Chapter 1

When Mark married me, he didn't spend a dime, and all our neighbors praised me for being such a good wife.

Little did I know, in the first year of our marriage, he was already keeping a college student mistress. The day I gave birth, he was still fooling around with the company’s receptionist.

When our daughter turned six, he told me, "Clara, we're not a good match. Let's get a divorce."

I barely managed to suppress the smirk threatening to break free, and without a second's hesitation, I agreed, "Okay."

Six years of silent endurance were finally about to pay off.

Our family has a generations-old curse.

The more one partner sacrifices, the more the other is cursed to repay, manifold, once the marriage ends.

That’s why, when I found out about Mark’s affairs, I never made a fuss.

"Clara, Mom says you dumped her chicken broth. She slaved over it for three hours! You have no respect for your elders!" Mark burst out, just a month after he hadn’t been home, immediately launching into accusations.

I had just given birth and was still breastfeeding. I frowned, "That broth was from your last visit, Mark. It was just scraps, left in the fridge for thirty days. It was molded and stank."

"Oh, my son, you truly married a *gem* of a wife!" Denise, my mother-in-law, wailed dramatically from the side. "I barely touched it myself! What business was it of hers to just throw it out? She has no manners!"

Mark’s face immediately hardened. "My mom is thrifty! If she wants to save it, let her save it! The fridge is big enough. What's wrong with letting her keep it?"

I was furious. "The fridge is packed with fresh breast milk! If that broth went bad and contaminated the milk, and our daughter got sick, would you be the one taking her to the hospital?"

"If the milk goes bad, just pump more, what's the big deal?" Mark said dismissively, not even bothering to consider how much pain I’d gone through to clear my ducts, or how much time I’d spent carefully storing all that fresh breast milk.

Denise chimed in with Mark, her voice sharp with accusation. "If our granddaughter gets sick, it's *your* fault! What's the point of earning barely enough to cover your coffee budget? You're completely dependent on my son! And you graduated with a Master's from a top-tier university? Your weekly wage is less than my niece who only finished middle school!"

My vision swam with anger.

Of course, your niece, working twelve hours a day on the production line, can earn that much.

My weekly wage is peanuts because the month after we got our marriage license, your son *punctured* the condoms, leading to an unplanned pregnancy.

I had just started a new job, still in my probation period, when I found out I was pregnant. My boss wasn’t happy, of course. They sidelined me and cut my entire year-end bonus.

He had promised me before we got married that we'd wait a few years to have kids.