felt as if my father had never left, that he was still with me.

But suddenly one day, the roots of those two trees, once full of peaches, inexplicably rotted. Sarah had held me as I cried for three days and three nights. Now I knew. It was also her who destroyed the only memento my father had left me.

Her assistant's message popped up. "Ms. Grant, as per your instructions, your will has been prepared. All assets will be left to Mr. Julian Harlow. It's ready to take effect once you sign it."

Through blurry tears, I thought I saw the woman who, at the funeral that year, had held me tenderly and promised, "Mark, I will give you a home. Everything I have belongs to you."

I placed Sarah on the bed, but unlike before, I didn't take off her shoes or care for her. I turned and went straight to the guest room. Closing my eyes, my mind was filled with the image of her loving me all these years.

The morning sun streamed over me. Opening my eyes, I met Sarah's gentle gaze. She leaned over and lightly kissed my forehead. "Mark, were you angry last night? I'm sorry, I drank a bit too much at dinner. I promise it won't happen again."

Her tender demeanor was as always. I gently hummed in response, pushed her away, and went into the bathroom, washing away the lingering warmth from my forehead.

The table was laden with breakfast. In the past, I would have been overjoyed. But after reading Sarah's diary, I couldn't feel happy anymore.

This entire spread was Julian Harlow's favorite.

The sound of a key in the lock echoed from the entryway. Julian Harlow walked in, dressed in a sharp, clean suit. He naturally took a seat at the dining table and offered me a slight smile, as if explaining, "Mark, sorry to intrude. Sarah and I have a photoshoot this morning, so she asked me to come for breakfast."

I said nothing, merely looking at the identical key chain in his hand. Sarah, acutely aware of my mood, leaned in and whispered, "Julian is our best friend. It's normal for him to have a key to our house..." Before she could finish, her tone changed abruptly. She stood up anxiously and snatched the soy milk from Julian's hand. "Julian, you can't drink soy milk. After all these years, why can't you remember?"

Julian pursed his lips and smiled, his voice full of amusement: "Yes, it's a good thing I have you all these years."

They gazed deeply into each other's eyes, like long-time lovers. I had no interest in watching their affectionate display. As I prepared to leave, Julian called out to me. "Mark, I remember you studied photography. Could you please photograph today's shoot for me? I don't trust the new photographer."

Since my father's death, I had not touched a camera. Whenever I picked one up, I would think of my father, who had taught me photography since childhood. My mind would be filled with his unyielding, vulnerable face as he passed away. I no longer had the courage to press the shutter.

Sarah knew this. She had locked all my cameras in a cabinet, telling me not to force myself, that she would help me through it slowly until I was ready to pick up a camera again. But at this moment, before I could speak, she pushed me into the back seat of the car.

"Mark, you know Julian gets carsick, so I'm sorry to make you sit in the back."

But she had forgotten that I got even worse carsick. After barely eating any breakfast, my stomach was churning the entire ride.

Upon arrival, Sarah carefully straightened Julian's suit and walked arm-in-arm with him into the studio. I leaned against the car, taking deep breaths of fresh air.

"Mark, the shoot is about to start. Be good, don't be stubborn, and take good pictures. This shoot is very important for Julian and for Grant Industries." Sarah suddenly pulled me into the studio with force. I lost my footing and almost fell.

Picking up a camera again after five years felt strange and terrifying. My hands trembled slightly. I struggled to control the surge of sadness in my heart, pressing the shutter again and again.

During a break, only Julian and I were left in the studio. He flipped through the photos, a mocking smile on his lips. "Mark, you really are useless, just like your father. You can't do anything right. Truly, like father, like son."

My fingernails dug hard into my palms. My body trembled slightly, and I felt my anger about to erupt.

"Slap!" A searing pain suddenly flared on my cheek. Julian shook his hand, looking down at me with disdain. "Mark, you are truly shameless. I never thought you'd latch onto Sarah so quickly after your engagement was called off. What makes you think you're worthy of her? I'm telling you, both your ex-fiance and Sarahthey're mine."

"You don't deserve either of them."