Both my daughter and my husband's sweetheart were diagnosed with cancer. As the surgery approached, my husband emptied our savings, all for her treatment. Meanwhile, my daughter was left to curl up and endure the agony. He urged me to be magnanimous, arguing that the living always take precedence over the dead. But he didn't know that his sweetheart was faking it, and our daughter would never come back.

I lost my memory in the spring of the second year after Keveon's deafness was cured, on the day he and Majerle uprooted our peach tree by the roots. At his lowest point, when he was deaf and mute, he signed with fierce determination, "Keveon will never let Tora down." Yet, once his condition improved, he joked with friends in front of me, "It's kind of embarrassing to bring a deaf person around." Little did he know, I could hear him. I had been pretending to be deaf and mute for five years, all to support his optimistic outlook on life.

My sister, missing for years, was back. Just two days before my promotion ceremony, she knelt before me in front of the whole family, pleading for the project I had allegedly taken from her. Even my wedding was up for grabs to fulfill her dying wish. All because she was terminally ill and on the brink of death. As if that wasn't enough, she had the audacity to ask for the only painting my mother left me after she passed. I was at my wit's end.

On the eve of my wedding, an unexpected diagnosis shattered the tranquility of my life. But what struck even harder than the illness was the news that my fiancé had postponed our wedding. “Jean's been feeling down. I'm taking her out to clear her head. Let's put the wedding on hold,” he said. While they indulged in a lavish yacht feast, I was left retching uncontrollably from stomach cancer. Later, as I lay in the hospital bed, his sister, eyes swollen with guilt, whispered an apology. “I'm sorry, it's all my fault for being so selfish. I really didn't know you were sick, sister.” Kevin's voice, dripping with disdain, cut through the air as he said, “Had enough of this charade? Let’s just get on with the wedding. Stop pretending to be sick to force me into marrying you.” But this wedding? I realized I didn't want it anymore.

After the car accident, my daughter was bleeding profusely and urgently needed a blood transfusion. My husband, the perpetually busy general manager who was rarely home, spent the entire night by the bedside of his first love's son. My daughter had a rare blood type, known as 'panda blood', and the blood bank was running dangerously low. My husband urged me, also having the same rare blood type, to donate. I donated until my face turned pale, and the nurse advised me that I had reached the maximum limit for donation. Yet, Martin insisted that Clevie's son receive the blood first.

For three long years, I had been a shadow by Colin's side, without a name or status. His friends often remarked that I was the woman who had stayed with him the longest. Hearing this, I just gave a slight smile. Because I knew I was just a stand-in. Throughout those years, I played my part with dedication, enduring taunts and tricks without ever thinking of leaving. At Colin's mere word, I would face any storm. Just when I thought this entanglement with Colin would never end, one day he returned. The captivating mole at the corner of his eye was gone. I asked him why he had it removed, and he shoved me aside with irritation, saying his beloved didn't care for it. From that moment, I realized it was time to set my plan in motion. So I proposed we break up, and he lost it.

My daughter died on the day she was supposed to celebrate turning thirteen. It was only then that I realized my husband never truly cared for me or our daughter. All my efforts to keep our family together were nothing more than a delusion. As I cradled my daughter's lifeless body, sobbing uncontrollably, my husband was off with his first love and her son, lavishing them with care and affection. When I stormed back with my daughter's ashes, seeking retribution, my usually aloof husband broke down in tears. That's when he remembered all the good I had done for him and began to desperately plead. "Wendy, I was wrong before, please forgive me. We can have more children, I promise. Just forgive me."

When Anrew had been hospitalized and confined to a wheelchair for three long months after a car accident, I tended to him with tender care and unwavering attention. Once he was discharged, he proposed to me. Two years into our marriage, Donie returned. I was hospitalized due to a miscarriage, while they were off on a romantic island getaway. The day I was diagnosed with leukemia, I saw him at the hospital, accompanying his ex-girlfriend for an IV drip. She was just ill, but I was dying.

My fiancé never liked my sister. "Why does she always badmouth me? If she weren't your sister, I'd have put her in her place long ago." But somewhere along the line, they became inseparable. The engagement ring I had set my heart on ended up on her finger first. When I confronted him about it, my fiancé was indifferent: "It's just a ring. Why are you making such a fuss?"