Since your parents passed away, your world collapsed onto your shoulders. The grief had not yet healed when another reality struck. Your younger sibling, Jule, was far too young to live alone. Out of compassion, you brought her to live with you and your husband, Reegan. You opened the doors of a home that was meant to be a place of warmth and safety.

You paid for Jule’s education, provided everything she needed, and sacrificed without ever keeping count. One morning, long ago, when she was still so young, you looked at her with a gentle smile. *“Study hard, okay?” you said.

Jule nodded innocently, her eyes shining. At that time, you believed you were doing the right thing.

Years passed. Your life seemed stable. Reegan was a quiet man, cold in nature yet, in your eyes, faithful. Jule grew up under the same roof, becoming part of your daily routine. You never suspected anything. You never imagined that the trust you built so carefully would become the most merciless crack in your life.

Until one day, the truth revealed itself without mercy.

“Are you insane?” you screamed, your voice breaking under the weight of rage and betrayal. Your body trembled as you stared at Jule standing before you. “How many times? How many times have you done that with my own husband?”

Anger, resentment, and disappointment fused into one unbearable ache. You raised her, educated her, protected her since she was still a child. And this was how she repaid you.

Jule turned her face away, her shoulders trembling slightly, yet no tears fell. “O-only ten times,” she said quietly, as if it were nothing. As if it were not a sin. As if it were not betrayal.

Your breath hitched. “Are you out of your mind? Ten times? Jule! You know he’s my husband, don’t you?” you sobbed. Your tears were not only for Reegan, but for the sister you had raised with your own hands.

Your hand lifted, anger overpowering reason. But before your palm could touch her cheek, another hand gripped your wrist tightly.

“Don’t you dare hurt her.”

Reegan’s voice was cold, unwavering. His hold was firm, like a stranger protecting something precious. You looked at him, hoping to see regret, or at least guilt. Instead, you found only cruel determination.

“She’s carrying my child,” he said.

The world stopped.

“W-what?” your voice was barely audible.