One Fake Headshot, Our Final Farewell

The day my husband, Robert Harding, was kidn*pped and shot in the head by his enemies, I completely broke down. I jumped off a cliff and sank into the sea. After they pulled me up from the deep sea, I felt like every bone in my body was broken. As I drifted back to consciousness, I heard him joking with his new lover, Loretta Flood. Loretta laughed, light and carefree, her voice teasing. "Monica almost died for you—more loyal than a dog—and you're still willing to trick her again?" Monica Gordon—that was my name. "Not anymore," Robert said flatly. "It was just a blood bag I set up. Now I know where her heart lies. Just keep your mouths shut, okay?" The people around him burst into laughter and whispered promises that I'd never find out. I lay in the ICU, crying until my heart went cold. He had cruelly crushed and torn apart every genuine feeling I had for him. Robert didn't know that this was the last time I would ever love him. My love turned to ashes, never to return. When I opened my eyes again, I had been moved to a regular ward. Robert stood there with a bowl of chicken soup, ready to gently feed me. In the past, whenever I was in the hospital, he never stayed with me. Seeing that I was dazed, he gently brought the spoon to my lips. I turned my head away, avoiding the steaming soup. "Let's get a divorce, Robert," I said. He looked startled for a moment. Then he took a sip of the soup himself, trying to hide the amusement in his eyes as he looked at me. After he finished, he called his assistant, Fabian Carter. Soon after, my twin children were brought in. I had been fighting for my life in the hospital for six months. They had grown quite a bit. But the children whom I had carried for nine months and given birth to in pain—they had been raised to look down on me, their own mother. Not long after they were born, Robert's mother, Maggie Harding, took them away to Harding Manor, forcing them to live there. I only got to see them once a year, at the family dinner. Children were a mother's shackle. I knew that. Robert knew it, too. After the twins were born, he complained about my figure. Every night, he hired different call girls to mess around with. Whenever I got angry and left home, he would bring the two kids to talk me into coming back. That little act had played out too many times to count. Those fake attempts at winning me back didn't work anymore. When I saw my round-faced twins, Micah Harding and Lorna Harding, I didn't put on my usual eager-to-please smile. Micah looked unhappy. He was so much like Robert—his biological father—even speaking with that same arrogant tone. "Monica, you're so useless. Dad, I don't want to see her. I want to go back to Ms. Flood," Micah said. 'Ms. Flood?' So he didn't even recognize me as his real mom anymore. Lorna pouted at me, and the next second, she burst into tears. "Dad, take me back to Ms. Flood. I don't want to stay with this ugly woman." Ugly woman? My whole body was full of steel pins, wrapped tight in bandages. It was true—I looked terrifyingly ugly. Robert gave the kids a fake glare. They immediately knew to hide by my bedside, seeking my protection. "Daddy's mean," they said. In the past, I would have softened and told Robert not to be so harsh, hoping to keep the kids around a little longer. But this time, I kept my eyes shut. I didn't look at them. My voice was calm and flat. "Ms. Flood is waiting for you at Harding Manor. You'd better go back now." Robert and the twins froze for a long moment. Micah grabbed Lorna and ran off, throwing over his shoulder, "You said it yourself. I didn't even want to come see you."