I got up in the middle of the night to feed the twins and noticed that Ryan was in the bathroom handling… certain needs. Given that I’m still breastfeeding and my stretch marks haven’t faded since the pregnancy, I wasn’t surprised by his lack of interest. But when I caught a glimpse of the photo on his phone, I completely lost it. He was looking at Vanessa Blackwood—a woman he briefly dated when we split up. I slapped him and asked, “Is this what you’ve been doing instead of touching me for over a year now?” Unfazed, he straightened his clothes, grinning as he replied, “Not just this year. Even when I had to provide a sample for the IVF treatment, I used her picture.” 1、Amanda Quinn My name is Amanda Quinn. Ryan and I have been married for five years, three of which we spent trying for children through IVF. After thousands of hormone injections and four rounds of IVF, we finally had our twins—a boy and a girl. Even though my body’s changed, and my stomach is covered in stretch marks, I still feel hopeful every time I look at our two precious babies. Life was supposed to only get better from here. One night, I got up to feed the twins and noticed Ryan wasn’t in bed. The bathroom light was off, but I could hear water running faintly inside. I had an idea of what might be going on. Since we found out I was pregnant, we’d stopped sleeping together as a precaution. Now, six months after the twins were born, he still hadn’t touched me. I could understand; breastfeeding and the stubborn stretch marks weren’t exactly appealing. But I had a hunch it was time to try and reconnect. I quietly opened the bathroom door and saw the faint glow of his phone screen. There was Ryan, back turned, one hand against the wall, the other moving… And suddenly, I felt a pang of sadness. Gently, I called his name and reached out to embrace him. I was ready to bring intimacy back to our marriage. But when Ryan turned, the lust in his eyes vanished the instant he saw me. And as he turned, I got a clear view of his phone screen. Vanessa Blackwood’s face stared back at me—his ex-girlfriend from the three months we’d been apart. Rage boiled over, and instead of reaching for him, I slapped him, hard. “Is this why you haven’t touched me for over a year? Just to keep looking at her picture?” He locked his phone, his excitement gone, and began calmly fixing his clothes as though nothing happened. But I wasn’t about to drop it. I grabbed his collar, demanding an explanation. Instead of remorse, he just looked me up and down with a smirk. What he said next broke me completely. He said, “It’s not just this past year. Even when I had to provide a sample for the IVF, I used her photo for that too.” 2、Amanda Quinn His words struck me like a lightning bolt. By the time he walked out of the bathroom, I was still standing there in shock. In the mirror, I caught sight of my reflection—disheveled and worn. No wonder he wasn’t interested. I remembered the first time he had to provide a sample at Northfield Fertility Clinic. The nurse had shown him to a private room, and he’d been in there for an unusually long time. Another woman there for IVF mentioned that sometimes, wives are allowed to assist. So, I knocked and asked if he needed me to help. Without even looking at me, he shut the door, locking it with a loud click. I’d assumed he was just shy. Little did I know he was in there using Vanessa’s photo instead. Now the thought that our children—our own flesh and blood—came from something so tainted was unbearable. But, maybe I’d brought this on myself. After all, we did break up before marriage, and it was me who had walked away. Ryan was two years younger, fresh out of school, with a shaky job and little ambition. He’d come home from work every night and just played video games, while the men around me were moving up the ladder, some even making six figures. My family kept pushing me to settle down, buy a home, get married. So, I talked to him about buying a place. His parents, working-class folks, offered to help with the down payment, leaving us to cover the mortgage. I didn’t mind, but my mom did. She pointed out how my cousins’ husbands had paid for their homes in full and even bought cars. If they could, why couldn’t Ryan? I understood my mom’s concerns and sympathized with his family’s situation, trying to balance both sides until I was exhausted. But Ryan didn’t seem to get it. I’d be working late, and he’d be gaming. I’d try to reassure my mom, and he’d be gaming. The final straw came when I asked him to view a house with me, and he made an excuse, only for me to come home and find him, controller in hand. Heartbroken, I ended it and packed his things into a single suitcase. When he left, he went to stay with a friend, and I threw myself into work, barely noticing as half a year slipped by. Meanwhile, he worked through the pain, and to my surprise, I felt lighter without the relationship. Suitors started appearing, many with excellent prospects. Then, out of nowhere, my best friend Stephanie called, telling me Ryan had a new girlfriend named Vanessa Blackwood—a girl who looked eerily like me. At first, I just felt sorry for him. He was clearly still hung up on me if he’d found himself a lookalike. But then, Stephanie said something that gave me pause. Apparently, Ryan had reflected deeply on himself after our breakup. He’d poured himself into work, even getting promoted and landing shares in a game his company had developed. He was a new man, and yet Vanessa was reaping the rewards of all my effort to shape him. Fueled by a mix of jealousy and regret, I realized I wanted him back. I returned to Bridgeport, just as he was dropping Vanessa off at Grand Central Station. I stood in the taxi line, watching him embrace her by his new car, and a wave of bitterness flooded my chest. For the first time since we split, I realized I still loved him. I waited by his car, and when he returned, I spoke up. “Ryan, I’m back.” He looked at me, eyes rimmed red, but didn’t move. I stepped forward and hugged him. “You finally grew up. All my hard work wasn’t for nothing.” He pushed me away, but then reached out to wipe my tears. I clung to him, and though he resisted, he hesitated just enough. “Why now?” he asked. “I have a girlfriend.” But a three-month relationship can’t compare to years, and I knew that. I pleaded with him for days, even bringing my mom into it. She hated Ryan, yet whatever she said to him changed his mind. He agreed to get back together, though he looked miserable about it. After those eight long months apart, our reunion felt like a new beginning. Ryan was now able to buy a house, even a car, and my mom’s opinion of him finally softened. We got married, and I assumed Vanessa was firmly in the past. But now, hearing him admit he still thought of her during IVF was a punch to the gut. 3、 I stormed out of the bathroom, hurling accusations until the twins woke up crying, and my mom, Diane, rushed into the room, alarmed by the commotion. By the time I explained what happened, she sank onto the couch, dazed. I checked her blood pressure—190. She’d been struggling to help me with the twins, and now this outburst had triggered her health issues. Ryan, to his credit, kept quiet and fetched her medication. As she rested, she began a tearful lecture. “Ryan, Amanda has sacrificed so much for you. Do you remember how she was there when you had nothing? We almost lost her back then when I pushed her to leave you. Without her, you wouldn’t be where you are today. Don’t think for a second that she came back just because you’re successful now. You owe her more than just your loyalty. And don’t think that other woman wants you for anything besides money. You should be grateful Amanda bore you those twins after all she went through.” Ryan stayed silent, but I could see his pride deflate. Early the next morning, he made a full breakfast spread—my mom’s favorite foods—showing his willingness to make amends. As days went by, he kept it up, taking care of the house, cooking, and watching over the twins so my mom could rest. He would work late only after the babies were asleep. I thought, maybe it was just a slip of the tongue in the heat of the moment, and I could forgive him. Then, tragedy struck. One night, my mom had a sudden stroke. She died before my father even had a chance to say goodbye. Grief and guilt consumed me. I was sure she’d overexerted herself helping me with the twins. During the funeral, I couldn’t stop crying. Ryan took charge, arranging everything as though he were her own son. He shouldered all the responsibilities I couldn’t, carrying the casket, greeting guests, and comforting my father. Neighbors murmured that my mom had chosen well; I had a dependable husband. After laying her to rest, the heaviness in my heart began to ease. I could finally feel a sense of peace, believing that Ryan’s commitment was deeper than any fleeting attraction to Vanessa Blackwood. 4、Ryan Mercer I’m Ryan Mercer—the “useless Ryan.” That’s what Amanda’s mother, Diane, called me the day Amanda kicked me out. Five years of love packed into a single suitcase, and there I was, a pathetic mess, clutching it while I wandered onto the city bus, completely lost. I didn’t know where to go, so I just rode the 25 route to the end of the line and back. Over and over, from afternoon until the buses stopped running. I sat at the terminal, crying like a dog. I knew I wasn’t good enough for her. I knew her mom was pressuring her, so I’d even gone to Diane myself to reassure her. But she didn’t hold back. “Loser,” “pathetic”… she called me every name in the book. I understood she just wanted the best for her daughter, but they never gave me a chance to prove myself. I told them I was developing a new game, but they thought it was just an excuse to slack off. Even then, I couldn’t stand the thought of her leaving. I couldn’t believe she’d just cut me loose and abandon everything we’d planned for the future. So, I stayed with a friend and tried to reach out to her, but she was always too busy to even remember we’d broken up. Meanwhile, I was wasting away, shedding over twenty pounds in the process. My mom was the only one who cared. She picked up an extra job after hours to save money and help me buy a house. She even went behind my back and approached Diane to tell her they could help us with the mortgage. But Diane shot that down in a heartbeat. “And what about a car?” she sneered. My mom suggested they could sell their own home to help us, but Diane laughed, saying, “What, after you die? I’m sure my daughter will wait that long for a car!” Then she delivered the final blow, telling my mom to tell me not to embarrass her daughter by hanging on. My mom came back and collapsed from the stress. That illness was the end of her—two months later, she died from complications. And I couldn’t blame anyone but myself; my weakness had killed her. Her death finally snapped my attachment to Amanda. At the funeral, I met Vanessa Blackwood. She worked at Green Hills Crematorium, and even in that grim setting, she was warm and optimistic. Initially, it was her appearance that caught my eye, but her character was what drew me in. She was unapologetically single by choice, detached from all the societal trappings that came with relationships. Her nonchalance toward life and death was a breath of fresh air, and her carefree nature brought me back to life. Inspired, I poured everything into my game development work, and success followed. For the first time, I was finding my own path. And just as Vanessa and I became serious, Amanda came back. She hooked me, played me like a puppet. She cried over how much she missed me, knowing just how to push my buttons and rekindle my guilt. She even claimed she’d only broken up with me to “inspire” me to grow. As ridiculous as it sounded, my heart softened. I let her worm her way back in, though I never intended to leave Vanessa. Then Diane got involved. She reached Vanessa before coming to me, showing her recordings of my desperate phone calls to Amanda after the breakup. She even played a recording of my mom’s visit, begging Diane for my chance. Vanessa wasn’t the type to be swayed easily, but Diane knew exactly how to break her resolve. After Vanessa refused to break up with me, Diane went straight to Green Hills, causing a scene, screaming that Vanessa was a homewrecker, that she was destroying her daughter’s life. By the time Vanessa was about to call the police, Diane coolly apologized, claiming it was a “mistake.” Then she whispered that she’d be back—and next time, it wouldn’t be a mistake. She’d keep showing up and keep disrupting Vanessa’s life until she walked away. And Vanessa did. Before she left, she looked Diane in the eyes and said, “Once I’m gone, I’ll be his ‘one that got away.’ Amanda will forever live in my shadow.” In that moment, hearing her voice on the recording Diane so proudly played for me, I felt the last of my happiness slip through my fingers. I stood there, expressionless, watching Diane’s smug face as resentment bloomed inside me. Every humiliation, every grievance I’d endured resurfaced. Diane had destroyed my mother. Amanda had treated me like dirt. And now, with Diane’s help, Amanda was back in my life. They wanted this marriage? Fine. I would give it to them, and everything they thought they wanted. I acted unsure, reluctantly giving in to their pressure, and eventually, Amanda and I got married. She soon began nudging me about putting her name on the deed, and I pretended to go along. I told her I’d buy a house and put her name on the title. The smile didn’t even reach her face. Diane quickly started dropping hints, telling me how all her cousins had homes under their wives’ names. I’d nod, play along, and wait. Finally, Amanda and I found a place we liked and waited for a promotional discount to hit. Conveniently, I had a “business trip” during the sale days. Diane and Amanda panicked, calling me several times to transfer the funds. I played along, wiring the money. Predictably, they finalized the sale in Amanda’s name only. I returned with every bank record in hand. Diane then suggested it was time I bought a new car and “gently persuaded” me to sell my old one. She finalized the new car paperwork under Amanda’s name while I was “away.” Once it was done, they were sure everything was secure, and only then did we sign the marriage license. As far as they were concerned, the car and house were all “premarital assets.” Right before the wedding, I met Vanessa one last time. She saw my frustration and reassured me, “Don’t be sad. With me, you may never have kids or a marriage. I’d rather be your ‘one that got away’ than the leftovers on your plate.” When I asked if she’d regret never getting married or having a legacy, she laughed, saying she’d donate her eggs if she wanted to leave something behind. After that meeting, I began to see things differently. Maybe this marriage could work in my favor. More than a year into our marriage, Amanda began worrying she wasn’t getting pregnant. Diane was quick to plant doubts, hinting that men “so big and strong” as me might still have hidden issues. This was followed by thinly veiled threats of financial “compensation” if I was “deceitful.” So, with Diane’s push, we began our long, frustrating journey through fertility treatments. No luck. Nothing seemed wrong, but we weren’t conceiving. I admit, I sabotaged it a bit here and there. Eventually, we landed on the option of IVF. And that’s when my show began. Everything was playing out exactly as I wanted. The night Amanda caught me in the bathroom, I’d intentionally turned the water on loud enough for her to hear. She came to wrap her arms around me, and I pulled up Vanessa’s photo just as she got close enough to see. The moment she raised her hand to hit me, I knew I had her. I told her I’d even used Vanessa’s photo during the IVF sample collection, watching as her final bit of composure shattered. Predictably, Diane woke up from the argument, her blood pressure spiking immediately. I jumped into the role of the “manipulated son-in-law,” appearing the very next morning to make Diane’s favorite breakfast. Every meal I cooked for her was packed with high sodium, high-fat content, things that would worsen her condition. She’d sit, eat, barely moving afterward. I even brought her extra snacks. Within days, she suffered a stroke on the toilet. After the funeral, I stared at myself in the mirror, watching as my face twisted into a grin. Was it cruel? Not nearly enough. The real show had just begun.
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