Widowhood and the Price of Betrayal

Evan stood frozen, as if struck by lightning, his awkward smile failing to hide his discomfort. "Mom, how could you make such a joke?"

Wendy's mom shot him a cold, dismissive look. "I'm not joking. Wendy died in a crash on Highway 707 yesterday. When she passed, where was her husband? You know it well enough."

With that, she shoved past Evan and stormed upstairs.

Where was Evan when Wendy died?

Naturally, he was at a karaoke bar, wrapped around a beautiful woman, singing.

Evan still couldn't believe it. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Lorna, this must be one of Wendy's tricks."

"Now the whole family is in on it, trying to scare me, right?"

I pulled out my phone. "Bro, Wendy's death is already on the news."

"Victim Wendy, confirmed dead at 11:00 PM last night."

"There are plenty of people named Wendy. How many Wendys are there nationwide?"

I fell silent for a moment. "Wendy's funeral is in seven days. If you don't believe it, you can go see for yourself."

At the funeral, Evan and I showed up as expected. Wendy had left this world too suddenly, eyes wide open, her death unavenged. The whole funeral had only a few scattered wreaths.

Wendy's relatives and friends had come, each of them mourning deeply.

Especially Wendy's mom, who looked like she'd aged ten years in a single night, her face streaked with tears.

Only Evan remained unmoved, not shedding a single tear. His eyes darted aimlessly around, especially lingering on Wendy's black-and-white photo, where a strange, thoughtful expression crossed his face.

"Lorna, do you think... Wendy, she really is gone?"

I spoke softly from beside him. "Yes, Wendy is gone."

The air was thick with silence.

Evan suddenly spoke again, his voice almost detached. "Lorna, do you think I treated her well?"

I shot him a look of disdain, deliberately responding, "Bro, you treated Wendy well enough. You made her the young madam of the Vance family, dressed her in gold and silver, fed her well, and let her live in luxury. She should be eternally grateful to you."

Evan, oblivious to the sarcasm, nodded in agreement.

"You're right. I never liked this woman. She insisted on marrying me. Her death has nothing to do with me. Lorna, will you arrange a condolence payment for the Hayes family? Consider it the final settlement of our years together."

With trembling fingers, Evan shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to leave.

I watched his heartless back, suddenly feeling like Wendy had picked the hardest possible script for her life.

Evan had no heart. A wife of five years, and he spoke of her death with the detached tone of someone assigning a task to a subordinate.

Wendy had married him out of desperation.

Like countless other women in love, she had hoped to win his heart, but his cold indifference and selfishness slowly drained her of all hope.

Unfortunately, Wendy was even more unlucky than most. She had lost her life.

But Evan didn’t care. He turned around and brought his lover, Yara, home.

She was his first love.

Yara was the kind of girl many men dream of as their first love—pure, innocent, and unaware of the world's darker sides. Only women could see through the mask of innocence and recognize the ugly heart beneath.

Just two days after the death of his wife, she walked right into his home.

Even the servants couldn't stand it.

Yara innocently looped her arm through Evan’s, her voice tinged with hurt. "Evan, it feels like the servants don't like me very much."

"Who bullied you? Tell me and I’ll fire them immediately."

Yara shook her head. "No, it's not that. It's just that I want to stay in the east room. They said I couldn’t go in."

Evan's expression darkened.