After our child died prematurely, Oscar Lockhart grew increasingly cold toward me. On Valentine’s Day, I decided to improve our marital relationship. However, what awaited me was his social media post with his sister: “Spending the eighth Valentine’s Day with Oscar, super happy!” I was shocked and confronted him: “How does it make sense to spend Valentine’s Day with your sister? And for the entire evening…” He became furious, slapped me across the face, and accused me of trying to drive a wedge between him and his sister. “How could you have such filthy thoughts! I was merely shopping with my sister.” I believed what he said. But shortly after, at a dinner party, I accidentally saw his chat history with his sister. “It’s fortunate you got rid of that child. Otherwise, everyone would laugh at Oscar Lockhart for being cheated on.” “I saw it with my own eyes—that day she was entering and leaving a hotel with the Foster family’s young master. She had the audacity to lie and claim the child was yours. Shameless!” “Oscar, when are you going to divorce her? I can hardly wait anymore…” It turned out the marriage I had wholeheartedly invested in was merely a facade for the siblings to cover up their disgraceful affairs. But what he didn’t know was that the Foster family’s young master and I never had any intimate contact that night. It was him who killed his own child. 1 My child has been gone for two years now. I hung his photo in the most prominent place in our home. When Oscar saw it, he angrily instructed the butler to take it down, saying, “Hanging a memorial photo in the living room brings bad luck!” I quickly intervened and explained, “Yesterday marked the second anniversary of our baby’s passing. I’ll only keep it up for a while and take it down tomorrow.” He snorted coldly, then began organizing his briefcase, preparing to leave. I called after him, “Wait! Today is Valentine’s Day. I’ll prepare dinner and wait for you to come home.” Since our child’s death, I’ve developed psychological barriers. Whenever my husband touched me at night, I would recall the moment my child held my finger before dying. From soft and warm to cold and rigid. Because of this, I had refused his intimate advances many times. This Valentine’s Day, I planned to use the occasion to improve our relationship. Oscar seemed quite surprised, and after a moment of silence, he nodded and said, “Alright, I’ll be back later.” Having secured his promise, I felt much lighter. By 8 PM, dinner was ready, with vibrant roses adorning the table. All that was missing was the guest of honor. But even as the food grew cold, he hadn’t returned. The butler felt sorry for me and asked, “Madam, would you like to call Mr. Lockhart?” I shook my head without saying a word. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to call; it was that calling to hurry him would only anger his sister. Oscar has a pampered and extremely precious sister named Ivy Lockhart. Although she was adopted into the Lockhart family, everyone doted on her immensely. The Lockhart family’s Ivy was extremely dependent on Oscar, almost to the point of obsession. If nothing unexpected happened, he was probably accompanying Ivy again. I opened WeChat and checked my feed. The first post was Ivy’s new update: [This is the eighth Valentine’s Day I’ve spent with Oscar. So happy!] The attached photos included one of them holding hands and a pile of diamond jewelry gifts. In the comments section, there were no messages or likes from any relatives. This was a post visible only to me. Since I married into the Lockhart family, Ivy has viewed me as a thorn in her side. Every few days, she would post an update showcasing Oscar’s affection for her. Initially, I thought this was just a sister’s dependency on Oscar—she felt I had taken her Oscar away, so she was biased against me. So I became increasingly friendly toward her, always giving her first pick of any nice things I bought. Even when she posted content on social media to provoke me, I wouldn’t mind. But this time, I truly felt she had gone too far.
2 Oscar didn’t come home all night. The bedside lamp turned off and on again as I tossed and turned in bed, unable to fall asleep for hours. The next day, Oscar returned home reeking of alcohol and immediately collapsed on the bed, falling asleep. He looked extremely exhausted. I couldn’t control my suspicions and pulled open his collar. His collarbone was covered with red kiss marks. I was no longer a teenage girl and naturally understood what this meant. As my hands trembled, his large hand suddenly grabbed mine. I held back my anger and demanded, “You didn’t come home last night. Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” Oscar frowned, slowly sat up against the headboard while adjusting his clothes and said, “Ivy had an asthma attack yesterday. I took her to see a doctor. It got too late, so I just accompanied her shopping for a while.” How convenient that it happened right at this time. He came home with kiss marks still on his face, and seeing his nonchalant attitude, I fought back tears and asked, “What kind of logic is it to spend Valentine’s Day with your sister? And the entire night…” A dark look flashed in his eyes as his anger erupted. He raised his iron-like palm and slapped me across the face. The blow nearly knocked me to the ground. I couldn’t understand what had just happened. In our eight years of marriage, this was the first time he had ever laid hands on me. “How could you have such vulgar thoughts? I was just shopping with my sister.” After saying this, he seemed to realize what he had done and stared blankly as I held my face. Much later, I recovered from the intense pain, my face wet with tears. He stepped forward, saying “I’m sorry” while helping me up. Then he gently embraced me, wiping away my tears before continuing, “I was too angry just now. You know I didn’t mean it…” Before, I would have forgiven him because I believed he loved me. But this time, I pushed his hand away, wiped my own tears, and said disappointedly, “You’d better remember who your wife is and who painfully gave birth to your child.” At the mention of our child, Oscar’s face immediately darkened. At that moment, immersed in my pain, I failed to notice this detail. 3 Not long after this incident, Mrs.
Eleanor called specifically to comfort me: “Ivy has always been frail since childhood, don’t take it personally. I’ll find time to go shopping with you to help you relax. But you and Oscar still need to continue your marriage.” No one felt more anxious about our marriage than I did. Nevertheless, I spoke up: “Ivy interferes too much in Oscar’s affairs, and I really don’t know what to do about it.” Mrs. Eleanor understood my meaning and promised: “At tonight’s banquet, you’ll attend as Oscar’s date. It’s a good opportunity to nurture your relationship with him. I’ll talk to Ivy myself.” I forced a smile and reluctantly agreed. The Lockhart family’s banquet had invited numerous social celebrities. My best friend Hazel Scott was also there. Since she hadn’t seen me for a long time, she pulled me to a corner to have a drink. “Nora Reed, since marrying into wealth, you’ve even abandoned your career.” I took a small sip of wine and said dejectedly: “Oscar won’t let me act anymore. Last time I just accepted a role in a drama funded by the Foster heir, and he flew into a rage, forbidding me from acting again.” Hazel seemed exasperated: “What a waste of your beautiful face! Even without relying on Oscar, you could become a wealthy woman on your own!” My mood lightened a bit, so I told her about Oscar secretly meeting with Ivy a few days ago. Hazel’s expression turned strange. After hearing what I said, she hesitated before asking: “Have you ever checked Oscar’s chat history? I suspect there’s something unusual between Oscar and someone else.” Her words aligned perfectly with my suspicions. I shook my head and said: “No, I haven’t.” With the air of someone who knew better, she said: “Then perhaps it’s best not to. No woman ever feels better after reading her husband’s messages.” Before I could respond, Oscar approached us. He affectionately took my arm and raised his glass toward Hazel with a smile: “Sorry, I need to borrow her for a moment.” In front of others, we perfectly portrayed the image of a loving wealthy couple. But once he led me to the private lounge, he violently slammed me against the wall and placed his hand beside my ear. His eyes blazed with anger as he demanded in a low voice: “What did you tell Hazel? Remember your promise when we got married—not to reveal any secrets to the outside world.” I said, “I understand.” The pain from my back felt like it was about to split open. I winced and gasped in pain, saying with a trembling voice: “I won’t make this mistake again.” He said: “You’d better remember that,” then turned and left. The pain was excruciating. I slowly sat down, sliding down against the wall. Suddenly, a flash of light caught my eye. Oscar’s phone had fallen to the ground, thrown out by his forceful movements earlier. Remembering what Hazel had said, I picked up the phone to check. The phone required a password. I tried entering his birthday and my birthday, but neither worked. Finally, with trembling hands, I entered Ivy’s birthday. It unlocked. In the WeChat interface, the intimate chat history between him and his sister pierced my eyes. “It’s a good thing you got rid of that child back then. Otherwise, everyone would laugh at Oscar Lockhart for being cheated on.” “I saw it with my own eyes—that day she was going in and out of a hotel with the Foster heir. She actually lied and said the child was yours. Shameless!” “Oscar, when are you going to divorce her? I can hardly wait anymore…” So the marriage I had wholeheartedly invested in was merely a facade for the siblings to cover up their disgraceful affair. But what he didn’t know was that the Foster heir never had any intimate contact with me that night. It was him who killed his own child. I suddenly remembered Oscar’s pre-marriage agreement: never to speak about the Lockhart family’s affairs. What other secrets did his family have that were worth spreading? This was nothing more than an incestuous scandal between siblings. I couldn’t bear to look anymore, so I turned off the phone and quickly ran to the bathroom. My stomach twisted in knots, and nausea rushed to my head. I covered my mouth with my hand as tears mixed with vomit. This marriage was nothing but a fig leaf. I pressed the toilet flush button, and everything in the bowl was washed down the drain. “It’s time to end this.”
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