Stepping into Hardship in Lavish Attire

After ten years of marriage, Jonathan Richards had slept with nearly every colleague and friend I had. I pretended not to see, choosing instead to focus on maternity checkups as usual with my eight-month-old belly. Until one time, I was on my way to a routine checkup when his latest fling drove me down. I bled uncontrollably and begged him to take me to the hospital. Jonathan looked at me with a face full of disgust. “Zara Clare, when did you become so good at faking accidents?” His voice dripped with contempt. “If you think putting on an act will make me care about you, you are wrong. Even if you died in front of me, I wouldn’t spare you a glance.” After saying that, he took his new fling and drove away, leaving me there to bleed out alone. By the time someone got me to the hospital, the baby in my womb had already suffocated and died. My mom, unable to bear the shock, died from a fatal heart attack. When I regained consciousness, my heart was already numb. Sitting beside me was Jonathan’s grandfather, his face lined with sorrow. “Let me go,” I said flatly. “Whatever I owed the Richards Family, I have paid with my life.”