My Husband Hurt Me for His Lover, But My 4-Year-Old Daughter Saved My Life

Mr. Davis nodded. “That is precisely the next step in our plan.” He said.

He slid over another dossier. “The company they have, Golden Future, is not just a money laundering front. They are also involved in several other business and legal activities. We are currently gathering more evidence for tax evasion and commercial fraud. The net is already closing, Miss Hempill.” He explained.

I left as the city began to glow at dusk, hollowed out yet resolute. All affection for that man had vanished.

What remained was a mother ready to fight for justice, for the future, and for her daughters. I couldn’t afford defeat.

As we tightened the legal noose around Damon and his mistress, they appeared either oblivious or convinced of their invulnerability. After days of silence and frozen accounts, Damon finally realized things weren’t going his way.

The role of the misunderstood, wronged husband no longer worked. He reached for a final gambit, one he believed would sway a loyal, sentimental woman like me: his mother, my mother-in-law.

One morning in the garden with Ila, a staff member rushed over. “Ma’am, there’s an older woman at the gate saying she’s your mother-in-law and she’s causing a scene.” The staff member said.

My heart gave a jolt. My mother-in-law.

It had been ages. After our wedding, she’d visited only a few times: a simple country woman, ferociously protective and demanding when it came to her son.

In her world, Damon was flawless and every misstep excusable. I doubted she’d come to check on my well-being.

“Let her in,” I told the staff evenly.

I sent Ila to her great-grandparents and went alone to the living room. I wanted to face her head on.

As soon as she saw me, she rushed over. Not to strike or scold, but to drop to her knees and weep.

“Oh Sophia, my daughter, how can you be so cruel? Do you want to kill my Damon?” She wept.

Her dramatic display blindsided me. The household staff watched, stunned.

“Mother-in-law, please get up. Calmly tell me what’s happening.” I tried to lift her, but she clutched my legs and refused.

“No, I won’t get up until you promise to forgive my Damon! He’s my only son. If anything happens to him, what will become of me?” She launched into a tearful appeal.

She insisted he had been despondent since I left: not eating, not sleeping, only drinking. She said his business had stopped, that he loved me, and all he did was to give me a better life.

She claimed stress had pushed him into a moment of violence. “He was wrong to hit you, I won’t justify it. But after doing it, his heart was also broken.” She said.

“He is regretful now. You are his wife, how can you push your own husband into the abyss? You block his accounts, you report him, and you want to put him in jail!” She cried.

“If he goes to jail, who will take care of our Leila? Who will be responsible for her future?” She asked.

She struck every vulnerable chord: marriage, our child, the future. She painted him as a remorseful husband and father ruined by a brief lapse.

Had I not seen the photos and recordings, I might have been taken in. Instead, I could only feel a cold, bitter mirth.

I gently freed myself and stepped back. I regarded her performance without blinking.

“Mother-in-law,” I said, my tone unfamiliar and icy.

“You don’t have to keep acting. That drama doesn’t work on me anymore.” I told her.

She sprang up, tears gone in an instant, fury and shock in her gaze. “What? What are you saying?” She snapped.

“Go back and tell your son that if he is truly repentant, he should go to the courthouse and confess everything. If he plans to continue this charade, we will see each other in court.” I said.

“You! You insolent viper!” She screamed.

“It was a bad day when my Damon married someone like you. Do you think because you have money and connections you can trample on our family? You’ll see, you won’t get away with this!” She unleashed curses and insults.

Once they would have wounded me; now I watched as if it were a low-budget soap opera. “Please call an employee. Escort this lady out.” I said.

Two bodyguards arrived and led her away. She fought and screamed in vain.

“You’ll regret this, you rotten thing! I swear I won’t stand idly by!” Her voice carried even beyond the gate.

The house quieted again, though a tempest churned inside me. Her failed act made one thing plain: they would not stop.

Greed and selfishness saturated them to the core. They would use any foul tactic to get what they wanted.

I also understood that after this sentimental ploy, something uglier would follow. I needed to be ready for anything.