The first time Zane cheated, I asked for a divorce.
The next day, creditors showed up at my parents' door.
Thirty million in debt.
Pay up, or they'd take my dad's hand.
My father—who had never liked me—knelt on the floor, clutching my hand, his hair gone white overnight.
"I'm old. One hand doesn't matter. Sweetheart, don't worry about me—just live your life. That's enough."
Zane swooped in like a hero.
"Honey, your formula gave me fifty million back then. This thirty million? I'll cover it."
"But I can't pay it all at once. Don't divorce me—let me pay it off monthly?"
Thirty million.
With his net worth, he could've written that check in his sleep.
This was blackmail. Pure and simple.
I agreed anyway.
He was still my dad.
Even if he'd treated me badly, when I was little he'd let me ride on his shoulders to watch fireworks and reach for stars.
The second time Zane cheated, I brought up divorce again.
The next day, my mom collapsed.
The Morton family's private medical team admitted her immediately.
Olivia was abroad for work, so caring for Mom fell entirely on me.
Zane stayed up through the nights by her bedside until his eyes were bloodshot. But he still held my hand, still whispered comfort:
"Honey, I'll take care of Mom. You need to rest—your health comes first."
In the midnight quiet of that hospital room, he held me close, his voice barely a murmur:
"Madeline, when you're old, I'll keep watch by your bed just like this. If you go first, I won't want to live either."
"You suffered so much growing up. God sent me to love you."
The divorce went nowhere.
For my parents. For that pathetic scrap of hope I still carried—that love could be real.
I endured his betrayals. Again and again.
Until the thirtieth time.
When his mistress showed up at my door and ground her heel into my face, I finally broke.
Before I could even bring up divorce, my son Asher Morton wrapped himself around my leg.
He looked up at me with teary eyes:
"Mom, please don't divorce Dad."
"I don't want to be some kid without a mom."
Zane was right about one thing.
Even if he let me go, I still couldn't leave.
My parents depended on the Morton family.
And my son needed his mother.
But he miscalculated.
That day, outside my mom's hospital room, I heard them plotting how to keep the lies going.
Inside, Dad was all smiles:
"I've been faking debt for so long—of course she has to behave and play the dutiful Morton daughter-in-law."