Chapter 1

When my fiancé and his first love were getting their marriage certificate, I was five months pregnant and trying on wedding dresses.

His first love had been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and her greatest wish was to wear a wedding dress for him. So this time, the bride wasn't me.

I called his parents and brothers, but they all hemmed and hawed.

Oh, everyone knew except me.

I was just a joke.

Later, he called me sobbing, begging to see me, pleading for me to come back to him.

I warned him not to harass a married woman, or my boyfriend might come and beat him up like the scumbag he was.

When I discovered Alexander's marriage certificate with his first love, Isabella, I called him and asked, "Where are you?"

He answered naturally, "Working overtime, where else could I be? Money's hard to come by these days, and that client, ugh, so many demands..."

The next second, I pushed open the hospital room door.

There was Alexander, phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, peeling an orange with one hand and feeding it to his first love, Isabella, with the other.

How considerate.

When Alexander turned and saw me, both he and his first love were stunned.

Isabella, lying in the hospital bed, looked quite pitiful. Both her hands were hooked up to IVs, her face was pale, her lips were blue, and she wore a blue hospital cap on her head. I guessed she was undergoing chemotherapy and had lost her hair.

My petite 5'3" frame suddenly seemed intimidating to Alexander. He shrank back a bit, barely shielding his first love: "Amelia, this is my responsibility. It has nothing to do with her. We can talk about this when we get home. She's sick. Please be understanding."

Isabella coughed weakly, pushing away his arm with effort: "Sister, it's all my fault. Please don't be angry with him. It's all because of me..."

As if I were the villain here.

The one wielding a stick to break up the lovebirds.

I didn't say anything. I went downstairs to the convenience store, bought a box of milk, brought it up, set it down, and left.

Alexander grabbed my arm, his eyes red as he said, "Amelia, I know you're upset, but Isabella is dying. As they say, we should show the utmost respect for the dying..."

I didn't look at him.

I said, "Congratulations on your marriage."

Alexander stood there, his eyes as wide as a goldfish's: "After all we've been through, you have to hurt me with those words?"