The Thorns of Love

In the second year of our marriage, my husband, Sean Everstone and his 'adoptive sister' posted a marriage certificate on social media.

When I confronted him, he snapped impatiently, "Mischa and I have a show coming up, it's just a publicity stunt. Can't you stop overreacting?"

Later, it turned out that our marriage certificate was fake. He stopped pretending.

He openly professed his love for her, seized my family assets and even triggered my mother's fatal illness.

When their lovey-dovey actions knocked over my mother's urn, I finally gave up hope.

***

In these two years of marriage, Sean rarely had time to spend with me.

This morning, I checked his latest update. The picture showed two marriage certificates arranged in the shape of a heart, captioned: "My one true love; I'll love you forever, @Mischa is so adorable."

Mischa Preston was his junior apprentice and she had followed him since her debut.

I immediately called Sean. He answered with his usual gentle voice, "Krystal, what's the matter?"

I didn't beat around the bush, "What's the meaning of your latest post? You're my husband, yet you've registered marriage with my step sister. Are you playing games with me, Sean?"

His tone turned impatient, "Mischa and I have a show coming up. It's just for marketing purposes. Can't you stop being so dramatic? I work hard every day, filming till late at night, who am I doing this for? Isn't it all for this family? Can you just understand and be a bit more considerate?"

I silently endured Sean's scolding. Then I asked softly, "When will you be back? It's Mom's birthday in a few days. Let's go home and have dinner together …"

He hurriedly replied, "We'll see," and hung up.

Right before the call ended, I thought I heard Mischa's voice in the background. She asked quietly, "Is that Krystal? Does she know about us?" I wasn't sure if I'd heard wrong.

Sean's affection for his junior apprentice Mischa was well-known in the crew.

My friends had warned me about the possibility between them more than once.

So I called him again. The mechanical voice of a female operator suddenly sounded: "The number you dialed is currently switched off."

The room was silent, so silent I could hear my anxious heartbeat grow louder. Suddenly, darkness enveloped the room.

The pattering of rain grew louder, like the volume had been turned up. Did Sean have an umbrella with him? If he got drenched, he would surely catch a cold.

Sean was filming a fantasy drama, spending months in the mountains. He once mentioned how hard it was to sleep because of the mosquitoes. So I quit my job and rented the best apartment nearby.

Unfortunately, though, the apartment was in a remote area and even the best unit had no parking.

Today, with the fierce wind and rain, he would surely get sick without an umbrella. I got up, found an umbrella, put on a raincoat, went downstairs and waited in advance.

The heavy rain blurred everything, casting a hazy white veil that made it hard to see clearly. The wind carried the cold rain and I pulled my coat tighter around myself.

A moment later, a familiar Maybach drove into the complex. I immediately opened the umbrella and ran over.

"Why are you so slow? Didn't you see the car come in?" Sean hunched his shoulders and got out, standing under the umbrella.

"The rain was too heavy, it was hard to see …" I explained, reaching to take his arm so we could quickly head into the apartment.

But in the next second, Sean brushed me aside, took the umbrella from my hand and walked straight to the passenger side.

It was then that I noticed he had brought someone back with him. It was Mischa.

Sean held the umbrella with one hand and wrapped his arm around Mischa as they ran ahead. "Krystal, close the car door!" he shouted.

Back in the apartment, before I could even take off my raincoat, I heard Sean urgently calling me. "Bring me a new towel!" he demanded.

I quickly fetched a towel and instinctively went to wipe the rain off Sean.

"Why are you wiping me? Can't you see that Mischa's clothes are half-soaked? What if she catches a cold?" He grabbed the towel, worried that if he didn't dry her fast enough, she would immediately fall ill.

"Sorry, Krystal," Mischa apologized softly. "It suddenly started raining heavily. I had nowhere to hide, so I got into Sean's car to wait it out. But the rain got worse, so he offered to bring me home. Sorry for not telling you in advance."

I was about to politely say, "It's fine."

But Sean spoke first, "Your sister isn't the petty type. She understands that it's dangerous to get soaked in such heavy rain. You could get sick."

I glanced down at myself, my clothes nearly half-drenched. Then I looked at Mischa.

Despite the downpour, Sean had angled most of the umbrella toward her, so her clothes were mostly dry, with just a few stray raindrops blown by the wind.

But according to Sean, somehow, she was 'half-soaked.' Sean himself, on the other hand, was almost entirely wet.

Not caring about his own condition, he gently wiped her hair, neck and chest, as though handling something delicate and valuable.

"Sean, I'm soaked too. Why do you only see Mischa? Am I really that unimportant to you?" I asked.

"And earlier, downstairs, in the heavy rain, you only sheltered her with the umbrella. What about me? Did you even think of me at all?" I wanted to question him like that and I actually did say it aloud.

But as soon as Sean heard it, he flared up, "Krystal! Stop being unreasonable and getting jealous over nothing. Mischa is younger than you and she has a weaker immune system. She's your sister. Don't be so selfish, her health matters too. What if she gets sick? You're older, so you should be more considerate of her."

I hadn't even changed out of my wet clothes and the cold was beginning to seep into my bones.

At that moment, I realized that no matter what I said, in Sean's eyes, I was just being irrational and immature. This wasn't the first time Sean had scolded me over Mischa.

One time, Sean and I had planned a trip. To be honest, I had a hidden motive, I wanted us to have a child together. As the departure date approached, I felt excited.

Until I glanced at the front passenger seat and saw Mischa. My mood instantly plummeted. She greeted me with a bright smile, while Sean looked at her intently, a smile tugging at his lips.

Sean opened the back door for me, still smiling and said, "Mischa gets carsick. She needs to sit in the front where there's more airflow and less bumpiness, so she won't feel sick."

Mischa turned back to me, looking apologetic while she said, "Sorry, Krystal. I heard from Sean that you two were going on a trip and I just mentioned that I wanted to go too. He invited me right away."

"But I swear," she raised her right hand cheerfully, "I checked with Sean beforehand. He said you wouldn't mind." Mischa smiled and Sean smiled along with her.

I felt like a third wheel, intruding on their happiness. They each said their part, without ever asking for my opinion.

Trying to stand up for myself, I ended up having a big argument with Sean.

"All the clothes and luggage are packed. Thanks to you, I've lost the mood to go anywhere. Just stay home and don't go anywhere from now on!" Sean spat out these words angrily before driving off with Mischa, leaving me with several heavy suitcases.

It was the height of summer. Under the blazing sun, I dragged each suitcase back into the apartment.

In Sean's eyes, perhaps I would never be as understanding as Mischa. The way he looked at her was as intense as if he were in the throes of a new romance. When she smiled, he couldn't help but smile too.

I let out a bitter laugh and looked coldly at Sean, "Now you remember I'm her sister? Every time you bring her home without a word, have you ever asked for my opinion?"

At this, Sean's face darkened and he threw the towel at my face and shouted, "Krystal, what's wrong with you today? It's pouring outside, where do you expect Mischa to go?"

"Where she goes is her own issue. You're the one who insists on caring for her, she might not even appreciate it!" I replied.

Slap! Without hesitation, he slapped me across the face, snapping my head to the side.

Mischa hurriedly approached me, pretending to inspect my face and advising me earnestly. "Krystal, don't argue with Sean anymore. He only cares about me because he loves you."

Her words made me feel sick and I pushed her away. Mischa stumbled, nearly falling into Sean's arms.

He caught her, his expression turning even darker. "Are you deaf? Mischa understands the situation, why don't you? How dare you lay a hand on her? Are you looking for trouble?"

He stormed toward me, but Mischa held him back. "Sean, please … forgive Krystal. She didn't mean to upset you," she said.

The next second, her eyes filled with tears and she pouted in distress, "Krystal, I didn't know my visit would make you so angry. If you don't want me here, you could've just told me to leave. Why did you push me? I'm sorry, Krystal. It's my fault. I shouldn't have come home with Sean and made things uncomfortable for both of you."

She looked up with tear-streaked cheeks, her voice catching slightly. "Sean, your clothes are wet, go change before you catch a cold. You care about me and I care about you too."

"If Krystal doesn't like me being here, I'll leave now." She turned, intending to leave.

Sean tried to hold her, "Mischa, don't go!"

The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the leaves. In the darkened sky, a flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by loud thunderclaps.

It seemed that when you're down on your luck, things only get worse. Even the heavens were aiding Sean in keeping Mischa here.

She screamed, covering her ears and threw herself into Sean's arms.

Holding her tightly, he frowned impatiently, "It's too dangerous for Mischa to go back tonight. If you don't want to see her, she can stay in my room."

I chuckled bitterly, "Do you remember that I'm your wife? Isn't your room my room? If you're staying with her, then where am I supposed to sleep?"

"A good wife would be understanding, wouldn't she? There are plenty of rooms here, what does it matter where you sleep? Clean up the study room and you can sleep there. If you still don't want to, go stay at a hotel!" With that, Sean held the still-shivering Mischa and headed up to the second floor.

In Sean's eyes, Mischa couldn't go out in the rain, but it was fine for me to be out on the streets searching for a hotel.

To Sean, even sharing a room with his sister-in-law was perfectly acceptable. This reminded me of the marriage certificate he posted this morning. Our marriage certificate might actually be fake.

I found our certificate and messaged my lawyer friend, asking her to help verify its authenticity.

After tidying up both the bedroom and the study, I lay down, icing the swollen part of my face. When did Sean's relationship with Mischa start to change?

It feels like it's been a long time, so long that I've gotten used to being ignored, used to their close interactions.

I stared at the ceiling, unknowingly waiting until dawn. A sudden vibration from my phone broke the silence.

I picked up and my friend's hesitant voice came through, "Krystal, your marriage certificate with Sean … it's fake …"

In that instant, it felt like a bucket of cold water poured over me from head to toe. Though I had expected it, the confirmation still cut me to the core.

I asked, "So … does that mean the marriage certificates for Sean and Mischa could actually be real?"

Then what did the past two years of sharing a bed with Sean mean? I felt like the biggest joke in the world.

I ended the call, letting my hand fall in exhaustion. After an entire night of reflection, I'd decided my marriage to Sean could end here.

Without any sleep, I waited until morning and knocked on the master bedroom door. Sean appeared, disheveled and shirtless.

Even with his messy hair, his strong brows and sharp features remained striking. "What's your problem now? Are you out to make trouble for me again? How did I end up marrying someone like you?" he said coldly.

I interrupted his words, "Sean, stop pretending." He sobered up, looking at me in bewilderment.

"I already know our marriage is fake. You really went all out to deceive me. Even the couple we registered with at the civil office, they were hired, weren't they?"

Sean, when did you change? Where was the man who once held a banner proclaiming 'I love Krystal' in the busiest area downtown?

The man who, when I had severe cramps at midnight, ran miles to find the only open pharmacy for painkillers?

The man who, when I faced bullying at work, swore he'd take care of me forever? Tears rolled down as I looked at this familiar face that no longer held the person I remembered.

I demanded, "So, Sean, what was the point of this fake marriage? Did you enjoy treating me like a fool?" Countless grievances welled up in my heart.

He crossed his arms coldly, watching my misery with casual indifference, a mocking glint in his eyes, "Yes, I did enjoy it. Since you've figured out the certificate is fake, I don't mind telling you that last night, Mischa already coaxed your mother into signing the property transfer documents."

"Krystal, you and your mother are truly alike. Mischa said your mother didn't suspect a thing, she signed without hesitation when asked, not even questioning it. You're both equally foolish." His words struck like a bolt from the blue.

My mother had always trusted Sean completely. Now, that trust had been twisted into sheer foolishness in his eyes.

I lunged at him in rage, clawing at that despicable face. But Sean easily restrained me, he heartlessly gripping my hair.

I gritted my teeth in pain, struggling to pry his hand off. Just then, Mischa stepped out of the room.

She raised an eyebrow and let out a sneer, "Oh, did she find out? I wasn't done having fun yet."

She pressed her body against Sean, coquettishly tugging on his arm and said, "Honey, kick her out. We didn't get to finish last night, let's continue."

"Alright, baby, whatever you want," Sean replied, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek. With a final tug on my hair, he kicked me out the door.

With nowhere else to go, I returned to my own family home. My mom has a heart condition, so I couldn't bring myself to tell her that everything she owned had been given to Mischa without compensation.

Whenever she asked if Sean and I had argued, I remained silent. But a few days later, Mischa and Sean showed up to wish her a happy birthday.

While grocery shopping, I received a call from the hospital saying my mom had been pushed to the ground and couldn't get up.

Instantly, terror overwhelmed me. An endless, suffocating terror ...

I don't even remember how I made it to the hospital. All night, I signed more critical condition forms than I could count.

For as long as the lights were on in the emergency room, I knelt outside, praying to any god who'd listen not to take my mother.

She was all I had left. But in the end, I still lost her.

She suffered an acute heart attack and passed away despite all attempts to save her. Legally, Mischa inherited the home my mom and I had lived in for twenty-five years.

I couldn't bear to return there. Without my family, even the coziest house no longer felt like home.

I took my mother's ashes and moved into a small, temporary apartment. One evening, after finishing my shift at a bubble tea shop, I returned exhausted to my rented place.

With my mom's ashes nearby, I could feel some semblance of solace. As I reached for my keys to unlock the door, I noticed that the lock had been tampered with.

I grabbed a thick wooden stick, quietly tiptoeing into the apartment. The living room light was on and though the furniture remained untouched, my heart sank.

My mother's urn was gone. Suddenly, I heard noises coming from the bedroom.

I crept closer and the sickening sounds of pleasure grew louder. I shoved open the door, only to find Mischa and Sean tangled up on my bed.

Startled by my intrusion, they both leapt up, accidentally kicking over the urn on the bedside table. My mother's ashes scattered all over the floor.

Mischa adjusted her disheveled shirt and smirked, "Oh, I'm sorry. We just wanted to drop by and see how you were doing. One thing led to another … but don't blame me for knocking over that urn, it was an accident."

I'd tried so hard to distance myself from them, so why did they keep coming back to torment me? I didn't want to cry. I refused to let them see me cry.

"This isn't as amusing as I'd thought it would be," Sean said, straightening his clothes and leaving without a backward glance. Mischa scampered after him.

"Sean!" I called out.

Wiping away my tears, I walked up to him, took off the ring on my finger and threw it at him. "This ring was left to me by your mother. On her deathbed, she told me it was the token of love your father had given her. She said she'd been happy her whole life and wished our marriage would be as happy as hers."