My mom, terminal with cancer, sat in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank, having endured a grueling twenty-hour Greyhound bus ride just to be at my wedding to Ethan.

But when it was his time to walk down the aisle, I called his name until I was hoarse, but he was nowhere in sight.

Turns out, his childhood sweetheart, Sophia, was having a depressive episode, threatening suicide again:

"Ethan, I can't live without you."

My usually stoic fiancé was holding Sophia tightly, desperately begging me to stop the wedding, to let them leave.

Relatives and friends tried to stifle their laughter, watching the absolute train wreck unfold. Right at that moment, as she crossed the hotel threshold, my mom took her last breath. My wedding became her funeral.

Seeing my mom dead, Ethan’s eyes reddened slightly as he looked at me, a hint of guilt surfacing.

"I promise, as soon as I get her checked into the ER, I'll rush right back to marry you. I promise we'll fulfill Mom's last wish."

But he forgot, this was the 96th time he'd hurt me.

And I wasn't going to marry him anymore. Calmly, I texted him, breaking things off.

Ethan, however, just brought his childhood sweetheart back to our home.

1.

"The groom ran off with another woman, right at the altar! Any normal person would lose it, but she actually let him go?"

"Tsk tsk, mother and daughter both have bad luck with men, can't even hold onto one. So embarrassing!"

Below the stage, guests pointed and whispered about me. My mom, overwhelmed by Ethan's cruelty, collapsed, unconscious.

"Mom!" I screamed, catching her, starting chest compressions, trying desperately to perform CPR.

Everyone was startled, but no one stepped forward to help.

Panicked, I begged Ethan, "Ethan! Please, can we get my mom to the hospital first?"

Ethan, still holding Sophia, saw everything.

He shot a cold glance at my mom, his voice dripping with impatience.

"You say your mom's dying every other day. How long are you going to keep up this act?"

"Sophia's depression is life-threatening. Having another person in the car could trigger her even more. Are you trying to kill her?"

His entire world revolved around Sophia. He didn't even care that my mom had collapsed.

He'd completely forgotten that his entire successful business was built on the life savings my mom scraped together for him to start it.

How could someone be so cold-blooded?

I kept doing compressions, but Mom didn't wake up. Seeing this, the crowd finally panicked, chaos erupted, and someone finally called 911.

Amidst the commotion, Ethan tried to leave, but Sophia, fidgeting, stopped him.

After Ethan coaxed her gently several times, Sophia spoke, her voice sickeningly sweet and manipulative:

"Ethan, I feel really awful. Since Auntie isn't using her wheelchair right now, could I maybe use it?"

Instantly, complex gazes fell upon me.

And I just stared, hard, at Ethan.

The wedding was ruined. My mother and I were already beyond humiliated.

Now he wanted to push it even further, take my dying mother's wheelchair for Sophia?

Feeling the woman in his arms tremble, Ethan's eyes filled with guilt as he looked at me:

"Chloe, your mom isn't using the wheelchair right now anyway. Letting Sophia use it for a bit... you wouldn't refuse, right?"

A bitter taste filled my mouth. I almost forgot. Sophia was his childhood sweetheart.

The one who made Ethan ditch my birthdays, ignore me when I was sick, even when my mom was critically ill.

The reason he'd sabotaged our wedding eight times before this.

How could I possibly win against that?

But I didn't want to agree.

Probably sensing my answer, Ethan spoke again after a moment:

"Years ago, you promised you'd grant me ninety-nine requests, unconditionally. Let this be one of those requests, okay?"

"You still have dozens left, right?"

Hearing Ethan say this, my eyes instantly welled up.

Back when my mom first got seriously ill, it was Ethan who knelt by her bedside, begging her to let him marry me.

He sold everything he owned to scrape together money for her treatment.

Mom was deeply grateful and agreed to the marriage. I asked him then how I could ever repay such kindness.

He scratched his head, casually saying:

"Your mom already agreed to let us get married."

But I insisted:

"My mom is my mom. I am me."

Sensing my sincerity, he said:

"Then... just unconditionally grant me 99 requests, or let me hurt you 99 times, and we'd call it even."

In the four years after we got engaged, Ethan never made a single request.

Until Sophia reappeared a year ago. Since then, he'd used up 96.

But this time, he was wrong.

First, there weren't "dozens" left.

Second, this involved my mother's life. I could never agree.

What I didn't expect was that before I could even answer, Ethan grabbed the wheelchair and put Sophia in it.

"Remember, you owe me one less now."

Seeing him act like this, and not wanting to waste time arguing, I had no choice but to lift my mother onto my back myself. But as I passed Sophia, I caught a fleeting, malicious smirk on her face.

The next second, she stuck her foot out, tripping me.

I crashed hard onto the floor, my chin hitting the tile. Pain shot through my entire body. Mom was thrown from my back.

Gasps erupted from the crowd. I scrambled to protect my mom.

Beside me, Sophia spat out venomously:

"Sister, even if you're trying to fake a fall to get Ethan's sympathy, you can't be heartless enough to use your own mom, can you? Auntie's still just pretending to be unconscious."

Someone in the crowd chimed in:

"Ungrateful daughter! Your mom's collapsed, and you're still here fighting over a man? Shameless!"

Unable to watch my humiliation, Ethan started to reach out to help me, but hearing the accusation, his hand dropped.

"Chloe, get your mom up! Haven't you embarrassed yourself enough?"

Sophia tugged at Ethan's sleeve.

"Okay, Ethan, don't be mad about this little thing. Quick, let's go to the hospital pharmacy."

Seeing that I didn't argue, just staggered to my feet and struggled to lift Mom onto my back again, limping.

Ethan started pushing the wheelchair, following me, a hint of concern in his voice:

"Maybe find someone to help you carry her?"

Beside him, Sophia chuckled lightly:

"Sister, you're the woman who can carry a fridge up six flights of stairs. Why suddenly can't you carry a person today?"

"You're not... deliberately blocking my way, are you?"

Hearing this, Ethan instantly distanced himself from me, disgust flashing in his eyes:

"Chloe, why have you become so petty? You know Sophia's having an episode, yet you're deliberately walking so slow. If you can't walk, get out of the way! Don't block the path!"

Me, petty?

He used to praise me for being understanding, saying he appreciated that I never questioned his need to care for Sophia, and he treated me well because of it.

But later, after he ditched me countless times for Sophia, the moment I asked even a mild question, he called me small-minded, accusing me of picking on a sick person.

And now, because of Sophia, we had become unrecognizable versions of ourselves.

His heart had completely tilted away from me.

After a long wait, the ambulance finally arrived.

I placed Mom on the stretcher. Just as I was about to get in, Sophia grabbed my arm again:

"Sister, I'm a patient too, I need to go to the hospital. Give me your spot."

I clenched my teeth so hard they ground together, looking at Ethan.

Ethan looked awkward, and for once, he actually stopped her:

"They don't need to take you. I'll drive you to the hospital. Be good."

Only then did the ambulance doors close.

An hour later, I sat outside the emergency room, tears streaming down my face.

Mom didn't make it. She died in the ER.

The doctor said the ambulance arrived too late. If it had been just ten minutes earlier, the outcome might have been different.

As I stood numbly outside the ER, Ethan finally showed up.

The thought that Mom would still be alive if not for him and Sophia consumed me. Overcome with grief, I wanted to slap him across the face.

But unexpectedly, the moment I raised my hand, he caught it excitedly.

His face lit up with happiness:

"Chloe, thank god you were understanding enough to stop the wedding and let us go! Sophia's episode was really serious. You were so considerate, you saved her life again."

He glanced at the extinguished light above the ER door and said casually:

"Looks like Mom's okay too. Great. You take care of Mom first, I'll come visit her when I have time."

"Next time, I promise the wedding will go smoothly. Mom will definitely get to see us get married, my beautiful bride..."

He finished speaking and ran off.

He had no idea. Once the debt was repaid, I was leaving.

And my mom would never see me get married.

2

While I arranged for Mom's cremation, he was still with Sophia.

I brought her ashes home, packed up her belongings. The housekeeper watched my strange behavior, looking confused.

Just then, Ethan sent a gift via the bridal shop staff: two more wedding dresses.

He specifically included a message: one was an apology for the interrupted wedding, the other compensation for taking Mom's wheelchair.

As the dresses were fully displayed, the young employee gushed, practically seeing pink bubbles around me:

"Mrs. Jiang— Oh, I mean, soon-to-be Mrs. Evans— your fiancé bought out our entire new collection for you! You are so lucky."

My face was blank. Inside, I just wanted to break down and sob.

They didn't know. This was just Ethan's routine compensation after hurting me.

My eyes were empty as I watched them hang the dresses on hangers number 96 and 97.

An entire room filled with wedding dresses, with only the last two hangers in the corner remaining empty.

I looked away. I knew I'd be leaving soon.

I placed the urn and Mom's belongings on the table in the sunroom.

I quickly packed a suitcase.

Just as I put the suitcase by the wall, Ethan returned with Sophia. He was carrying lots of supplements he'd bought for Mom.

He was always so thoughtful, so considerate.

For a hazy moment, it almost felt like the man who had coldly watched my mother die wasn't him at all.

But the next second, conflict erupted.

Sophia's sharp eyes spotted the urn. She let out a sudden, piercing scream as if terrified.

Her "depressive episode" flared up. She reached out and swatted the urn off the table.

The ceramic box shattered, scattering ashes all over the floor.

My vision turned red. I lunged forward, shoving Sophia away, screaming uncontrollably:

"Get away! Don't touch my mom!"

Sophia shrank back into Ethan's arms, sobbing.

"I'm sorry, sister, my depression acted up again... But do you hate me that much? Did you deliberately buy a fake dead person prop and put it here just to scare me?"

Ethan, instantly furious and protective of Sophia, unleashed a torrent of accusations at me:

"Chloe, you know Sophia has depression! Did you buy this disgusting prop to scare her to death? You're truly malicious! Apologize right now!"

"If you know what's good for you, I might still agree to reschedule the wedding. Otherwise, forget about your mom ever seeing you get married!"

Scrambling on the floor, trying to gather the ashes back into the broken container, I screamed back at him, my voice raw with anguish:

"Ethan, these are my mother's ashes!"

Ethan grew up in a single-parent household; he never had a mother.

Ever since we got together, my mom treated him like her own son.

He used to help out at her little dumpling stand every day. When she was bedridden for long periods, he patiently cared for her.

He treated my mom like his own mother. Hearing this, surely he'd react somehow, right?

But after a brief pause, a mocking smile twisted his lips:

"Sophia said your mom isn't dead. What are you pretending for? Besides, she's your mom, not mine. Even if she did die, what's it got to do with me?"

Sophia suddenly clutched her head and started crying dramatically, her words utterly vile:

"Sister, why are you lying to frame me? Auntie just called me last night, calling me a bitch and a whore, telling me to stay away from Ethan."

"It's true, I'm sick, I'm shameless, I'm pathetic for clinging to Ethan. I should just listen to Auntie and go die..."

My mom died two days ago.

She was blatantly lying, slandering my dead mother!

Yet, Ethan believed this outrageous lie.

"You're lying—" I shot back, but my fury was cut short as Ethan kicked me, sending me sprawling.

"Chloe, how can you and your mother be so disgusting? If you don't apologize to Sophia today, don't even think about getting up!"

My head hit the wall. Blood trickled down. I stared at him, my gaze filled with deathly stillness.

Seeing the blood, he faltered for a second, then changed his tone slightly:

"Forget it. Look at you, bleeding all over. Don't be an eyesore here, you'll just upset Sophia."

Sophia, Sophia, his mind was filled with Sophia. Fine. Let him spend the rest of his life with Sophia!

Gritting my teeth, I gathered the broken urn and ashes, went upstairs, and back to my room.

Behind me, a soft voice drifted up:

"Ethan, will sister be upset now that she's been exposed?"

"She brought it on herself. What right does she have to be upset!"

I slammed the door shut, finally blocking out the mockery from outside.

My dad died young. Mom raised me alone, working tirelessly at her street stall.

And I couldn't even protect her ashes. They were thrown on the ground by someone else.

Maybe this was Mom's way of telling me from heaven that it was time to let go of all this entanglement, that I couldn't stay here any longer.

After crying silently for a long time, I picked up the calendar from the desk.

I circled today's date and marked it with the number 98.

The door opened quietly sometime later. Ethan tiptoed over to my side.

Before I could close the calendar, he snatched it away.

Ethan frowned, looking at the red circle that had nearly torn through the paper. Annoyance flickered in his eyes.

"What's this circle around 98 supposed to mean?"

3

I quickly grabbed the calendar back and closed it. "Nothing, just spacing out."

He seemed surprised by my calmness, then suddenly remembered something:

"You should really try to break that spacing-out habit. Last time, you almost got hit by a car."

He was talking about that time in college. I was agonizing over a clothing design, lost in thought, and wandered off the sidewalk into traffic.

In that terrifying moment, he was the one who pulled me back.

I treated him to dinner to thank him, and one thing led to another, sparking our relationship.

Knowing he'd misinterpreted my current state, I didn't explain, just gave a noncommittal nod.

Lost in the memory of our college romance, a rare smile appeared on Ethan's usually stern face:

"Alright, don't sulk alone. Come see this, I know you'll love it."

He led me downstairs and snapped his fingers.

Several housekeepers wheeled out an exquisite, luxurious wedding dress.

"Chloe, you will be my most beautiful bride."

"About what happened with Sophia earlier... I'm sorry I lost my temper with you. This dress is my apology. I promise I'll give you the grandest wedding ever."

Ethan declared this publicly, professing his feelings in front of everyone.

The housekeepers beside us practically swooned with envy.

My expression remained flat.

"Put it in the closet."

Seeing my lack of enthusiasm, his face darkened slightly:

"You don't have to keep picking fights with Sophia. You were partly wrong in this too."

"Mom obviously isn't dead. You lied to us, saying that urn was hers. If Mom heard you, she'd definitely scold you too."

I almost laughed out loud in bitterness.

He still didn't believe my mom was dead?

If he had even an ounce of trust in my words, a simple call to the hospital would confirm it.

But he treated Sophia's words like gospel.

I was truly talking to a brick wall.

I scoffed coldly, "I did nothing wrong."

Ethan's face contorted, finding me utterly unreasonable:

"So you think Sophia and I are deliberately trying to make trouble for you?"

"What else?" I replied flatly.

"You're unbelievable!"

Ethan slammed the door with a deafening crack and stormed out, furious.

I knew where he was going. Back to Sophia.

Sure enough, Sophia immediately started bombarding me with photos and videos, flaunting their time together.

I simply blocked her number and went to sleep.

The next day, having few relatives or friends left, I arranged a simple funeral service for Mom.

I notified Ethan, wanting some closure, a final conversation before cutting ties completely.

His reply was simple: "Okay."

But the service was almost over, and he never showed up. Instead, Sophia arrived, followed by a group of rough-looking thugs.

Sophia saw the surprise in my eyes and smirked.

"What, surprised to see me?"

Seeing their aggressive stance, I sensed trouble. "Why did you bring these people here?"

"To trash the place, of course! Go on, smash it all!"

At her command, the thugs stormed into Mom's memorial setup, smashing everything in sight.

Countless flowers were scattered, wreaths trampled, even Mom's portrait was shattered. Chaos reigned.

"Stop! Don't touch anything! One more move and I'm calling the cops!"

I shielded the urn with my body, shoving them away furiously, screaming until my voice was raw.

Their fists and makeshift clubs rained down on me. My head bleeding, pain overwhelming me, I collapsed.

Sophia grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, forcing me to look at her.

"That old bitch mother of yours. If she didn't die, was she just going to keep leeching off Ethan?"

"Ethan says you're just a boring housewife. He's tired of you, can't get rid of you, so I had to help him out."

A housewife? Is that how Ethan described me to her?

Before we were engaged, I was a well-known fashion designer.

It was only after his business took off that he begged me to quit my demanding job, saying he didn't want me running back and forth, exhausted, that he would take care of me.

But now, my mother and I were just burdens in his eyes.

Fine.

I really was leaving.

But I wasn't going to let her get away with this.

Seeing me dazed, Sophia sneered dismissively, then turned to the thugs:

"Throw her in the coffin, nail it shut with her mom—"

Before she could finish, I grabbed a sharp piece of broken wood from the floor and stabbed it hard into her shoulder. Then, I lunged, wrapping my hands fiercely around her neck.

A desperate counterattack!

Sophia let out a bloodcurdling scream, cut short as my grip tightened.

The thugs froze, startled, about to move.

I snarled viciously, "Get lost! All of you! Or I snap her neck right now, and you won't get paid a dime!"

Sophia shook her head frantically, pleading with them for help, but the thugs scattered and ran. Relief washed over me.

I released my grip, shoving Sophia to the ground.

Before I could react, a stinging slap landed hard across my face.

My head snapped sideways, ears ringing, as I heard Ethan's furious roar:

"Chloe, how dare you provoke Sophia again? Did you think my warnings were just hot air?"

My eyes, blazing red, fixed on Ethan. "She was going to bury me alive!"

Ethan seemed momentarily flustered by my shout, turning to look at Sophia.

Sophia clung to him like a lifeline, sobbing pitifully:

"Ethan, I was just joking! But sister took it seriously, she tried to kill me!"

He pulled Sophia protectively into his arms, then turned on me, his voice harsh, as if I'd committed some heinous crime.

"She's sick, Chloe! She was just joking with you! How could you take it seriously and attack her?"

This same transparent act had played out countless times. And yet, Ethan still blindly believed Sophia every single time.

Tired of his lectures, I stated numbly, "Ethan. This is the last time."

Seeing the utter coldness in my expression, Ethan felt a jolt of fear, a sense that he was losing something vital.

Noticing the injuries covering my head, he loosened his hold on Sophia. "Forget it. Let me take you to the hospital first."

He reached for me, but Sophia suddenly clutched her back, crying out:

"It hurts, it hurts so bad! Ethan, my shoulder! Sister stabbed me right through! I'm going to die from the pain!"

Seeing the blood soaking through Sophia's clothes, Ethan panicked. Any concern for me instantly evaporated.

He scooped Sophia up and ran towards the door, tossing back one sentence:

"I'm taking her to the hospital first. Call yourself an ambulance. Text me when you get there, I'll come meet you."

I watched his figure disappear through the main entrance. Then I called 911 myself and was eventually loaded onto the ambulance.

Just as the ambulance pulled up to the hospital entrance.

My phone buzzed with an anonymous text:

"I won't let him come get you."

Immediately after, Ethan's call came through:

"Sophia's injury is too serious, she needs someone with her. I can't pick you up right now. Later, I'll definitely find time to check on you later, I promise!"

I could hear Sophia's coquettish voice in the background before Ethan abruptly hung up. He never asked about me again.

So I was alone. Surgery, paying bills, recovering, staring blankly.

During that time, Ethan never visited me once. But I'd occasionally catch glimpses of the two of them, acting lovey-dovey, in various corners of the hospital.

What a perfect couple.

I contacted a real estate agent and put the house up for sale.

This was the house Ethan bought with the first big profit he made after starting his business with Mom's money.

That was when Ethan loved me the most. The deed was solely in my name.

I thought we would build a happy home there.

I never imagined I'd be the one selling it off in the end.

I signed the contracts quickly, finalizing the transfer. The agent assured me they would handle the moving arrangements completely.

Only then did I leave.

Back home, the housekeeper presented me with the 99th wedding dress Ethan had sent.

I hung it on the last empty hanger in the closet.

After paying the staff their final wages and letting them go, I circled the date on the calendar, marking the final number: 99.

In the blank space on the calendar page, I wrote my farewell letter to Ethan.

"Family gone, debt repaid. Ethan, we're done."

I placed Mom's death certificate and the calendar page together on the coffee table.

Then, I picked up my suitcase, went to the airport, chose a random flight, checked in, and boarded.

As the plane soared into the sky, an exhausted Ethan finally returned home.

The villa was eerily silent. Confused, he tried calling me.

His eyes fell on the note on the coffee table. Just as he reached for it, the cold, robotic voice came through his phone:

"Sorry, the number you have dialed is not reachable..."

And the next second, he saw my mother's death certificate.

As if realizing something, his hand trembled as he snatched up the calendar page. When he saw the large, stark words written there...

Ethan's pupils constricted instantly.