My husband, Tristian Kent, was a military officer. I'd been receiving his military allowance, only to be told during a medical checkup that we'd been "divorced" for six months.

I laughed out of absurdity, then withdrew my mother-in-law, Emilie Kent, from her nursing home in no time.

That night, I brought the bedridden Emilie straight to the gate of Tristian's military camp.

The next day, Tristian and his bride had just registered their marriage when they saw me sitting in the reception room of the military camp with Emilie.

"Why did you bring my mom here?" His face turned livid as he questioned me.

I coldly tossed the copy of his marriage certificate at him. "Now that you're remarried, you'd better fulfill your obligation to support your mother."

His bride flushed crimson, squeezing her own marriage certificate so hard that her knuckles turned white.

As I looked at them, I felt nothing but the joy of revenge. Next, the military's disciplinary action and Emilie's medical bills would be more than enough to trouble them.

***

The town health center reeked of Lysol and dust all year round.

I sat on a hard wooden bench outside a gynecologist's consulting room, unconsciously twisting the hem of my clothes with my fingers. Nervous sweat filled my palms.

The corridor bustled with people. Footsteps, coughs, and children's cries blended into a noisy hum.

But I heard none of it, save for the loud thud of my own heartbeat.

I was waiting to consult a gynecologist.

The doctor once mentioned that I was slightly weak and required adequate rest as well as proper nutrition.

I wondered if Tristian would be happier if I could get pregnant with another baby this time.

He always said he was tied up with the military, that his career came first, and that there was no rush to have more kids.

But we'd been married nearly seven years, and I was twenty-eight now. If we kept putting it off, the risks associated with pregnancy would only increase for me.

Perhaps having another child would turn this house into more of a home and make him come back more often.

"Christina Steele?"

A young female doctor in a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses pushed open the door, holding my medical report in her hand.

I jumped to my feet, an ingratiating smile plastered on my face. "Doctor, that's me."

She adjusted her glasses, glancing back and forth between my face and the papers in her hand, then knitted her brows.

"Aren't you married?"

My heart lurched at that question. Was there something seriously wrong with my results?

I rubbed my hands together nervously. "Yes, I am. My husband's a soldier. He's in the military now."

The doctor's look of doubt deepened. She flipped over the form in her hand, then pointed to her computer screen.

"That's strange. Why does your status in the medical records system say 'divorced'?"

Divorced?

That word hit me like a thunderclap.

My mind went blank, my blood running cold.

There must be something wrong.

"Doctor, did you ... did you make a mistake? My husband's name is Tristian Kent. he's a military officer. We're in love. How could we be divorced?"

My voice trembled uncontrollably, each word wavering.

The female doctor, probably startled by my reaction, turned her computer screen toward me. She pointed at the record on it, her tone softening a little.

"See for yourself. The system says you and a man named Tristian completed divorce proceedings six months ago."

She checked the info again. "Name and ID number both match. Look, the date was June 12th."

June 12th?

I felt like an invisible hand clamped around my heart and dragged it into an endless abyss.

I remembered that day.

Six months ago, Tristian had come home on a rare leave. He said the military needed to update his family files, and there were a lot of documents to sign.

He'd held out a stack of papers, pointing to a few places that needed my signature.

"Tina, just sign it. It's all routine stuff. I have to report back to the unit early tomorrow morning," he urged, his tone gentle yet tinged with impatience.

Back then, I'd been busy turning Emilie over in bed to wipe her back. The scent of the ointment I'd put on her still lingered on my hands.

I didn't even glance at the papers, just taking the pen and signing where he pointed.

My trust in him had long been carved into my bones.

He was a soldier who swore to protect our family and country. How could I ever doubt him?

Looking back now, the documents I'd chosen not to read felt like sharp knives piercing my heart.

And I had handed them to him myself.

My hands and feet turned cold, my body swaying like I might collapse.

The thin medical report felt as heavy as a boulder in my grip. Every word on it was a red-hot blade, stabbing into my eyes.

The word "married" was crossed out with a red line, replaced by the cold, bold "divorced," updated in the system.

A wave of absurdity and betrayal crashed over me, drowning out all else.

I fled the consulting room, my head buzzing. The world seemed to be spinning like it was falling apart around me.

I staggered to the cold corridor wall for support, fumbling out the old phone I'd used for years.

I wanted to call Tristian right then, to scream at him and demand answers.

But my fingers froze over the dial button, unable to press it.

I was terrified of hearing a lie he'd already rehearsed, or worse, an indifferent admission.

Then something hit me. I pulled a bank card from my pocket, my hands shaking.

I received my separation allowance from the army on this card.

I opened mobile banking, and the numbers glared back: this month's allowance had arrived just three days ago. That was the full amount, no missing penny.

He'd cut me off legally, yet he'd kept taking advantage of my identity to collect the subsidy for a soldier's wife without a shred of guilt.

How ridiculous!

I leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. A dry, wheezing laugh bubbled up from my throat.

Tears streamed down as I laughed.

I'd taken care of every household task, cared for his paralyzed mom, and scrimped and saved just to get by, all to lift the burden of home from his shoulders and make our small family better off.

In the end, my whole life had turned into a cruel joke.

He'd gotten rid of me silently, like I was some trash.

And me? I'd been a fool, happily planning to bear him a second child to win him back, having no idea he had already fallen for someone else.

My stomach lurched. I clapped a hand over my mouth and stumbled to the restroom sink, retching until my vision blurred.

What I threw up wasn't just sour bile, but also all the grievances I'd endured over the past seven years of our marriage.

I splashed cold water on my face. The bitter chill cut through the fog in my head, if only a little.

I wouldn't let that jerk get away so easily.

Never!

I staggered home like a wandering soul.

The summer sun blazed fiercely, scorching the earth, and the weeds by the roadside were withered and dry.

But I felt no heat, only a coldness seeping out from the very cracks of my bones.

As soon as I pushed open the door, a stale stench mixed with the smell of medicine and urine hit me in the face.

"Water ... water..." Emilie lay on the bed, moaning indistinctly.

Half a year ago, she'd had a stroke and been left paralyzed. Now, she was unable to move, speak clearly, or take care of herself at all.

I looked at the haggard, aged woman on the bed, my heart going numb.

I walked over mechanically, poured a cup of warm water, and fed it slowly into her chapped lips with a spoon.

Her cloudy eyes fixed on me, as if she wanted to say something, but only a vague "ah" sound escaped.

Once, I'd always felt sorry for Emilie, taking care of her with all my strength. I'd cleaned up her messes without a single complaint.

Tristian was her only son, her everything.

And I, as Tristian's wife, had thought it only right to look after his mother.

But now, as I looked at her, the warmth and pity I'd once felt were all gone.

I didn't owe Emilie anything.

Why should I be stuck here, guarding a paralyzed old woman and an empty house, while my traitor husband was enjoying his new life elsewhere?

I was no saint.

Hatred grew in my heart like wild weeds.

I had to find out the truth. I needed to see the evidence with my own eyes.

The military was disciplined. I couldn't just make accusations without proof. First, I had to go to the Tarrant County Clerk's Office.

I went next door to ask my neighbor, Valerie Howe, to help look after Emilie. Then, I grabbed my birth certificate and ID card and took the shuttle bus to Tarrant County.

Tarrant County Clerk's Office lobby had air conditioning on, but its coolness was no match for the icy cold in my chest.

I stood in line, and my hands and feet were as cold as a corpse's.

When it was my turn, I slid my ID through the window, saying in a hoarse voice, "Hello, I want to check my marital status."

The staff member, a woman in her thirties, took my ID, tapped a few keys on her computer, then looked up at me with a sympathetic gaze.

"Ms. Christina Steele? The system shows you and Mr. Tristian Kent filed for divorce on June 12 this year."

Her words crushed the last sliver of hope in my heart.

"C-can I see the divorce papers?" I asked, my voice almost a plea.

She hesitated for a moment, then pulled up the electronic file.

On the screen, the so-called "divorce agreement" seared my eyes.

Its contents were absurdly simple. It read we had irreconcilable differences and agreed to divorce voluntarily. I, Christina, waived all rights to the couple's joint property and child custody.

My name was on the signature area.

But the handwriting was crooked, like a child's scribble. It was nothing like my neat script.

Yet the bright red fingerprint below, and the ID card seal beside it, were real.

Tristian, you calculating bastard!

You used a forged signature to steal everything from me!

I stared at the screen, trembling with rage. The staff member seemed to want to lighten the mood, adding casually, "Say, isn't this convenient? Didn't your ex-husband, Tristian, just register for marriage with a Ms. Owen this morning? Young people move fast these days."

It was like a bomb went off in my head.

This morning?

He was already remarried to someone else?

So eager, so ruthless!

I could almost see him that morning: dressed in a crisp new military uniform, he held a young, beautiful woman at his side, both grinning from ear to ear.

Right here, in the same place where I learned that my own marriage was canceled, they were starting theirs.

As for me, their so-called "obstacle"? I was stupid enough to keep his home running and look after his paralyzed mother!

All the pain, humiliation, and resentment boiled into pure rage and icy hatred at that moment.

I swore I wouldn't let Tristian and Megan enjoy their married life.

I squeezed my fists so tight, and my sharp nails dug deep into my palms, blood seeping through the skin.

The pain only made me more sober.

When I walked out of the County Clerk's Office, the sun outside stung my eyes, but there was no warmth in my chest. My winter had long since arrived.

I wouldn't cry or kick up a fuss.

Tears were the most useless thing in the world.

I'd make them pay the most agonizing price for what they'd done.