I’d Rather Not Have a Fake Love

I chuckled sarcastically.

On the day Ella started her dance classes, I found out William had bought a building in the city center and turned it into a dance studio.

I even overheard him telling the designer to make it one of a kind. The first three floors were shopping areas, the fourth and fifth floors were entertainment zones, the sixth floor was a fitness area, and the top floor was the dance studio.

A month ago, he was still picking out seasonal princess dresses for the shopping area and hiring world champion dance instructors for the dance studio. I thought he was treating Ella like a princess.

But in reality, it was a gift for Noa to celebrate her cured knee joint.

To William, Ella and I were nothing more than useful sacrifices.

William panicked when he noticed how pale my face was. He quickly called the doctor to check on my wounds and dress them.

When he saw that I was not getting better and was even worsening, he scolded the doctor angrily, “Can’t you be gentler?”

He took the medicine and carefully applied it to my wounds. It seemed as if he was afraid of causing me the slightest pain.

In the past, I would have been moved to tears. But after looking at the ordinary hemostatic medicine, my mangled arm, and Ella’s death, I felt nothing but despair.

While William was in the shower, I picked up his phone and entered my birthday for the password.

It was ironic that he used my birthday as his password. I had trusted him so much that I never checked his phone before.

When I opened the chat app, I saw his pinned chat titled “Sophia’s Baby.” The latest photo in the chat showed Noa standing up and smiling happily.

William had commented under the photo.

[Our baby looks so beautiful standing up. If knee replacements weren’t only possible at eight, she wouldn’t have suffered for so many years.

[To make it up to her, I built her a dance studio and designed every part myself. I’ll also help her achieve her dream of becoming a dancer!

[Hehe! The knee joint she’s getting must be in perfect condition. The nutritionist I hired has been preparing special meals for Ella. She even made her dance to keep the joint active. She wasn’t allowed to eat anything greasy.]

Tears streamed down my face as I stared blankly at the screen.

How could he be so cruel? Ella had been his daughter for eight years.

I stiffly scrolled up the chat. In the first year of our marriage, he had gifted Sophia an island and a private amusement park for her birthday.

The second year, he bought them a one-of-a-kind luxury car.

Every year after that, William gave them the best things he could offer.

Meanwhile, all I wanted for my and Ella’s birthday was for him to come back and spend the day with us.

He would just say, “It’s just a birthday. I’ll make it up to you next time.”

Feeling heartbroken, I booked tickets for the day after tomorrow to take Ella to her grandmother’s house. It was thousands of miles away.

The next morning, William came in with a bowl of homemade oatmeal he had made himself.

“Are you hungry? I made this nutritious oatmeal. Eat it all. I really put my heart into it.”

The nutritionist looked at us enviously and said, “That’s right. Mr. William got up at 5 a.m. today to ask me how to make it.”

When I heard the word “nutritious,” the image of Ella’s death flashed before my eyes. I forced myself not to knock the bowl over.

Ella was still waiting for me to bring her home and leave this filthy place.

“Where is Ella’s funeral being held?”

William noticed the blood seeping from my broken arm again. His eyes filled with pain as he said, “I don’t think you should go. I’m really worried about your health. Ella never liked big crowds, so I kept it small. I only invited a few people. I’ve also made arrangements for her to be taken to the cemetery right after the funeral.”

He tried to pat my head, but I pushed him away and said, “No, I’m going.”