After the divorce, I restarted my life

Maybe it was the sleepless nights spent drafting the design proposal, but I suddenly came down with a high fever.

My whole body felt trapped against burning steel, every breath searing, and the burn on my arm throbbed with a pain so sharp it felt bone-deep. The blisters had ruptured, and pus mixed with sweat soaked through my sleeve.

I tried to sit up, but my limbs refused. My head felt weighed with lead, darkness flickering at the edges of my vision.

The housekeeper pushed open the door and froze when she saw me. “Madam—what happened to you?” She reached out and touched my forehead, gasping. “Oh God, you’re burning up! You definitely have a fever—I’ll get a doctor right now!”

When the doctor arrived, the thermometer read 40°C. The burn had grown infected, and with my immunity weakened from stress and suppression, the situation wasn’t looking good.

“We’ll get your fever down first, then deal with the wound,” the doctor instructed. “You must rest. No more overworking.”

After prescribing medication, he left.

The housekeeper wiped my sweat and fed me medicine, tending to me tirelessly. And the husband who should have been by my side—never appeared.

In a haze, I heard the housekeeper calling Liam, her voice anxious.

“Liam, madam has a fever—forty degrees—and the burn is infected. The doctor said it’s serious. Could you come home?”

Whatever Liam said made the housekeeper’s expression worsen. After hanging up, she let out a long sigh.

“Madam, Liam said there’s a sudden issue with the bid on Vanessa’s end. The client wants the proposal changed last minute. He said he really can’t leave and told me to take good care of you.”

“Can’t leave.”

Those three words stabbed through the fever burning in my chest. I was bedridden, in pain—but he was busy accompanying another woman to handle a “crisis,” unable to spare even a moment to ask if I was alive.

I slept fitfully through the day. When I woke again, another figure was in the room.

Vanessa stood by my bed holding a beautifully wrapped fruit basket, feigning concern. She wore a designer dress; a new diamond bracelet glittered on her wrist under the daylight, bright and sharp to the eye.

“Clara, I heard you’re sick, so I came to see you.” She stepped closer, pretending to reach for my forehead, but made sure her bracelet flashed in front of my eyes. “Liam wanted to come with me, but the client’s urging us nonstop. He sent fruit and asked me to persuade you—stop overthinking and rest.”

I turned my head away from her touch, my voice hoarse. “Spare me the act.”

Vanessa’s smile stiffened briefly, then returned with practiced ease. She picked up an apple and began peeling, her tone full of calculated pride.

“Clara, look at this bracelet. Liam bought it for me—he said I’ve been exhausting myself revising the proposal and wanted to treat me.” She shook her wrist slightly; the diamonds caught the light and pierced my eyes.

“Oh, and Liam was afraid I couldn’t handle all the details, so he hired a top-tier designer to assist me. Someone who won an international award.”

Vanessa seemed satisfied with her performance. After saying what she came to say, she left.

The moment she mentioned the designer’s name, I knew—it was my former apprentice. When I withdrew from the industry, I recommended him to influential contacts. I never imagined he’d now be hired by Vanessa to perfect the proposal stolen from me.

A sudden cough tore through me, pulling sharp pain across my abdomen—the familiar aftermath of miscarriages.

The agony stabbed through me like invisible knives turning inside my body. I curled up, clutching my stomach, cold sweat soaking the sheets, my face drained of color.

Trembling, I reached for my phone on the nightstand and dialed Liam.

It rang a long time before he answered, voice full of impatience.

“What now? I’m busy. The client is pushing for changes—you’re interrupting important work.”

“Liam… my stomach… it hurts… really bad…” I could barely form words. “Can you… come home and take me to the hospital?”

“Stomach pain? That’s nothing.” Liam sounded even more dismissive. “Where’s the housekeeper? Have her take you. Or call an ambulance. I told you—I can’t leave.”

“I… I can’t move…” The pain darkened my vision. Tears spilled uncontrollably.

“Tsk. Such trouble.” Liam exhaled sharply. In the background, Vanessa’s honeyed voice floated through,

“Liam, the client’s asking again. Don’t waste time on irrelevant people—we need to respond.”

“Got it.” Liam answered her, then spoke quickly into the phone. “I’m hanging up. Figure it out yourself.”

The line cut off. The dial tone pounded like a hammer in my chest.

Irrelevant person.

In his world, I had become “irrelevant.”

Curled on the bed, the pain in my abdomen worsened, the fever blurred my thoughts, and the dizziness dragged my consciousness toward the edge. The burn on my arm hurt, but the despair was worse—overwhelming, suffocating.

I remembered the last miscarriage—the same blinding pain while Liam “traveled for work,” spending those nights with Vanessa. I remembered three years of sacrifice. I remembered “I’ll take care of you.” I remembered his coldness, his betrayal.

Every promise had been a lie. Every sacrifice—wasted.

I don’t know how long passed before the pain finally eased, leaving me limp and exhausted on the bed. Silent tears soaked the pillowcase. The housekeeper entered with medicine, saw me and hesitated, but eventually said nothing—only wiped my tears quietly.

I took the phone again, fingers trembling as I dialed a number buried in dust.

“Uncle Li, it’s me, Clara.” I forced the tremor out of my voice as the call connected.

Uncle Li had been my mother’s longtime partner at the design institute, a respected figure in the industry, and one of the judges in this bidding project. When I retired, he had lamented losing talent, telling me I’d always be welcomed back.

“Clara? Is it really you?” His voice brimmed with joy. “You finally made up your mind?”

“Yes.” I drew in a shaky breath, but my voice steadied. “Uncle Li, I want to participate in this bid.”

“Good! Excellent!” He agreed without a second thought. “I know your talent better than anyone. If not for you giving everything up for Liam…” His tone shifted solemn. “Rest assured, Clara. I’ll make sure you have a fair chance—and that your talent is seen.”

After ending the call, I stared up at the ceiling as the despair inside me began to harden into resolve.

Liam, Vanessa—you think stealing my proposal guarantees your win?

You think my illness makes me weak enough to trample?

You’re wrong.

Everything I lost—I’ll take back with my own hands.

And everything you owe me—you’ll repay double.