### My sister-in-law has an unhealthy obsession with dramatic, over-the-top “tragedy fiction.” After giving birth, she refused to breastfeed the baby because the baby smiled at the nanny. She claimed the baby was an ungrateful little backstabber who would never love her. When my brother had to leave for an emergency meeting, he reminded her to take care of herself and not catch a cold while recovering postpartum. The moment he left, she filled the bathtub with cold water, sank herself into it, and stayed there until she was bleeding uncontrollably. She ended up in the hospital. One day, my brother’s assistant dropped by the house to deliver some documents. My sister-in-law sat calmly on the couch, her face a mask of sorrow and resignation. “You don’t have to flaunt your victory,” she said with a tragic air. “If you want this man, take him. I’ll step aside.” At the baby’s one-month celebration party, a family friend—a woman who grew up with us—came to congratulate them. My sister-in-law threw a glass of red wine at her, staining her expensive dress. “A mistress with no shame,” she sneered. “No designer gown can hide the ugliness of your soul.” My brother and I tried to reason with her, speaking as kindly as we could. But that night, she left without a word, vanishing into the darkness. All she left behind was a signed divorce agreement. “I don’t want you or the baby,” it read. My sister-in-law, Claire, has always been a fan of fiction. When she got pregnant, she stopped going out much, and reading novels became her favorite pastime. I’d even introduced her to the reading app she used, where friends could see each other’s bookshelves. One day, I opened the app and was hit with a flood of tragedy fiction recommendations: “Your Friend is Reading: ‘After Mom Faked Her Death, Dad Finally Regretted Everything.’” “Your Friend Just Reread: ‘Divorced and Abandoned, But Now My Ex-Husband and Son Begged Me to Come Back.’” “Your Friend Liked: ‘My Husband and Son Saved His First Love During the Flood, Leaving Me to Die.’” I only had one friend on this app—Claire. When I clicked on her bookshelf, it was packed wall-to-wall with these melodramatic, soap opera-style tragedy novels. My first reaction? My brother cheated on her! I immediately called my brother, Dylan. “Hey, what did you do to Claire?! Did you cheat? I swear, if you did, I’m calling Mom and Dad to break your legs!” Dylan sounded completely panicked. “What are you talking about? I would never cheat on Claire! I’m loyal to her, 100%. The only women I even talk to are you and Mom! Who’s been spreading these rumors?” My brother has always been a terrible liar, so I knew he was telling the truth. I relaxed a little. “Oh, okay,” I said casually. “I was just testing you. Congrats, you passed. Keep being a good husband, alright? Bye!” Maybe Claire just liked these kinds of novels. Maybe I was overthinking it. But it wasn’t long before I realized her obsession with tragedy fiction was way more intense—and way more concerning—than I’d thought. It all started after Claire gave birth. Thanks to Dylan’s constant attention during her pregnancy, everything went smoothly. On the day she went into labor, Dylan noticed her contractions were more frequent than usual. Without missing a beat, he grabbed the pre-packed hospital bag, alerted the medical team, and had their driver speed to the private hospital owned by our family. Since Claire didn’t have any parents of her own, my parents and I rushed to the hospital to support her and cheer her on during delivery. The birth itself went perfectly. Claire had been cared for so meticulously during her pregnancy that both she and the baby were in excellent shape. Before long, the sound of a baby’s cry filled the delivery room. Claire had given birth to a healthy baby boy. Following Dylan’s “support guidelines” for family members, we disinfected ourselves thoroughly before entering the room. We barely glanced at the newborn, instead gathering around Claire, who looked pale but radiant. My mom grabbed her hand, tears in her eyes. “Claire, sweetheart, you did such an amazing job. We’re so proud of you.” My dad, as always, was quieter with his affection. He simply slipped a black AmEx card under her pillow without a word. Dylan, on the other hand, was an emotional wreck. Gone was the ruthless businessman who dominated boardrooms—he was now a teary-eyed, doting husband. Claire, her voice soft and weak, said, “Let me see the baby.” A nurse gently brought over the tiny bundle, placing him in Claire’s arms. Claire leaned in close to the baby’s face, her eyes filled with warmth and love. “It wasn’t easy,” she whispered, “but it was worth it to bring you into this world.” The doctor, who had been monitoring the situation, smiled and reassured her. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Mrs. Stone. Your delivery went exceptionally well. Your family’s quick response, combined with the support of our team, made everything as smooth as possible. You didn’t even need stitches—no tearing, no complications. You did great.” But instead of looking relieved, Claire’s expression darkened. The warmth in the room evaporated. My parents, Dylan, and I all exchanged nervous glances. Claire’s voice was icy. “So what you’re saying is, it was easy for me to give birth? That my child will grow up thinking his mom didn’t even suffer for him? That I didn’t make any sacrifices?” The doctor froze, sweat beading on his forehead. “Mrs. Stone, that’s not what I meant at all!” I jumped in, trying to defuse the tension. “Claire, you carried him for nine months and brought him into this world. Of course, he’ll know how much you’ve done for him!” But Claire just frowned and leaned back against the bed. “Hmph. Who knows? Maybe one day he’ll grow up, call someone else ‘Mom,’ and forget all about me.” What?! None of us knew what to say. Seeing how exhausted she looked, we decided not to push the conversation further. To make sure Claire had the best postpartum care possible, my mom had started interviewing potential caregivers months in advance. She ended up hiring four top-tier postpartum nannies, a chef, and a nutritionist to take care of both Claire and the baby. We even had thick carpets installed throughout the house to reduce noise, and Claire’s bedroom was equipped with soundproof walls to ensure she could rest undisturbed. Dylan canceled all his work-related social events and delegated most of his responsibilities to his assistant so he could stay home and take care of Claire full-time. My parents were fully on board with this. “The company will be fine without you for a while,” my dad said. “Right now, Claire and the baby need you more than anything.” “The doctor said postpartum hormones can make emotions unpredictable,” my mom added. “You need to keep an eye on her and make sure she stays in good spirits.” Even I tried to help, scouring every store I could think of to find snacks and little gifts that might cheer her up. But no matter what we did, Claire remained distant and melancholy. 2 Under the care of the nanny, the baby grew more lively and adorable with each passing day. His big, sparkling eyes and soft, porcelain-like skin made him look like a little doll—impossible not to love. One afternoon, I was playing with the baby alongside the nanny, holding up toys and making silly faces to get him to laugh. He giggled nonstop, his tiny mouth spreading into the sweetest smile. That’s when Claire, my sister-in-law, walked into the room. She froze in the doorway, her face pale, her lips trembling. “He’s never smiled at me like that—not once. But he’ll laugh so easily for a stranger. In the end, he’s just an ungrateful little traitor…” The baby, unaware of the tension, blinked his wide, innocent eyes at us, confused. I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Claire, he’s just a baby! He doesn’t even know what’s going on. How can you say something like that?” But Claire only shook her head, looking heartbroken. “You don’t understand.” Dylan, my brother, rushed over with a blanket, draping it over her shoulders. “Claire, don’t overthink it. The baby loves you the most—of course he does!” Claire gave a faint, bitter smile. “Better to let go now than wait for him to resent me later.” From that day on, she made up her mind. She took medication to stop producing milk and refused to breastfeed the baby again. “It’s fine,” Dylan said through gritted teeth, watching the nanny prepare formula. “The baby will grow up healthy on formula. Claire’s mental health is the most important thing.” But the baby cried inconsolably, his tiny face red with tears, unable to understand why the comforting warmth of his mother’s arms and milk was suddenly gone. Claire, unmoved, glanced at him coldly. “See? Just like the novels said—pain teaches regret.” She turned to the nanny, her expression indifferent. “Take him back to the nursery. I need to rest.” I clenched my fists, struggling to contain the anger that had been building inside me. Finally, I pulled Dylan out of the room. “Don’t you think Claire might have postpartum depression?” he asked, running a tired hand through his hair. “She was fine before the baby was born, but now… she’s like a completely different person.” My anger instantly faded, replaced by a pang of guilt. He was right—Claire wasn’t herself anymore. It had to be the hormones, and she was likely struggling more than any of us realized. “You’re right,” I admitted. “She’s at her most vulnerable right now. We need to help her through this.” “By the way,” I added, “you might want to take her phone away for a while. Those novels she’s reading aren’t helping. The last thing she needs is more drama from those over-the-top tragic stories.” It didn’t take long for my warning to come true. One day, Dylan’s assistant called to say there was an urgent issue at the company that required his personal attention. Dylan spent hours trying to resolve the problem remotely, but nothing worked. “Claire,” he said gently, “I have to run to the office for a few hours. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Claire barely looked at him. “Go ahead. Don’t worry about me.” Dylan leaned down and kissed her forehead, tucking the blanket snugly around her. “You’re still recovering—make sure to stay warm. I’ll bring back that cake you like from your favorite bakery.” With that, he hurried out the door. When he returned a few hours later, cake box in hand, the house was shrouded in darkness. “Claire?” he called out, his voice tinged with panic. After searching every room, he finally checked the security footage and confirmed that she hadn’t left the house. Following the sound of running water, we found her in the bathroom. Dylan flipped the light switch, and there she was—sitting in the bathtub, fully clothed in a thin white dress, her body submerged in ice-cold water. Her expression was distant, her eyes glassy, like she wasn’t even there. “Claire!” Dylan shouted, rushing to pull her out of the tub. The icy water shocked him so badly he shuddered, but he didn’t pause for a moment. “Claire, what are you doing? You’re still recovering! You can’t expose yourself to cold like this—it’s dangerous!” Claire slowly blinked at him, then let out a bitter laugh. “Dylan, stop pretending. If you really cared, you wouldn’t have left me alone when I needed you most.” “You chose your company over me,” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “So why does it matter what happens to me?” Dylan’s face turned pale, his lips trembling, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he called the hospital, his voice cracking as he demanded an ambulance. The red velvet cake he’d brought back for her lay discarded at the bathroom door, crushed and forgotten. Claire spent the next seven days in the hospital. The prolonged exposure to cold during her postpartum recovery caused her to develop a fever and relentless bleeding. She lost so much weight during her stay that she was almost unrecognizable when she was finally discharged. Dylan stayed by her side the entire time. He didn’t shave. He barely slept, dozing off in a chair by her bed, terrified she might disappear if he looked away. When my parents learned what had happened, they both sighed heavily. None of us could find the right words to say. As they walked out of the hospital room, Claire watched them go with an unreadable expression. Then, she said quietly, “I knew this day would come.” “When I’ve accumulated enough scars from all of you, I’ll leave, too.” “No one in this world truly needs anyone else.” I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Claire, what the hell are you talking about?” I snapped, pointing an accusing finger at her. “This family bends over backward for you! We’ve done everything to support you, to make sure you’re happy and healthy. And what do you do? You ruin your own body, push everyone away, and act like we’re the ones to blame. What’s your goal here?!” 3 Claire stubbornly turned her head away. “Your so-called concern, arriving late as always, is worth less than dirt. I don’t need your cheap sympathy.” “Claire, what are you talking about—” My parents, who had just returned to check on her, froze in the doorway, stunned by what they’d overheard. Claire’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of panic flashing in her eyes as she looked at them. But my mom simply sighed, her tone heavy with disappointment. “Claire, just rest. Your health is what matters most. We’ll leave now.” Claire pressed her lips together tightly, saying nothing. Seeing the pleading look in Dylan’s eyes, I swallowed my frustration and left with my parents. After that incident, Claire must have realized she’d gone too far. She quieted down for a while, and things between her and the rest of the family started to ease up. With Dylan’s encouragement, we gradually let go of the tension and resentment. When their baby boy, Nathan, was finally named and started to grow, the house slowly returned to its once-harmonious atmosphere. That is, until the day a new intern from Dylan’s company showed up to deliver some documents. To avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings, Dylan had been working from home, arranging for his male assistant, Jack, to deliver paperwork that needed his signature. Jack would drop off the documents, Dylan would handle them, and Jack would take them back to the office. But on this particular day, Jack called in sick, and the task fell to a new intern. The intern, a young woman who’d just graduated, arrived at the front door in a professional-looking suit and carrying a large work bag. She politely handed the documents to Dylan, who silently signed them without saying a word. Not a single unnecessary exchange occurred between them. Unfortunately, Claire happened to walk in at that exact moment. The intern, sensing the tension, immediately greeted her politely. “Good evening, Mrs. Stone. I’m so sorry to intrude. I’m an intern at the company—my name is Lily. I was just here to deliver these documents for Mr. Stone.” But something twisted in Claire’s expression. It was as if she’d been struck by lightning. Her face darkened, and then, like a storm rolling in, she wore an expression of grim certainty. Dylan, noticing her look, quickly explained, “Jack couldn’t make it today, so Lily had to bring the paperwork over. She’s leaving as soon as I’ve signed them.” Claire, however, didn’t seem to hear him. She gave Lily a strange, almost pitying smile, and then calmly dropped a bombshell. “There’s no need for you to leave. I’ll step aside for the two of you.” Lily froze, completely confused. “I’m sorry… step aside? What do you mean?” I immediately sensed disaster brewing and quickly stepped in, grabbing Claire’s hand. “Claire, let’s not joke around like that! Dinner’s ready—it’s your favorite fish soup. Let’s eat, okay?” I shot Dylan a look, silently begging him to step in. Dylan caught on and shoved the papers into Lily’s hands. “I’ve signed everything. Take these back to the office right away.” But Claire pulled her hand from mine, her face filled with tragic determination. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? You’re here to flaunt your victory, aren’t you? Fine. Take him. He’s yours.” Lily looked horrified. “Mrs. Stone, I think there’s been a misunderstanding! I have a boyfriend—I’m just here to deliver paperwork!” But Claire wasn’t listening. She was lost in her own spiraling imagination, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “Oh, sweet girl. I was young once, too. I remember those promises of eternal love, those grand gestures. Don’t get too comfortable—you haven’t won anything. The only things you can take are the things I no longer want.” Dylan finally lost his patience. “Claire, stop this nonsense! Lily is just an intern! She has nothing to do with me!” Claire stared at him in disbelief, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’re yelling at me? For her? What’s next? Are you going to call me irrational and accuse me of making things up?” Her voice broke, trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “I knew it. Those novels I read—they were right. They’re all just reflections of reality! If I hadn’t walked in on you tonight, how much longer were you planning to keep this a secret from me?”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “295330”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #魔幻Magic
Leave a Reply