Chapter 1

ChapterI was Emma Miller, and my husband wanted to kill me.

After a car accident, I went blind. The doctor said the chances of me recovering were slim.

I lowered my head and said nothing.

The accident came suddenly. According to the investigation, the other driver was drunk and crashed into us.

Fortunately, besides me, the rest of my family was unharmed, and my child was sent to my parents' house.

"Everything is fine, and I'm here with you..." My husband held me tightly, his tears and snot soaking the back of my clothes.

I patted his head, trying to reassure him. "I'm blind, not dead. There are many blind people living happy lives, aren't there?"

He nodded.

After a long while, we returned home.

He held my hand as we walked slowly back, taking it one step at a time.

He said he would find a nanny to help me.

I agreed. He also had a job and couldn't be with me all the time.

But it would take a few days.

He made sure I was comfortable and placed my phone and other things in front of me.

He said that all I had to do was press the power button three times to call him.

I nodded and forced a smile.

After saying goodbye, he reminded me to take my medicine regularly and that he would check when he got back. He then closed the door behind him.

As soon as he left, I broke down in tears. Having once seen the light, how could I bear to live in the dark?

His tenderness only made it harder to bear, and I cried harder.

I met him in college. He was handsome, considerate, and skilled in everything, such as cooking, cleaning, and so on. He was truly exceptional.

His name was Neil Taylor. He was originally introduced to my best friend, and I had gone with her on a blind date. But unexpectedly, he was interested in me. I also liked him, so we ended up getting married.

After marriage, we started a business, and everything went smoothly. Our family was happy.

But...

I cried uncontrollably, but there was nothing I could do.

"Knock, knock..." A knock on the door, followed by a phone call.

I quickly wiped my tears, relying on my memory to answer the phone.

"Emma, I'm here to see you."

It was my brother, Davis Miller.

I was about to stand up to open the door when I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.

"Neil asked me to take care of you for a few days and gave me a key."

My brother pushed the door open and entered.

We had a very good relationship. He was independent and, since adulthood, had never asked me for money.

"I brought some food," he said, closing the door behind him.

Then, he sighed, comforting me, "Don't worry, the doctor said there's still hope."

I nodded. I knew, though, that it was just a polite way of saying there was little chance.

But I nodded anyway, pretending nothing had happened. If I could see, I would have noticed my brother's worried gaze on my red-rimmed eyes.

He turned on the TV. Even though I couldn't see, hearing the sound helped prevent me from feeling so lonely.

He paced back and forth in the living room, and suddenly, I shouted, "Can you be quiet? It's so annoying!"

"Sorry..." I could feel him sitting back down beside me.

He took my hand and wrote on it: [This whole thing seems a bit suspicious.]

I was taken aback and thought, "Suspicious? What's suspicious?"

My brother worked as an editor at a newspaper and had a keen eye, often noticing things others missed.

And if something was going on, why couldn't he just say it out?

I tilted my head slightly, confused.

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