She knew better than anyone that I used to suffer from extreme mysophobia—I refused to touch anything that had been touched by someone else. That was why I didn't hesitate to file for divorce when I discovered Phoebe was having an affair.
However, she refused to let go.
In a short time, she orchestrated a car accident that killed my parents and took over the company. My parents were buried hastily and the very next day, Phoebe brought Jose right into our home.
Consumed by hatred, I grabbed a knife to stab that despicable couple.
Yet the moment I accidentally cut Jose just a little, Phoebe bribed a doctor to diagnose me as mentally unstable. She had me sent to a mental hospital for torment, forcing me to learn obedience.
Meanwhile, she and Jose shamelessly enjoyed the vast fortune and connections my parents had spent their entire lives building.
My fingers trembled violently as I took the gasping child from her. "Sshh, shhh. Don't cry, baby."
My gentle soothing was effective. The child, exhausted from crying, fell into a deep sleep in my arms.
Phoebe looked at me, as if wanting to say something, but she held back. I avoided her gaze and carried the child back to the nursery.