Blurb：
For twenty years, I believed I was caring for Vincent Wright’s paralyzed sister while building a life with him. But everything shattered when I discovered the photo album documenting Vincent Wright and Emilia’s love story – complete with marriage certificate proof. The woman I’d bathed and tended to daily wasn’t his sister but Vincent Wright’s legal wife. Everyone in the Wright family knew the truth, using me as their free live-in nurse. When Vincent Wright returned and saw the evidence of his deception, his violent reaction confirmed my worst fears. This psychological thriller reveals how deep betrayal can run when love becomes manipulation. Discover the shocking truth about Vincent Wright and Emilia’s marriage in this dark domestic drama.
Content：
I discovered the photo album just after I’d finished bathing the woman in the bed.
The album meticulously documented the entire journey of two people meeting, understanding each other, and falling in love.
And tucked inside the last page was that glaring marriage certificate.
I sat on the floor, stunned, unable to process that the paralyzed woman I had been caring for over twenty years was actually Vincent Wright’s legal wife.
Everyone knew—only I had been foolish enough to believe she was his sister.
It wasn’t until Vincent wrapped a scarf around my neck, trying to strangle me, that I finally woke up from my delusion.
I mechanically repeated the same tasks I had performed daily for two decades.
Cleaning the bodily fluids from Emilia’s limbs, carefully drying her off, then laying down fresh linens.
“Aunt Hannah, Mr. Wright left this at the shop. I brought it over for him!”
I took the album the delivery man handed me, my grip so unsteady I nearly dropped it.
“Oh, thank you—I’ll make sure Vincent gets it when he returns!”
But the moment he left, my curiosity overpowered me.
I couldn’t resist opening it, discovering this plain-looking binder was a carefully handmade photo album.
Whoever crafted it was meticulous. Beneath every carefully pasted photograph were handwritten dates and brief diary entries.
Of course, if the central figure in the album hadn’t been my lover,
I might have admired how touching their love story appeared.
My hands trembled so violently I could barely hold the album. By the time I finished the first page, my strength had deserted me.
I didn’t dare turn to the second page.
Because the woman in Vincent’s arms in the photographs was the same woman I’d taken cared for over twenty years—the one he introduced his paralyzed sister!
I compared the woman in the bed to the vibrant person in the photos. They were undeniably the same.
Then I read the words inscribed below a portrait. Everything clicked into place, cold and clear.
“December 11, 1983.”
“To my beloved wife, Emilia. May you have peace and joy, always.”
And the marriage certificate tucked in the album’s final sleeve—it answered the question of why Vincent had refused to marry me all these years.
He already had a wife, the one he truly wanted to spend his life with.
I was just the free live-in nurse he tricked into caring for her.
I felt a grief so profound it was suffocating, yet not a single tear would fall.
I just sat there on the floor beside the bed, clutching the album, torturing myself by flipping through its pages again and again.
All those beautiful memories belonged to Vincent and Emilia.
And what had I been doing all these years?
Under Vincent’s persuasion, I had quit my stable job to “better care for his poor sister.”
I spent every day orbiting her sickbed and the kitchen.
Vincent’s mother had visited once years ago. With tears in her eyes, she had held my hand and said, “You’ve been such a good girl, taking care of Vincent and his sister all these years.”
Now it was blindingly obvious—everyone in his family knew.
They had all lied to me, collectively, just to keep their free caretaker.
I remembered once questioning why the siblings had different last names.
How hsd Vincent reacted back then?
He had stiffened momentarily, then plastered on a reassuring smile and patted my head.
“What silly thoughts are you having? I took my father’s surname, she took our mother’s. It’s that simple”
By the time I finished the album’s end, I was so angry I could barely stand.
I was still leaning against the bed for support when Vincent returned home.
I lunged at him like a madwoman, gripping his collar.
I threw the album in front of him.
“Vincent Wright, you’ve been lying to me for twenty years!”
Tears finally broke free, streaming down my face, my heart felt like it was being squeezed to death.
When Vincent saw the album on the floor and what was inside, his face went pale.
“How did you get this?”
He shoved me off and hurried to pick up the album.
He held it like it was something precious, carefully tucking it inside his jacket.
Then he turned a gaze of pure hatred toward me.
“Hannah, stop making a scene!”
A bitter taste filled my mouth. “I’m making a scene?” I pointed at myself incredulous.
“You lied to me for twenty years—you stole twenty years of my life—and now you’re blaming me?”
A mocking smile twisted Vincent’s lips. He looked me over with cold disdain.
“You’ve lived this life for two decades. You’re over fifty now. What else can you do? Go chase some fairy-tale happiness at your age?”
When I stood my ground in silence, his tone softened. He tried to hold my arm.
“Come on, be reasonable. The doctor said Emilia won’t wake up. Why be jealous of a vegetable? You’re the one I love. So what if we don’t have a piece of paper matter?”
The words “piece of paper” felt like a hard slap across my face.
It shattered the last lingering fragment of hope I had for Vincent.
Once the storm of emotions passed, I stared at him and said firmly, “I won’t be your unpaid maid anymore.”
Seeing that I wouldn’t back down, Vincent’s expression hardened into cold stone.
I gathered the few personal belongings I kept in that house and prepared to leave.
Just before my hand touched the doorknob, a final surge of anger made me throw out a threat,
“Vincent, you think I have no evidence?”
“I will expose who you really are.”
But I never imagined those words would enrage a violent fury in him so much.
Just as I was about to touch the door handle, Vincent grabbed a scarf from behind and wrapped it tightly around my neck.
In my blurring vision, I saw his twisted, furious face.
The scarf he used to strangle me was one I had knitted for him as a birthday gift just days before.
Now it had become the weapon that would end my life.
Before I completely lost consciousness, all I felt was ridicule for my more than twenty years of dedication.
Hannah, how could you be so naive? So utterly stupid.
You took care of his wife for nothing, and now you’re going to lose your life for it too.
I died filled with resentment that choked me as surely as the scarf.
I swore that if heaven gave me another chance, I would never, ever live a life like this again.
Memories flashed through my fading mind like a frantic slideshow—the day I first met Vincent, twenty-three years ago.
I was just over thirty then.
I had just escaped a terrible, draining marriage and felt utterly lost.
The whispered ridicule from former friends and colleagues made me desperate to prove I could build a new, successful relationship.
I wanted to prove I wasn’t worthless—not the kind of woman who couldn’t even keep a man.
Vincent, with his good manners and gentle demeanor, became the life raft I clung to.
He never looked down on me for being divorced, and he seemed indifferent to gossip.
He picked me up from work every day, treated me with kindness.
I quietly looked into his background.
I heard that Vincent had been transferred from the city to our small town. Rumor was he’d been married before but divorced for unspecified reason.
Now he was single.
That made me happy. After all, he was nearly fifty but had kept his figure—he still cut a distinguished figure.
Compared to other men his age in town, he was in a different league!
And just like that, I fell headlong into Vincent’s carefully orchestrated campaign of gentle affection.
The first time I visited Vincent’s house, I accidentally walked into the bedroom.
Seeing Emilia lying there shocked me. I turned immediately to leave.
But Vincent held me tightly at the doorway, refusing to let me go.
His voice was soft, almost pleading.
At nearly forty-five, he looked uncharacteristically vulnerable and heartbroken.
“Hannah, are you going to leave me too?”
“I always believed you were different from other women. You’re so kind and gentle—you wouldn’t hold my paralyzed sister against me, would you? Was I mistaken about you?”
I froze, my hand still resting on the cool metal of the doornob.
Seeing my hesitation, Vincent pressed his advantage.
His warm breath brushed my ear as he held me tighter.
“Hannah, you’re not like them, are you?”
“Even after seeing how messy my life is, you won’t leave me, will you?”
That night, I stayed. Vincent was so relieved he drank more than usual.
His eyes were red-rimmed as he held me.
He kept murmuring, “Hannah, don’t go, Hannah.”
“You’re all I have now.”
He talked about how difficult life had been, the struggles he’d faced.
A tragic car accident had tolen Emilia’s consciousness but not her life.
It left her bedridden—in a persistent vegetative state.
Vincent claimed Emilia had been shielding him during the accident, which was why her injuries were so severe.
He couldn’t possibly abandon her—he wasn’t that kind of man.
To provide her with a quirter environment for care, Vincent had requested a transfer from the city to our small town.
By the end of his story, Vincent was crying in my arms.
I was deeply moved by how responsible he seemed.
A man capable of such devotion must possess strong character, I thought.
In retrospect, everything between Vincent and me progressed too swiftly, too seamlessly.
But blinded by his affection, I failed to see anything wrong.
After we became a couple, a professional nurse initially took care of Emilia.
Later, Vincent started hinting that the nurse’s fees were too expensive.
If only someone reliable could help take care of Emilia, it would lift a great burden from him.
I pretended not to understand and asked if he had a specific person in mind.
His face darkened, and he fell silent.
Perhaps sensing he was being too direct, he changed his approach.
The nurses he hired started taking frequent, unexpected leave.
One was visiting family out of state, another fell ill—always some excuse.
Then Vincent would sigh heavily in front of me.
“Hannah, could you possibly take care of Emilia for just one day? Only today!”
Faced with his pleading eyes, I reluctantly agreed.
It was true—as a man, it was hard for him to bathe and change his sister.
I told myself it was just for a day. I was helping my future husband, after all.
Besides, she was going to be my sister-in-law someday.
“Hannah, the nurse sprained her ankle and can’t make it. Could you possibly help out for a few days?”
He spoke gently and even bought me little gifts to cheer me up.
Unable to refuse, so I kept taking care of his sister.
Eventually, when he saw I had grown accustomed to the routine, he dismissed the nurse altogether.
Then he calmly lied to me, saying the nurse had quit.
“Hannah, the nurse demanded a raise, and I couldn’t afford it.”
“It might take some time to find a replacement. I’m sorry to trouble you like this, Hannah…”
I frowned, irritation bubbling up.
“Vincent, I have a job too. I can’t spend every minute taking care of your sister…”
Vincent was such a convincing performer it was hard to distinguish truth from fabrication.
As soon as I finished speaking, he clutched his chest like he was hurt and refused my help with a pained expression.
“I’m sorry, Hannah. I knew my sister and I were too much for you to handle.”
“I thought we were building a life together. That’s why I…”
My resolve crumbled. After all we’d been through, I still cared about him.
Vincent took my hand, and his “heartfelt” confession dismantling my last defenses.
“Hannah, if you were the one in that bed, I’d quit my job without a second thought. I’d take care of you day and night, I’d give you everything!”
Tears in my eyes, I buried myself in his arms. “Vincent, I’ll take some time off.”
“Don’t worry—I’ll take good care of your sister.”
Lost in the beautiful future Vincent painted for me, I completely missed the flicker of disgust that crossed his face after he touched my hand.
Vincent kept postponing hiring a nurse, so I had to keep asking for time off.
Eventually, my name appeared on the company’s year-end redundancy list.
After losing my job, I cried for a long time.
Seeds of doubt began to sprout.
Had sacrificing a stable job for Vincent been worth it?
But Vincent didn’t allow me time to dwell.
When he produced a ring, got down on one knee, and proposed, all my rational thoughts were swept away in a wave of euphoria.
As we embraced, the first words he whispered were, “Hannah, will you take care of Emilia for me forever?”
Back then, I found nothing strange in his request.
I thought he was just worried no one would care for his sister.
And so, I took care of Emilia for over twenty years.
The first time Vincent and I were intimate was in Emilia’s room.
I had just finished bathing her.
I turned around and bumped into Vincent.
He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear, “Hannah, meeting someone as devoted as you is the greatest fortune of my life.”
My ears turned red, and I playfully pushed him.
“Vincent, we’re not youngsters anymore. Why are we doing this…?”
“One is never too old to pursue happiness!”
Vincent paused, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Hannah, you are my happiness!”
At that time, I was convinced of Vincent’s love for me.
Now I understand any man might behave similarly toward a hardworking woman who asked so little in return.
He kept closing the distance between us.
I stepped back and bumped against Emilia’s bed.
Startled, I pushed Vincent away. “Vincent, your sister is right here!”
A shadow passed behind Vincent’s eyes, but he didn’t relent.
“Relax—the doctor confirmed Emilia has no consciousness. She can’t hear a thing.”
“It’s perfectly fine.”
Reassured by his words, I gradually let my guard down and forgot about Emilia’s presence entirely.
Afterward, leaning against Vincent, I looked at the engagement ring on my finger and asked, “When are we getting married?”
A flash of panic crossed Vincent’s face. His lips moved, but no words came out.
Finally, he deflected. “Let’s discuss it later. Work has been overwhelming lately.”
“Let’s get some rest, Hannah.”
When I didn’t respond, Vincent sighed. “I’m yours now, aren’t I?. I’ve introduced you to all my friends and colleagues.”
“It’s just a piece of paper. I’m here with you—why worry about that?”
I bit my lip and thought about it. Perhaps he had a point.
Maybe I was overthinking it.
So, I let the matter drop.
But lies, no matter how carefully constructed, eventually unravel. The truth emerged during one of Emilia’s routine medical check-ups.
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