My entire family, my daughter, my unborn child—none of them mattered as much to him as Jessica.

"Let's get a divorce."

I closed my eyes, tears streaming down my face, feeling like I was tearing out a part of my soul.

It had not been easy for John and me to get married. Initially, my family was against it, saying John was using me as a stand-in.

After all, John’s affair with Jessica was well-known. He once sped to the airport to catch her, crashed a Ferrari, and nearly died.

But I refused to believe the rumors.

I thought that like plants, with enough care and nourishment, even the most barren land could bloom beautifully.

I had clung to this belief for over a decade.

But now, I realized how wrong I was. John wasn’t barren land; he was a swamp, swallowing everything whole!

John panicked,

"Emily, there’s no need for us to talk about divorce."

I looked at him,

"There’s no more talking about taking the blame either."

"You’re threatening me?" John couldn’t believe it.

I laughed bitterly.

One dose of medicine for seven people.

Should I take the blame or secure my daughter’s future?

John had always forced me to make impossible choices. Wasn’t it fair to let him make one?

John hesitated for a few seconds, a struggle evident in his eyes, before he finally said,

"Okay, I agree."

I followed the police to the station.

John’s assistant came with me, handling all the arrangements and ensuring my safety.

It turned out that Jessica’s company, Southern Pharmaceuticals, was suspected of using defective syringes, causing several infections.

This news had exploded on the internet. John was using me to buy time.

I was placed in a detention room, expected to stay there for three days.

But I was released the next day due to a miscarriage.

A woman in the cell tripped me, causing the fall.

James tried to reach him numerous times at the hospital, but all calls went unanswered.

James looked at me, worn and hopeless, and said cautiously,

"Mr. Garcia must be busy, Madam, please don't worry."

I turned away and closed my eyes,

"Leave. Don’t bother telling him about the child. He doesn’t deserve to know."

I left the hospital and returned home.

As I was packing my bags, John Garcia returned.

He looked exhausted, underlined by dark circles—clearly from running around for Jessica Hernandez.

Upon seeing me pack, his fatigue instantly morphed into anger，

"What are you doing?"