Blurb：
Willow's perfect life shatters when her husband Mark Young hands her two devastating documents: an infertility diagnosis and an HIV positive test report. For three years, she abandoned her design career to become the perfect housewife, only to face this cruel betrayal. As Mark suggests divorce with fake tenderness, Willow's world collapses. But when she discovers hidden secrets in Mark's briefcase late at night, the truth about their marriage begins to unravel. This emotional thriller explores deception, medical drama, and a wife's fight for justice against her manipulative husband Mark Young. Will Willow uncover why her health reports were falsified? Dive into this gripping story of medical betrayal and marital deception that will keep you questioning everything until the final page.Content：
At six-thirty in the morning, the light filtered through the curtains like scattered flakes of gold, falling softly onto the living room floor.I stood by the kitchen island in the open-plan kitchen, carefully placing the toast I had just taken from the oven onto the blue-and-white porcelain plate.
The edges of the toast bore an enticing caramel color, the warm scent of wheat and butter slowly permeating the air.
Such mornings had repeated themselves for a full three years.
Since I resigned from a well-known design company three years ago, tending to household chores, preparing three meals a day, and waiting for my husband, Mark Young, to return home have become the sole focus of my life.
The design sketches I once cherished were set aside, and the creativity at my fingertips gradually yielded to the mundane smoke and heat of daily life.
Mark came home over an hour earlier than usual today.
Just after four in the afternoon, the sound of a key turning in the lock came from the entrance hall.
I wiped my hands and walked into the living room, where I saw him clutching two sheets of neatly folded A4 paper, his fingertips repeatedly tracing their edges.
His face was much more tense than usual; the gentle brows and eyes I once knew were now shrouded in an inescapable melancholy, as if veiled by dust.
He moved to the coffee table in the center of the living room and gently placed the two sheets of paper before me, his fingertips still unconsciously brushing their edges, as if trying to mask his inner unrest.
"Take a look at this." His voice was noticeably lower than usual, his eyes deliberately drifting toward the greenery outside the window downstairs, avoiding my gaze entirely, unwilling to meet my eyes.
I set down the still-warm cup of milk; the soft clink as its base touched the coffee table rang sharply in the quiet living room.
I reached out, took the two sheets of paper, and unfolded them slowly.
"Infertility Diagnosis" and "HIV Positive Test Report" — two lines of black Song font stood starkly before my eyes, like two cold stones, instantly numbing my fingertips.
A cold shiver surged from the soles of my feet up to the crown of my head, making me shudder uncontrollably.
I suddenly raised my eyes to Mark Young, my throat tightening, my voice trembling with disbelief: "This... how could this be my report? When I had my check-up at the hospital last week, I specifically asked the doctor, who clearly said all my health indicators were normal, not even a minor problem."
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