The daughter of a third party.

"After all, Beatrice is your own sister. With such hostility towards your family, how can I trust you to be a good mother?" He fastened his seatbelt, his hand involuntarily slipping through the gap in his glasses to gently massage his brow. It's not entirely his fault. Earlier, Beatrice had tearfully declared her resignation. Then, he received a call from his daughter, who wailed about Betty withholding her allowance and causing her to lose face among her peers. Of course, he didn't disbelieve Betty; he was just a bit distraught by his daughter's tears. As the car started, his heart clenched. Betty's first outburst indeed unsettled him. He pursed his lips, pressed the accelerator, and returned to the villa ten minutes earlier than usual. The faint light from their bedroom window brought a slight relief to Wright as he walked upstairs. However, all he found was a small table with a divorce agreement lying quietly on it. When I ran into Beatrice at the company, discovering she had become Wright's secretary, and by the time I had packed my bags and left, less than three hours had passed. In another three hours, I found myself in City B, 800 kilometers away, back at my mother's home. She opened the door, her eyes wide with shock at my panicked expression. "I told you, marrying him wasn't such a great idea," I said. Back in the day, my mother was forced out by Beatrice and her mother, then married my stepfather and became a stepmother herself. Despite her kind heart and treating her stepdaughter as her own, by the time we met again, she had moved on from that failed marriage. She desperately wanted me to get married and settle down. That year, she underwent a life-or-death surgery. I couldn't bear to disappoint her, so among the** candidates, I chose Wright, a single father with a three-year-old daughter. She didn't want me to become a stepmother like her, but I told her. If I were to marry, it could only be Wright. My mother held me and wept, saying, "A marriage without love, without children, is terrible." I didn't mind. After all, without love and children, it meant I, Betty, could leave at any time. Beatrice's appearance was like a tidal wave crashing on the shore, shocking me to the core. But this shockwave wasn't aimed at my marriage with Wright. We had been married for six years, always treating each other with respect, sometimes even distant, mainly due to my issues. I was like a deer drinking water, lowering my head but remaining alert, ready to flee at any moment. Wright had expressed dissatisfaction with my distant attitude more than once. There had never been a passionate kiss between us. Last night, as we were getting intimate, he was insistent on finding my lips. I dodged as usual, but he caught my hands, and we became entangled. "No—" I twisted my head away forcefully. "For some women, their mouth is their last private domain. Betty, you're that kind of woman," he nibbled at my chin. "I'm not—" "Accept me, wholeheartedly, Betty," he cupped my face with both hands. I pushed against him with all my strength, my feet also struggling, but he disregarded everything and pressed down on me. "I want you, completely," he tried again, gently kissing the tip of my nose, which sent shivers through my entire body. Faced with his affectionate gaze, I felt furious. By then, I already knew about his relationship with Beatrice, and I wanted to tell him that he had no right to do this. But I was also relieved that he had never truly had me. So, when he blatantly paraded Beatrice around, I turned around and left without hesitation. The moment I fell into a deep sleep, I felt a sense of finality. It was as if the long-awaited other shoe had finally dropped. Whoever wants to play the role of the dignified and virtuous Mrs. Betty, let them. There's really no insurmountable obstacle between Wright and me. We even had moments of perfect understanding. He straightforwardly told me that Bonnie was his sister's child, and the plane crash took the whole family to the bottom of the sea. Holding that small body, he vowed to recognize only this daughter for the rest of his life. Then he solemnly promised me that aside from this incident, he would never let me suffer the slightest grievance. That day, we walked side by side by the river, the evening breeze blowing, the scenery so beautiful it was intoxicating, even the sound of the wind seemed gentle. I also talked about my own past, about my acrid stepmother, my heartless biological father, and my cunning stepsister Beatrice. His eyes were full of surprise and sympathy, and he gently held me in his arms. "Betty, you will have a warm home." Not long after, he proposed to me, and later gave me an incredibly luxurious wedding, probably too satisfied with me, he clumsily gave me a box of diamond rings, expressing his feelings. He kept his promise, willing to give me everything except for children. I'm the kind of person who won't treat you poorly if you treat me well. He gave me dignity and respect, and I won't let his efforts be in vain. I said to him, "Wright, I can't promise to be a good mother, my experiences are only filled with lessons and pain." "But please believe me, at least I won't let those misfortunes be repeated on Bonnie." These six years, Wright as a marital partner has performed quite well. Trusting him, relying on him, is the most natural thing for me. I haven't not considered placing my painful childhood, and my wandering lonely life, on him. Sometimes, this at least makes life easier. But thinking about everything now, I'm glad that the shadows given by Beatrice and her mother are ultimately larger. And Wright, he's just so-so.