Chapter 1 Chapter 1

The woman in the photo? Total stranger. Young, gorgeous, rocking a plain dress like she didn't need to try. [Dear Rainee, I'm about to get married, but I can't sleep through the night. You're not the bride. To me, this marriage is a tragedy.] [Rainee, I kept my promise to you. I raised our child. He's successful now, living a happy life. And I'm coming to find you. [Rainee, wait for me.] The handwriting hit me like a slap—Sebastian's. No mistaking it after thirty years. His bold, sweeping letters practically dripped with emotion. What a joke. The Rainee he loved? Not me. Never was. And the miserable wife in his little sob story? Yeah, that was me. I glanced at him — lying there on the bed, cheeks flushed, lips curved in this faint, satisfied smile. Like a man who'd made peace with dying. Sebastian Dwight. We'd been married thirty years. And somehow, I never really knew him. Three decades of running his house, raising his kid, pouring every ounce of myself into a life that, apparently, wasn't even mine. And what did I get? A divorce agreement. A cold, clean dismissal. He was my husband. He'd slipped that ring on my finger. But right now? I felt like the other woman. The side piece he never meant to keep. He was ready to die without a shred of regret. Ready to leave me behind like old luggage. And me? I was stuck with the ugly truth — that after all these years, I'd lived my life as a punchline. Lied to. Played. We shared a roof, a bed, a life. I should've seen it. He never loved me. Not long after we got married, Sebastian moved into a separate room. Said his job was exhausting, that he needed proper rest. I bought it. He was barely home anyway. And when he was, he'd ask about his son, then shut himself away. Door closed. Conversation over. Some months, we barely spoke. He didn't care about me. Never did. There were no late-night talks, no shared dreams. Just silence. After the accident — after I lost the baby — everything physical between us stopped. I felt... empty. But I kept my mouth shut. The doctor said the miscarriage had damaged my body, that I couldn't have kids anymore. Sebastian didn't even flinch. He squeezed my hand and said, "You won't need to worry about that. My son is your son. We'll take care of you. We're a family — always." I was moved. Thought he was noble, selfless. He gave me a home. In return, I gave him everything. I spent years cooking meals to help with his stomach issues, and tried every remedy under the sun to keep his son healthy. I treated that boy like he was my own flesh and blood. Because I believed it didn't matter. A child you love? That's your child. Sebastian worked construction — always on some project, always gone. Every month, he sent money back. Barely enough to keep the lights on. The health remedies I made? Expensive. So I lived cheap. Peanut butter sandwiches, canned soup, beans — whatever stretched the longest. Same worn clothes for years. It was a bare-bones life. And yeah, sometimes I got bitter about it. But then I'd think about the boy — his son. I'd remind myself that we were a family, that the love I thought we had was real. I convinced myself it was all worth it. I held onto this dream: growing old together, quiet mornings, grandkids running through the house. I endured it for that dream. And what did I get? A divorce agreement. Thirty years of hope, gone in a second. It hit me like a punch to the gut. I couldn't breathe. Felt like the life had drained right out of me. I wanted to cry. Wanted to scream at Sebastian, curse him for the lies, the betrayal. But I didn't. I just sat there, gasping like a fish on dry land, flailing, desperate for air. My whole life — wasted. And even now, knowing everything, the tears wouldn't come.

Chapter 2 Chapter 2

I didn't know who to turn to. Didn't even know how to start explaining the wreckage of my life. I slumped to the floor, numb, staring at nothing — until my eyes locked on that drawer. Sebastian's nightstand. The one he never let me touch. His little fortress of secrets. Well, screw that. I was done respecting his rules. I needed answers. Dragging myself up, I stumbled to the kitchen and grabbed the heaviest thing I could find — a cleaver. The kind you use to break bones. Back in the bedroom, I didn't hesitate. One swing, and the drawer's lock shattered. Inside? A box of letters and an old poetry book. They looked ancient, carefully preserved like some sacred relics. My hands shook as I reached for the stack of letters. I already knew what I'd find. Knew it would hurt. But I couldn't stop. Gritting my teeth, I yanked the letters out, one by one, and opened them. [Dear Rainee, I couldn't fight my family's wishes. They've arranged my engagement, and the wedding is next week. I wish you were the bride.] [Dear Rainee, Forgive me for betraying you with my body. It pains me too, but for the sake of our child, I have to endure it in silence.] [Dear Rainee, Helena's pregnant. I'm humiliated. I took precautions — she must've done something to trap me. Don't be angry. I've already bought the abortion pills. I swear, you're the only woman I'll ever have a child with.] [Dear Rainee, It's done. The bastard child in Helena's belly is gone. I even had the doctor tell her she'll never have kids again. I've used that as my excuse to move into a separate bedroom. I'll never have to force myself to touch her again. I dreamed of you last night. I wish you'd visit me in my dreams again.] [Dear Rainee, It makes me sick to hear the boy call Helena 'Mom.' One day, I'll make sure he learns the truth and tells it to her face.] Disgusting. Absolutely vile. Everything — my marriage, my life, the family I built — had been a lie. More than thirty years. My head spun. Nausea twisted my stomach, and a rush of blood made my ears ring. 'Sebastian, you bastard!' The letters shook me to my core. I couldn't calm down. Stumbling out of the bedroom, I collapsed onto the living room couch. For the first time ever, I did something Sebastian would've called rude and improper — lounging without "decorum." Well, screw decorum. Fueled by anger, I shot up and looked around the house I'd lived in for over thirty years. A modest three-bedroom house. My room? The smallest one, shoved in the farthest corner. Sebastian's master bedroom sat at the opposite end, like we lived on separate planets. Because we did. We were strangers under the same roof. Separate spaces, separate lives, barely touching. Even the stuff in this house was divided. Cups, plates, utensils — hell, even the damn chairs — all marked as his, mine, or Jack's. I never questioned it. I just figured Sebastian was one of those neat-freak types who liked order. But now? I saw it for what it was. To him — and to Jack — I was never family. I was just the maid. The one who cooked, cleaned, and kept them alive, but never crossed into their "real" life. That's why everything had to be divided. Everything labeled. Everything kept separate. Today was the first time I'd set foot in Sebastian's room, and only because of an emergency. Gigi, Jack's wife, had broken her leg in an accident, and I couldn't find him anywhere. I had no choice but to barge in. Turns out, in this house I built, this life I'd devoted myself to, I'd always been the outsider. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Gigi. "Helena! Where the hell have you been? Why wasn't your phone on?" she snapped. "I'm about to go into surgery. Jack — that bastard — is too busy with work to help. "Can you grab my stuff from home and bring it to the hospital? And get Sebastian to come too. "I'm in so much pain, and there's no one here!" Her tone didn't bother me. She was young, hurt, scared out of her mind. She broke her leg and was waiting for the surgery. At the end of the day, it was still our family's responsibility to step up. "I'm on my way. Don't worry," I said, keeping my voice steady. A few more calming words, and she finally let me end the call. I sat there for a moment, pulling myself together. No matter what had happened, I was still a mother. Gigi had married into this family. She was miles away from her own parents, about to be wheeled into an operating room, and she needed someone. That's what mattered. Whatever grudges stood between Sebastian and me? They couldn't touch the younger generation. Jack wasn't my flesh and blood, but that wasn't his fault. I'd raised him with my own two hands and poured my life into him. A child you raise is your child. I glanced at Sebastian, still sprawled on the bed, unconscious. "You bastard," I muttered. "If you're so determined to follow your first love to the grave, then do it right. Don't leave your mess for the living to clean up." With a steadying breath, I got to work. I gathered the scattered letters, stacking them neatly, wiping away any trace I'd been there. When Jack came home, he'd assume Sebastian died of a sudden heart attack. Everyone knew about Sebastian's weak heart. No one would question it. The broken drawer? I swapped it with the one from my own nightstand. While sliding it into place, something caught my eye — a folded letter tucked in the upper compartment. Curious, I pulled it out and unfolded the paper. It was addressed to Jack.

Chapter 3 Chapter 3

[Dear Jack, By the time you read this, I'll be gone. Don't be sad, and please forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. I've watched you get married, start a family, and build a career you're proud of. Now, I can finally rest easy. It's time for me to fulfill my promise to your mother.] Each word was a dagger, slicing through the last fragile thread holding my heart together. I couldn't believe it. I was the only fool left in the dark. Jack knew. He knew who his real mother was. He knew Sebastian's plans. And he helped Sebastian hide the truth from me — the woman who raised him, who poured her whole life into making sure he had everything he needed. What did my decades of devotion mean to them? Nothing. Hands shaking, I forced myself to keep going. And the next part? It broke me. [As for your stepmother, I've made arrangements. She's old and frail now—a burden more than a help. I've been slipping poison into her painkillers. It won't take long. When she dies, say it was natural causes and bury her quietly. Even if the police investigate, they'll trace it back to me. Once she's gone, everything will be yours. Jack, I will always be watching, making sure your life runs smoothly. Don't forget—bury my ashes, along with the letters in the drawer, next to your mother.] The room tilted. I couldn't breathe—each gasp clawing at my chest like I was suffocating in the silence. Thirty years of memories slammed into me. Jagged. Brutal. Like shards of glass. I saw Sebastian and Jack, sneaking off every March for their little "father-son day." Never once inviting me. I heard Jack's tantrums as a kid—screaming, "You're not my real mom!" every time he didn't get his way. I thought it was just neighborhood gossip. I even confronted people, told them to stop spreading lies. But last year, after Jack's wedding, Gigi casually mentioned visiting a cemetery. Sebastian had shut her down fast, like it was some dirty secret. Now? It all lined up. Everyone knew. Everyone but me. Even Gigi. I'd been a fool for thirty years. But now? Now, I was wide awake. That final blow? It knocked me clean out of my fog. For the first time in years, I felt calm. Cold. Sharp. I glanced at the letter in my hand. Solid proof — everything I needed to burn their perfect little scheme to the ground. Turns out, I was not as dumb as I thought. I grabbed my phone and snapped photos of every single letter. Front, back, every page. When I was sure I had it all, I carefully placed the originals back, exactly how I found them. No trace. No mistakes. Then I headed to my room. Dumped my painkillers into a small bag and slipped it into my pocket. Next, I tore through the house like I was on a mission — bankbooks, cash, property deeds. Every important document went into a bag. Our marriage certificate. My ID. No one was touching my assets. Not now. Not ever. Once everything was packed, I made my way to Sebastian's room. There he was. Sprawled on the bed, looking like some washed-up king. His breathing was faint, steady. Warm air brushed the back of my hand. Still alive. I snorted. "Tough old bastard." Leaning in, I whispered, "Since you're so eager to die... let me help you." Without a second thought, I grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills from his nightstand and shoved them down his throat. All of them. When I was sure he'd swallowed every last one, I straightened up, closed the bedroom door behind me, and left without looking back.

Chapter 4 Chapter 4

Standing by the side of the road with everything I'd taken from the house, I froze for a second. What now? The question hung there, empty — until thirty years of lies and betrayal came crashing back. Anger flickered in my chest, then roared to life. I wasn't going to be that pathetic, clueless woman anymore. I'd spent my whole life fading into the background — quiet, timid, forgettable. Not anymore. The people who hurt me? They were going to pay. I stepped off the curb and flagged down a cab. "Hospital," I said, slamming the door behind me. First stop — I was getting checked for poisoning. *** I'd spent years living with constant aches — back pain, stiff joints, sore muscles from endless overwork. Painkillers became my lifeline, the only way to get through the day. And, like always, I'd taken them before I left the house. The test results came back fast. The doctor confirmed it: I was poisoned. The good news? They caught it early. The dose wasn't high enough to do permanent damage. They gave me the antidote on the spot. I should've been relieved, but my mind was already on my next stop. The gynecology department. I needed answers about my child. Answers I'd been too afraid to face for years. When the test results came out, I couldn't make sense of the medical jargon. Frustrated, I headed to the doctor's office for an explanation. And that's when I ran into Jack. He was pacing the hallway, phone pressed to his ear, looking tense. The second he spotted me, he ended the call and stormed over. "What the hell are you doing wandering around? Why aren't you in Gigi's room?" His gaze shifted to the gynecology sign behind me, and his expression twisted — irritation giving way to something nastier. Disgust. "This isn't a place for someone like you. What are you even doing here? Get out." His words dripped with disrespect. I just stood there, watching him. No shock. No anger. Just this cold, bitter realization washing over me. How blind I'd been. Before today, I saw Jack as the perfect picture of success — polished, driven, a young man in a tailored suit who seemed to have it all together. I'd been proud of him. I'd worried about him. I'd loved him like he was my own. I cooked his meals. Washed his clothes. Took care of him without a second thought. But now? Knowing what he and Sebastian had kept from me? All I felt was disgust. My years of devotion had been wasted on a snake. "I'm here to see a doctor," I said, voice cold as ice, brushing past him with the report in hand. In my mind, I'd already cut him out of my life the moment I read those letters. Jack blinked, thrown by my tone. "A doctor? You?" He snorted, the sound sharp and dismissive. "You've got nothing wrong with you. What the hell would you need a doctor for?" Before I could answer, he reached out and snatched the report from my hands. I didn't stop him. I didn't even flinch. I just stood there, watching. His eyes darted across the page. And then it hit. His face twisted — like someone had spilled paint across it. Shock. Confusion. Panic. All at once. He tried to cover it up, but the twitch in his jaw gave him away. "This... This can't be real." His voice wavered. "Mom... you're not supposed to be able to—" And just like that, he clamped his mouth shut. Too late. He slipped. I'd never told him about my miscarriage. I'd never told anyone about my infertility. As far as Jack was supposed to know, I was his biological mother. The only people who knew the truth were me and Sebastian. "Who told you?" I asked, my voice razor-sharp. Jack's eyes darted away, panic flickering across his face. He fumbled for an answer, scrambling to cover his mistake. "I... I don't remember. Maybe I overheard it years ago? I think I asked Dad, and he made something up. Who knows?" Pathetic. His lie was flimsy. His delivery clumsy. And suddenly, it hit me — Jack was a terrible liar. He always had been. The real problem? I'd never bothered to question him before. I'd been too blinded by love. Too desperate to be his mother. Jack shoved the report back into my hands, a little too fast, clearly desperate to shift gears. "Mom, listen. You're making a scene. This isn't the time or place for this." Then his tone shifted — colder. "If you keep this up, don't blame me for cutting ties with you." His glare was icy. A clear warning.

Chapter 5 Chapter 5

I yanked my hand out of Jack's grip, taking two steps back like his touch burned. "Even if I were dying, I'd still be a woman," I snapped. "I'll decide when to see a gynecologist— whenever I feel like it. "And you? You don't even care if I'm sick? You just think I'm causing trouble? You're a damn ingrate." The words came out sharp, fueled by pure rage. By the end, I was practically yelling. I couldn't stop the memories flooding in. Jack, frail and sickly as a kid, was always in and out of the hospital. That year he caught chickenpox and ran a fever so high he went delirious. I carried him all the way to the hospital, slipping on the wet road along the way. God, the pain when I fell... maybe I fractured something. I didn't stop to check. Just grit my teeth and kept going. And after? I didn't even bother seeing a doctor. Just rubbed ointment on my leg and pushed through. It still aches every time it rains. And because of Jack, I never got to see my mother one last time before she passed. I thought of my younger brother, Chandler, storming into my house, furious. "You're raising someone else's kid," he'd snapped. "And one day, you'll raise an ungrateful bastard." He'd called Sebastian a scumbag too. Said he was a heartless bastard who'd never amount to anything. I'd been livid. Told Chandler he was wrong. And after that? He cut ties with me completely. Now? He hadn't been wrong at all. Isn't this exactly how things turned out? I yelled at Jack loud enough that people started staring. Jack — who always cared about appearances — turned a shade darker, his jaw tightening. Then, forcing a strained smile, he said, "Mom, don't be angry. I was out of line. I was just worried, that's all. "Gigi's about to go into surgery. Everyone's waiting on you. You're the backbone of this family, after all." Backbone? In their eyes, I wasn't the backbone. I was the workhorse. The maid who never complained, who never got tired. Jack had just gotten married. His paycheck went to car loans and baby savings. Sebastian was always busy with 'who knows what.' And his in-laws? Too far away to help. So who did all the heavy lifting? Me. And when I was done taking care of them? I'd be cast aside like a worn-out machine. No value. No retirement. No rest. Just die already. So I wouldn't be a burden. So I wouldn't waste their money. "Fine," I said. "I'll go back and find your dad. The money's with him." Jack froze. His expression shifted to panic as he immediately stepped in front of me. "You can't leave. You HAVE TO stay here with Gigi. I'll go back instead!" Then, words tumbled out in a rush, frantic, like he was scrambling to fix a mistake. "Dad called earlier. Told me to go home right away. Maybe... maybe something happened." Without waiting for my response, he spun on his heel and headed for the door. But before he could leave, a nurse intercepted him. "Are you Jack Dwight?" Jack blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Yes... What's the matter?" The nurse frowned, arms crossed. "Your wife said she sent your mother home to get something. Why hasn't it been brought over yet? It's been ages." Jack's face went ghostly white. His whole body went rigid. Slowly, he turned to me. "Mom... you already went back?" I said nothing. Just met his gaze with a cold, steady stare. Jack couldn't hold it. His eyes darted away, and the next second, he bolted. Practically ran out of there, like he couldn't get away fast enough. What a guilty conscience.