Your Regret, My Revenge

The bone marrow match was a success. I could finally live.

The hospital door was slightly ajar. My husband, Vincent Jenkins's voice drifted in from the hallway. "Give the marrow to Cathryn. She's carrying my son."

A loud buzz filled my head, drowning out everything else.

My blood felt like it instantly froze, every ounce of strength drained from my body.

After three years of chemo, I'd lost all my hair, vomited until I was dry-heaving bile, but I never once thought of giving up, because Vincent had always been by my side.

He always said, "Hang in there, Brenna. We still have decades ahead of us."

I believed him.

But now, he was giving my only shot at survival to another woman and a son I'd never heard of.

My primary doctor was Vincent's cousin. I heard his cousin's voice, hesitant.

"Vincent, that woman is near her due date. She can't undergo a transplant surgery now. And her condition... she can wait. But your wife... She can't wait any longer. Acute leukemia, dragged out for three years... this is a perfect match. It's her only chance. If she misses this opportunity, she really will... "

"So what?" Vincent's voice was calm. "The Jenkins family line can't end with me. She can hang on for a few more months, right? Didn't the doctor say optimistically she has half a year? That's enough time for Cathryn to give birth. If she dies... well, the insurance money will cover my son's college abroad."

"Vincent, this is murder!" The cousin's voice shot up. "That's the ideal scenario. She could take a turn for the worse any time. Vincent, what you're doing is too cruel to your wife. She loves you so much and trusts you deeply."

"Cruel?" Vincent let out a light laugh, a coldness in it I'd never heard before. "I've been by her side for three years. I've done my duty. A woman who can't have children, hogging the title of Mrs. Jenkins for this long... she should be grateful."

Couldn't bear children?

Those words burned into my heart like a hot brand.

Yeah, because of the chemo, I lost the ability to be a mother a long time ago.

I was heartbroken over it. He was the one who held me, gently comforting me, saying, "It doesn't matter, Brenna. I love you. Kids or no kids, it's the same to me."

Turned out, his mouth said "it doesn't matter," but in his heart, he'd already sentenced me to death.

"Use it for Cathryn first. She's carrying my son, our future. As for Brenna, let her wait a little longer. Maybe... there will be another chance."

There would be no other chance.

The doctor had said it clearly that my case was special. Finding a perfect match like this was a one-in-a-million miracle.

Missing it meant a death sentence.

Vincent knew that better than anyone.

I gripped the sheets under me, my nails digging into my palms.

So, in my husband's eyes, my life was expendable, measured in months.

And that woman, Cathryn Lawson, that unborn child I'd never met... they were the future he had to protect.

I could even picture his expression as he said it-probably still that gentle look.

For three years, that was the face he used to take care of me, attending to every little need.

I couldn't stomach the hospital food, so he cooked three meals a day himself and delivered them, rain or shine.

When chemo hit me hard and I was vomiting my guts out, he'd stay up all night, holding a cup of water by my bed, gently patting my back.

I lost all my hair, became ugly, but he'd kiss my forehead every day, saying I'd always be the most beautiful woman in his eyes.

Everyone envied me. They said I married for love, that even with this deadly disease, I had a devoted husband who wouldn't leave me.

I used to think I was the luckiest woman in the world. Even in hell, I was wrapped in his love.

But it was all a lie.

His kindness and affection were just to comfort me into death, weren't they?

I couldn't bear to think about it. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat.

The conversation in the hall continued.

His cousin's voice was strained with conflict. "Vincent, I can't do this. I'm a doctor. I can't just stand by and watch a patient lose her only hope.

"Don't forget, I still have the evidence from that medical malpractice incident of yours." Vincent's voice turned icy. "Brice, don't make this difficult. Cathryn's due date is almost here. I can't let anything happen to her or my son. As for Brenna, make up an excuse. Say the donor's family backed out last minute. She won't suspect a thing."

"She's so naive, so in love with you. Of course she wouldn't suspect you."

Yeah, I was so naive, so in love with you.

So, I deserved to be your pawn, your sacrifice?

Footsteps approached. I immediately shut my eyes, using every bit of strength to look like I was asleep.

I couldn't let him know I had heard everything.

Not yet.

The door opened softly. Vincent walked in.

He moved quietly to my bedside, a slight chill from outdoors clinging to him.

I could feel his gaze on my face, lingering.

Then, a warm hand brushed my forehead. He gently tucked the blanket around me, his movements tender, like handling a precious treasure.

"Brenna, I just confirmed with my cousin, the donor's paperwork is proceeding smoothly. Everything's fine, so rest easy."

He whispered, his voice still that gentle tone that now made me sick.

"After the surgery, we'll go to Ruessie to see the snow-capped mountains. You've always wanted to go. I've planned everything and booked the tickets and hotels."

He was still painting a picture of our beautiful future, a future without me.

I fought the urge to throw off the blanket and confront him, remaining motionless.

I could even smell the faint scent of perfume on him, not the one he usually wore.

It was an unfamiliar scent, belonging to a woman.

How had I never noticed before? Maybe I'd been sick for too long, my senses dulled.

So, he'd had someone else all along.

And I, the fool, was still drowning in his fairytale, grateful and tearful.

"Get some good rest. I'll see you tomorrow. There's a meeting at the office I need to handle."

He planted a kiss on my bald head.

I kept my eyes screwed shut until I heard him leave. Only then did I dare open them.

Tears slid silently down my face, but I felt no sadness. Just a numb, icy cold.

Vincent, did you want me to die? Fine. But I would make you wish you were dead first.

Confronting him head-on was useless. He'd have a million lies ready.

He'd say I misheard, that he was joking.

I needed proof.

I fumbled under the pillow for my backup phone, the old one I'd used before getting sick.

I remembered we once shared a cloud storage account, linked to this long-deactivated number. Later, he said he needed a new one for work, and this old one was never logged into again.

Could there be something there?

With shaking fingers, I entered the remembered username and password, using the old phone to get the verification code.

I logged in successfully.

The cloud photo album was mostly clean, just a few old photos of us from years ago.

Just as I was about to give up, I spotted an encrypted album tucked away in an inconspicuous corner.

My heart hammered, fingers turning cold.

I tried my birthday. Wrong.

Then I tried our wedding anniversary date, but it was still wrong.

Cathryn...

I suddenly remembered Vincent once inadvertently mentioned that his college sweetheart had a "Ryn" in her name.

He said it was just a dumb part of his past.

I took a deep breath and typed into the password field: Cathryn's spelling, plus a date important to Vincent.

The album unlocked.

The first photo hit me the moment the screen lit up.

It was Vincent and Cathryn.

She was nestled against him, smiling happily.

Vincent looked down at her with a tenderness in his eyes I'd never seen-deep, unguarded affection.

I scrolled down. Each photo was a precise stab into the softest part of my heart.

Most were intimate shots of the two of them.

It was a high-end restaurant, a familiar setting-the one where we celebrated our first wedding anniversary. The photo's timestamp was the second month after my leukemia diagnosis.

So, while I was being wheeled into the sterile room for my first agonizing chemo session, he was rekindling an old flame over dinner.

In a park, Vincent crouched to tie her shoelace. Another of him holding her from behind, his hands resting on her growing baby bump. His face held a genuine joy I'd never witnessed-the real joy of an expectant father.

There were ultrasound printouts, carefully photographed and saved.

One had a red circle around a blurry shape, with Vincent's scrawled handwriting next to it. "My son, I'm waiting for you."

The date was half a year ago.

Looking at these photos felt like drowning, wrapped in icy seawater, unable to breathe.

The unwavering devotion I thought I had was a three-year-long con.

My salvation was the greatest irony.

I didn't cry. Calmly, methodically, I used the backup phone to photograph every single picture, saving them to a password-protected local album.

This was ironclad proof of his betrayal.

Just as I was about to log out, my finger accidentally tapped a folder named "Finance Backup."

It held emails and statements Vincent had synced over the years.

A congratulatory email from a real estate agent jumped out.

I opened it. The subject, "Congratulations, Mr. Jenkins, on your successful purchase of Seaville Villa, Building A."

Seaville Villa, Building A. That was my parents' legacy to me, our marital home.

The attachment was a scanned purchase contract. The buyer was Cathryn. The payment account was our joint marital account.

He used our money to buy my home for his mistress.

But that huge sum... even emptying our joint account wouldn't have covered it. Where did the rest come from?

My eyes locked onto another document in the folder.

I opened it. A detailed spreadsheet unfolded.

One column listed donors: my parents, my best friend, the neighbor uncle who watched me grow up... every name a weight of love and care.

The other column listed amounts-each one hard-earned savings, carefully scraped together.

At the bottom was a glaring total sum.

The amount raised to save my life matched the purchase price on the contract, down to the last cent.

He hadn't just emptied our home. He had monetized my dying, squeezed dry the goodwill of everyone who loved me, to pave the way for his new family.

This wasn't just betrayal or theft.

This was picking the bones clean.

Utterly shameless.

I trembled with rage, my stomach lurching, bile rising in my throat.

Right then, the hospital room door opened.

It was Vincent.

He carried a thermal lunchbox, his face wearing that same gentle smile as always.

"Brenna, you're awake? How are you feeling today? I made you some tonic medicine. Drink it while it's hot."

I quickly locked the phone screen, shoved it under the pillow, and mustered every ounce of strength to pull a pale smile onto my face.

He brought the bowl of dark, bitter liquid to me.

Looking at it, I suddenly caught an extremely faint, yet distinct, medicinal smell mixed in with the heavy herbal bitterness.

When I was sick and foggy, I never paid attention.

But now, that scent pierced my memory like a needle.

A close friend of mine, when she was pregnant, her mother-in-law made her a daily prenatal tonic. It smelled exactly like this.

A terrifying thought exploded in my mind.

I took the bowl and, without hesitation, drank it all down.

Vincent seemed pleased with my obedience. He took the empty bowl, then as usual, took out a damp towel and gently wiped the corner of my mouth.

"Good girl. I have another meeting. I'll be back to keep you company after."

He kissed my forehead and left.

The moment the door closed, I couldn't hold back. I rushed into the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet, vomiting violently.

I wasn't just throwing up stomach acid, but that medicine.

The peculiar smell was even clearer now.

Prenatal tonic...

My husband's mistress was pregnant. And I, his wife, was drinking the so-called "precious" tonic he brought me every day.

The truth was peeling back layer by layer like an onion, stinging my eyes.

What I drank wasn't tonic at all.

It was the dregs of his mistress's medicine.

He gave the potent first brew to his precious darling.

Then he took the leftovers, boiled them again, and fed them to his dying wife like slop.

It was disgusting.

It was utterly revolting.

"Ugh-"

As I hung over the toilet, retching my guts out, I heard the last sound I wanted to hear.

The hospital room door opened again.

"Brenna? I forgot my phone here."

It was Vincent! He came back!

My heart stopped, my blood froze.

I couldn't let him find out!

With all my strength, I slammed my hand on the flush lever. The loud rush of water drowned out my ragged gasps.

I turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face, forcing a smile at my reflection in the mirror.

"What's wrong? Not feeling well again?" Vincent's voice came from the doorway, tinged with concern.

I turned, leaning against the sink, feigning weakness.

"It's nothing. Just the usual, side effects from the chemo."

I even managed to give him a grateful, apologetic smile.

"Thank you, honey. The medicine today... it was good."

Seeing my pale but obedient face, Vincent relaxed completely. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, gave me a few more instructions, and finally left for good.

After he was gone, all strength left my body. I slid down the wall onto the cold tile floor.

It took a long time before I struggled back to bed.

I picked up the backup phone and, almost against my will, opened that encrypted album again.

Like a masochist, I scrolled through, numb, until the last one.

The screen lit up. My breath stopped completely.

The scene was our master bedroom and our marital bed.

And there was Cathryn, wearing my favorite silk nightgown, lying on my side of the bed.

Her collarbone was dotted with intimate red marks.

It was a photo of them having sex.

I stared at the phone screen, unable to look away.

My home, the one I'd filled with love and care.

My parents' last gift to me had become their filthy love nest.

A wave of dizziness hit me. Black spots danced before my eyes, and I almost fell off the bed.

I grabbed the bedside rail, gasping for air. My stomach churned violently, but there was nothing left to vomit.

How dare Vincent?

How could he?

How could he switch between his dying wife and his new lover so effortlessly, so easily?

Overwhelming nausea washed over me.

Tears were useless. I couldn't cry.

I remembered the hidden cameras we'd installed during renovations years ago. Vincent said he'd removed them.

"With me here to protect you, that's all you need," he'd said.

Did he really remove them?

I logged into the home security system account using the old phone.

The camera in the master bedroom was still online.

The feed loaded.

Cathryn was there, lounging on my marital bed, slowly sitting up. She waddled to my vanity, picked up my lipstick to test the color, then spritzed my perfume into the air.

Every movement felt like a slow, deliberate torture.

Stay calm, Brenna Lewis. You had to stay calm.

She made a call, her voice sugary sweet. "Vincent, you spent the whole day with her. Isn't that enough? The baby misses Daddy... Okay, come home soon. I'll wear your favorite one and wait for you."

After hanging up, she hummed a tune, opened my closet, and started pulling out my clothes one by one, holding them up, then tossing them on the floor with a look of disgust.

"Such bad taste."

She made another call, this time on speaker.

"Mom, all of Brenna's things are such an eyesore. Once she's dead, I'm throwing everything out and redecorating."

My mother-in-law's voice was fawning. "Yes, yes, whatever you want. You're the one who saved the Jenkins family line."

"Mom, what about that heirloom jade bracelet? When do I get it? You promised."

"It's ready for you! That barren woman was never worthy. If it weren't for the Lewis family's money back then..."

I muted the sound.

My fingernails dug into my palms until they went numb.

Suddenly, I remembered my father's words. "Never put all your trust in one person."

Besides what Vincent knew, my father had installed a more concealed system, encrypted with his and my mother's information.

Vincent never knew.

I entered a string of commands on the backup phone.

The screen flickered. Four new camera feeds lit up simultaneously-living room, study, kitchen, front door.

Cathryn had changed into an expensive maternity dress. She walked to the living room, picked up the only family photo of me and my parents from the coffee table.

She studied it for a few seconds, a contemptuous smirk curling her lips.

Then, she casually tossed it into the trash bin.

My breath hitched.

I turned on the recording function, saving every frame.

Night deepened.

Cathryn, well-fed and relaxed, lay on my sofa watching TV, the picture of the lady of the house.

When she finally turned off the TV and got up with a yawn, her gaze fell on the huge wedding photo on the wall.

She walked over slowly, looking up at it for a long time.

Then, she smiled.

It was the triumphant smile of a victor.

She extended a finger tipped with crimson nail polish and lightly traced it over my face in the photo.

"Brenna... Brenna," she murmured softly, as if chatting with an old friend. "How could you be so stupid? Did you really think Vincent loved you? He told me back in college-marrying you was just because your family background was clean and easy to control. You were useful to stabilize his image. A respectable ornament. Who knew you'd have such bad luck, getting this disease."

She sighed, but her eyes gleamed.

"But maybe it's better this way. Saves me the trouble of making you sign divorce papers. You die, and it's all nice and clean. Your house, your money, your man... they'll all belong to me and my son soon."

She paused, and her smile suddenly turned vicious, twisted.

"Oh, right. There's something you probably never knew."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, like a snake's hiss.

"Three years ago, on your birthday, when you were at the hospital for chemo, your parents' car accident wasn't an accident."

My blood froze solid.

On the screen, her lips moved, each word a poisoned nail. "I originally thought, families should stay together. Too bad you were lucky... you weren't in the car."

She stroked her rounded belly, smiling brightly at my image in the photo. "See, baby? This lady will be going to join her mommy and daddy very soon. This time, nothing will go wrong."