Part 2The Thousand and First Star Will Never Shine

A suffocating silence descended upon the hallway.

Sarah, a senior executive who had harbored a crush on Jim for years, was the first to react.

She stared at me, her voice shrill and trembling.

"Elena! Have you lost your mind?!"

"That is your husband! Are you really going to stand there and watch him die?!"

Annie’s crying escalated into screams. She began hitting my knees with her tiny fists.

"You're a horrible mother! I hate you! Why won't you save my dad?!"

I let her strike me, keeping my gaze steady as I looked at every person standing in that corridor.

I spoke slowly, making sure every syllable was crystal clear.

"We are divorced."

"Legally, I am no longer his spouse. I have no right to sign those papers."

The revelation hit the crowd like a physical blow.

Yes, we were divorced.

We had quietly finalized the paperwork and received our dissolution certificates the day before he left for Vivian's birthday trip. Our ten years of marital misery had officially ended.

No one else knew. We had kept it entirely between us.

Looking at Jim through the glass, a sudden, dark sense of relief washed over me.

I pulled a physically exhausted Annie toward the benches at the end of the hall, forcing her to sit.

She ripped her hand away from mine, staring at me as if I were a monster.

"Mom, why did you divorce him?"

"Did you... did you ever even love him?"

Looking into her innocent, devastated eyes, my heart twinged with guilt.

How could I explain it to her?

Her birth had been a complete accident.

Her father had never wanted her to exist.

And her mother had spent a decade having her dignity ground into dust.

My memory drifted back to ten years ago.

I was twenty four when the wealthy Gifford family dragged me out of that impoverished mountain village.

They claimed I was their long lost biological daughter.

And Vivian, the girl they had pampered for over two decades, was actually the child who had been switched at birth.

I foolishly believed my life was finally beginning.

I had no idea I was simply stepping into a different kind of cage.

Vivian threw tantrums, cried, and screamed, but her parents ultimately sent her abroad with a massive trust fund as compensation.

She graciously relinquished her title as the eldest daughter of the family.

Everyone praised her for being mature and understanding.

Meanwhile, I stood in their opulent mansion, wearing cheap, ill-fitting clothes and carrying the scent of soil and hard labor.

I was a laughingstock.

My biological parents felt guilty, but their interactions with me were stiff and awkward.

They didn't know how to talk to me, so they simply threw money at me to clear their consciences.

And Jim, who had been betrothed to the daughter of the family since childhood, suddenly found his fiancée switched from Vivian to me.

I fell in love with him the moment I saw him.

But he despised me.

He believed I had robbed Vivian of her rightful life.

On our wedding night, Jim drank until he could barely stand, throwing me onto the bed.

There was no warmth, no gentle touch, only a brutal assertion of ownership.

He ripped my clothes apart, destroying any lingering hope I had for our marriage.

The heavy smell of whiskey mixed with his expensive cologne made my stomach turn.

And right before he drifted into a drunken sleep, I heard him whisper that name.

"Vivian..."

In that moment, whatever love I had for him died.

From then on, I was nothing but a ghost in his grand estate.

He rarely came home, and when he did, it was only to satisfy his physical urges.

He never took me to social events; my existence as his wife was confined to legal documents.

He knew every single detail of Vivian's preferences, but he couldn't name my favorite meal if his life depended on it.

On my birthday one year, I gathered my courage and spent hours cooking a elaborate feast, trying my best to follow his favorite recipes.

When he returned, he only gave the table a cold, disdainful look.

"I don't eat spicy food."

With that, he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

I sat alone before the beautiful dishes, tears streaming down my face.

I had forgotten that Vivian was raised in high society, accustomed to mild, delicate flavors.

I, however, had spent eighteen years in a rural town where every meal was seasoned with heavy spices.

My pregnancy was another accident.