My husband, Mark Stone, got into a car crash while he was using the bathroom at home. He’d just finished hitting me and went to the toilet, his mistress, Lily, cozying up outside the door, laughing and badmouthing me with him. Suddenly, a deafening crash. A runaway semi-truck plowed through our yard, straight over my husband and his mistress. Doctors were sifting through the wreckage for his mangled body. From the corner, I spotted a small battery that had fallen out of his pocket and casually kicked it towards them. His face was ashen, eyes wide and filled with unspoken words, but he couldn’t scream. At the hospital, the doctor said: “His left leg is a comminuted fracture, not much hope of saving it. If we were to use—” “No money. Just cut it off.” During the time I was gathering evidence, my husband, Mark, who I’d worked hard with to become wealthy, brought his mistress to our home and beat me, all to force a divorce. I refused to sign, driven by a burning desire to avenge our lost child. He got tired of hitting me, went to take a dump, and then… the crash. Karma’s a bitch, and it came like a tornado. Twenty minutes later, traffic cops, insurance adjusters, doctors, nurses, and a swarm of reporters were snapping photos as he lay on the ground, butt-naked and moaning. For all our shared history as husband and wife, the ‘good thing’ the doctors couldn’t find for him, I kicked it over. That was his life-sustaining item, after all. As for his mistress, Lily Miller, besides a slightly soiled dress, she had no other injuries. When Mark used to hit me, he’d brag about her incredible flexibility as a dancer, claiming she could master any dance style. Now she was twisted up like a pretzel, so she should be just fine, right? At the hospital, the doctor asked for an upfront payment of $100,000. I pulled out my bank card. Balance: $10. “Doctor, just stitch him up for now. His mom knows a miracle doctor, she can save him for free.” “What miracle doctor? Where is he? Quick, call him!” “Church. God.” “…” The doctor sighed. “Let us try a little harder.” “Alright.” I then asked, “If I sign organ donation papers now, can it be deducted from the medical fees?” “No.” The doctor looked at his scans. “However, his left leg is a comminuted fracture. There’s little hope of saving it. If we use—” “No money. Just cut it off.” The young nurse beside me winced. “Put aside any grudges for now. Money can be earned again.” Fine. “Actually, we’re not really broke.” I patiently explained, “He transferred all his money to his mistress. If you could just wake her up and ask for her bank card password?” The nurse glanced at Lily. “Spinal fracture. She might never wake up.” I threw my hands up. “Doctor, please saw gently.” *** PAYWALL
When the accident report came out, other people’s faces were blurred out. My husband’s butt was censored. The doctors operated on him for five hours, finally pulling him back from the brink of death. The moment he woke up, I stopped his pain medication. “Just bear with it. Earning money isn’t easy, save wherever you can.” I’m sure he agreed with that. After all, those were his exact words to me once. The result? Amidst his screaming and yelling, he spilled the beans about all his hidden assets, holding nothing back. Unable to move, he pursed his lips and ordered me to get the money from his mistress. Honestly, it’s just a leg being sawed off. Why’s he being so dramatic? What’s a little suffering for love, right? Just as I submitted documents to the court, froze Lily’s bank accounts, and was about to retrieve the money, Mark died. It was early that morning. He’d been transferred to a regular ward, fully conscious, his eyes still able to move. The truck driver, the one who caused the accident, rushed into the room and knelt, sobbing, asking me: “Can I get a family letter of forgiveness?” “Sure,” I said, “how many do you need?” The bed suddenly shook. My husband, Mark Stone, let out a hoarse cry, a few strangled sounds, and with that, he was dead—furious at me. The emergency doctors rushed in, ushering me and the driver out. “Wait,” I stopped a doctor, pulling out my phone, “I need to record a video.” Documenting the beautiful moments of life. Outside the ward, the truck driver knelt, weeping. “I’m a sinner, I’ll pay, I’ll pay, but I only have two million dollars…” I quickly helped him up. “Get up, angel.” “He’s an unemployed bum, what’s he worth, two million?” I wasn’t trying to intentionally insult my deceased husband. But to force me to leave with nothing, he’d not only transferred all his assets but also made his mistress, Lily Miller, the official owner of his company. He’d declared himself unemployed, refusing to give me a single cent, and even demanded I transfer my meager remaining salary to him. Accident compensation is tied to the victim’s income. Hitting and killing a CEO is not the same as hitting and killing an unemployed bum.
Because I’d signed the organ donation papers in advance, after Mark took his last breath, the doctor gave his body a respectful bow. Then his corneas, heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys were all harvested. Originally, his body could have been preserved in formaldehyde as a teaching specimen. However, the accident damage was too severe. He was just medical waste, and I brought him to the crematorium, sending him into the furnace. Mark’s hair, fat, and oils, in the raging fire: Spinning, jumping, his eyes were closed; The compensation money he’d never know, while I got lost in counting the dough; Through snowy days and summer nights, I wouldn’t slow; All of it, his inheritance, a past I crushed and let go. I was so happy I wanted to jump and do a 360-degree spin right there, then land in a split on the truck driver’s head. A mortuary assistant called me back to reality as I was about to place a small flower. She said, “We have urns for $5,000, $6,000, $7,000.” When it was time for cremation, I ordered KFC delivery. I pulled out a KFC bucket with Colonel Sanders on it and shook it out. “Put it here.” The assistant rolled her eyes. “What grudge could be this deep? We have a plastic urn on discount for just $200.” “Revenge for my child. Is that enough?” The assistant paused, then said, “I’ll help you crush the ashes finer.” I picked up Mark’s ashes, opened my backpack, and put them next to the organ donation documents. For the first time, I felt that marriage had three great perks: pulling the plug, signing the papers, and a feast of inheritance. Just outside the crematorium, I got a call from the hospital. The mistress, Lily, had woken up. Lily Miller didn’t come from a wealthy background, but she loved to dance. Her parents went into debt to support her passion. But dancing isn’t just about love; it requires talent. Without reaching a top-tier level, graduation meant unemployment. So she latched onto Mark. Money, a company, love… and quadriplegia. I dangled the documents in front of her. “All the properties under your name have been seized. The $8.62 million Mark transferred to you? It’s already back in my account. No offense, just wanted to show off a little.” “I don’t believe you! I want to see Mark! Make him get his ass over here!” I placed Mark’s ashes on the pillow next to Lily. “With the bucket, it weighs about three pounds. He’ll never leave you now.” Truly, a pillow-person! Lily screamed hysterically in the hospital room. Oh, she screamed too soon. This was just the beginning. The real angels were still on their way.
“Please, save me! Don’t take all the money! I need surgery! I still want to dance!” Lily cried as she spoke. I tilted my head, a cold smile playing on my lips. “If my child hadn’t been tortured into a miscarriage by you two, she might have had a chance to dance too.” “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! But I don’t want to lie in bed for the rest of my life. Save me, please! I’ll atone for my sins for the rest of my life!” Lily, a quadriplegic, could only move her head. She wept and pleaded, helpless as snot streamed into her mouth. Sigh. Just days ago, she was a graceful swan, shining brightly on stage. “Don’t worry,” I consoled her. “Things aren’t entirely without hope.” Lily’s eyes suddenly lit up, looking at me with desperate expectation. I smiled. “I’ve notified your parents. About you being his mistress and everything. They’ll be here soon. Don’t worry, even if I don’t save you, they’d sell a kidney to save you.” Lily’s eyes widened, glaring at me with hatred. Then she screamed again: “Ava Stone, you’re not just killing me, you’re crushing my soul! You’ll die a horrible death! Hmph, *spit, spit*!” With only her head movable, Lily could only spit at me. Her aim wasn’t good enough. “Ava, please! I’m begging you!” Lily, like a madwoman, finished spitting and then burst into fresh tears. “Don’t let my parents see me like this! I’m begging you! Just kill me if you have to, but don’t let my parents come! Waaah!” I heard footsteps in the hallway. Lily froze, too scared to make a sound. *Bang!* The door opened. It wasn’t Lily’s parents. “Oh,” I remembered, “I also notified Mark’s family.” It was my ex-mother-in-law, Brenda, and a young woman, Carly, holding a six-month-old infant. I specifically pointed at the baby. “Allow me to introduce you. This is Mark’s child.” Lily looked at the baby, then burst into desperate sobs. “You animal! Mark Stone, you’re an absolute animal! You lied to me! I thought I was the mistress, but I was the fourth! You animal, you ruined me!” Carly rolled her eyes at me. Still holding the baby, she reached out and slapped Lily across the face. “What are you crying for? Where did you hide all of Mark’s money?” Lily scoffed, probably fueled by extreme hatred, and shouted defiantly: “Get lost! I’ll die before I tell you! Go dumpster diving with your child! You shameless mistress, *spit*!” After being spat on, Carly said nothing, but my ex-mother-in-law, Brenda, stepped forward. *Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap!* She delivered ten resounding slaps to Lily’s face. Lily’s nose bled, her cheeks turned crimson, and she wailed in pain. “It’s… it’s with her,” Lily looked at me. I suddenly felt like testing Brenda. I spread my hands innocently. “I just asked her. Mark only transferred $100,000 to her. When we get it back, I’ll give you $50,000.” Lily’s eyes widened. She started to curse: “You bitch—Aaagh!” Just as Lily was about to insult me, Brenda grabbed her mouth, pulling her lips so hard they looked like they might reach her ears. I watched, feeling a phantom pain. It was truly brutal. “My son couldn’t have only $100,000!” Brenda began her interrogation. “His company makes millions a year, and he has a huge villa! Tell me now!” My heart turned cold. Mark had always told me his company was losing money. Turns out, everyone knew everything but me. Carly, holding her baby, kindly advised: “You might as well tell them. Mark and Ava have a marriage certificate. Mark and I have a child. You’re not going to get anything good out of this anyway.” Poor Lily was immobile, at their mercy. She cried out in pain, tears and snot streaming down her face.
*Bang!* The door opened again. “My daughter!” This time, it was Lily’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Miller. Seeing their daughter lying on the bed, being abused, the couple, both over fifty, immediately lost their minds. “You old hag, let go of her!” Mrs. Miller shoved Brenda away. Mr. Miller was furious. “You’ve harmed our daughter like this, we’re going to sue you!” Carly quickly placed the baby on the next bed, rolled up her sleeves, and shouted back at Mr. Miller: “Your daughter was mistress to my child’s father! What nerve do you have to sue? She deserves to be paralyzed! You couldn’t raise your child right in her first half of life, now you can change her diapers for fifty years in her second half! Just make sure you don’t die before her!” Those lines were toxic. But I heard them and wanted to jump up and applaud. Mr. Miller slapped Carly across the face, knocking her to the ground. “How dare you lay a hand on her? My old lady will fight you to the death!” Brenda retaliated, not to be outdone. But surprisingly, she didn’t hit Mr. Miller. Instead, she spun around and grabbed Lily’s neck. “I’ll strangle your daughter!” Lily: “…” Her eyes rolled back, and her tongue lolled out. Mrs. Miller rushed to pull Brenda off, but Brenda wouldn’t let go. Both women pulled with all their might. They dragged the quadriplegic Lily from the hospital bed onto the floor. Mr. Miller threw another punch, and Carly quickly got up to join the fray. The four of them erupted into a chaotic brawl in the hospital room. The baby, startled, began to cry. Lily, twisted on the floor like a crumpled painting, also wailed loudly. The four fought, cursed, and yelped in pain. What a spectacle. I felt like I owed them a movie ticket; these five actors were truly delivering a performance. My ex-mother-in-law, Brenda, was the worst. I don’t know if it was intentional. But during the pushing and shoving, she kept stepping on Lily’s hands, arms, and ribs. Quadriplegic Lily couldn’t feel the pain, but the damage was minor, and the humiliation was immense. That pretty face, which had once seduced men away from their homes, was now tear-streaked and as pitiful as a squashed tomato. I truly believe she genuinely regretted being Mark’s mistress.
You know, men just have more strength. My ex-mother-in-law, Brenda, was beaten black and blue, her head wrapped in bandages, lying in the hospital bed next to Lily. They lay shoulder to shoulder, both panting, but not a word between them. Lily’s parents were taken away by the police. Carly, needing to care for her baby, escaped unscathed. When she found me again, she was limping. “You’ve already retrieved Mark’s money, haven’t you?” “Yep.” “Then why did you lie earlier and get us all beaten up?” Carly’s left eye was swollen shut, looking like a bruised child’s butt on her face. I smiled. “I was just joking with the mistress. Why did you hit her?” “What right do you have to hit her?” “I was Mark’s wife. Who are you?” “What does Mark’s inheritance have to do with you?” I rattled off a string of questions, and Carly was speechless. Exactly. She kept claiming the child she held was Mark’s, but she and Mark had no direct legal relationship of inheritance. Carly was the product of my ex-mother-in-law’s wild youth, running off with some random guy. Brenda, unable to handle hardship, ran off again when Carly was five. She remarried later and then had my husband. It wasn’t until about a decade later that Brenda and Carly reconnected. Reluctantly, I guess she’s my ex-sister-in-law. “But the child I’m holding *is* Mark’s,” Carly said with a smug smile. “She and my mom both have inheritance rights.” Now this was a tricky problem. Carly inherited her mom’s excellent traditions. At a young age, she was messing around with a handsome hairdresser. When she got pregnant, they planned to get married. But as they planned, the hairdresser disappeared with his two big pairs of scissors. By then, Carly’s belly was big. Reputable doctors wouldn’t perform abortions on healthy fetuses in late-term pregnancies. She cried to Brenda, begging for money to get an abortion at a private clinic. Brenda, uncharacteristically, persuaded her to keep the baby, and demanded that the child be registered under Mark’s name. This way, the child would be saved, it wouldn’t hinder Carly from marrying a rich man later, and the child could even get official city status. Three birds with one stone? No, five birds. Brenda not only saved the abortion fee but also prevented me from getting Mark’s assets in the future. If I ever dared to stir up any trouble, she could extort child support from me again. Thinking about it, my ex-mother-in-law truly never loved either of her children; she just gave birth to two tools. At the time, I was consumed by the grief of my miscarriage. Mark tried every sweet talk to make me adopt this child. I refused point-blank. But when Carly gave birth, he secretly went to the hospital and registered the birth certificate, with “Mark Stone” written in the father’s column. A birth certificate for a child doesn’t require a marriage certificate, just the parents’ IDs. But to officially adopt the child and get them registered in our family record, that would need my approval. Mark argued and pleaded endlessly to register the child under his name. No matter how much I talked or fought, he wouldn’t budge. When the argument got heated, I blurted out: “You can take the kid and go on dates with your mistress! While you’re at it, teach her how to be a stepmom, see if she still brings you your milk!” Mark froze, then quickly pulled out his phone and called Brenda. “Mom, Ava said if this child enters our house, she’ll choke me to death! I have a meeting, goodbye!” A problem I’d argued and pleaded with him about for six months, he rejected in ten seconds, just because I mentioned the mistress. I truly never expected that one day, I’d benefit from the mistress’s presence. It was from that moment on that my heart grew cold. I started collecting all kinds of evidence of Mark’s illegal and immoral activities. Mark tried to force a divorce several times but failed, until he lost all patience, brought his mistress home to beat me up, and then got hit by a semi-truck while on the toilet.
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