Why Does A Husband Face A Mysterious Test?

They are happily married. She loves him , he doesn't love her but she is the most important person for him in the whole world. They are happy and content in their life , but he is holding a secret that will destroy their happy life. What will happen when the truth will come out. Willl she stays or leaves him .Read to know

I had proposed seven times, but Winnie Smith continued refusing to marry me. This was because the Smith family had a special test. To marry their daughters, their sons-in-law had to refrain from sleeping with their fiancees after being drugged. I tried seven times. However, every time after I regained consciousness, Winnie would be sleeping naked next to me. She would cry and throw herself into my arms. “It’s fine. We can try again. I trust you.” It was not until the eighth time that I overheard her instructing the butler, “Switch the aphrodisiac to sleeping pills, and make sure it’s a high dosage. “After he falls asleep, I’ll take it from there as usual.” While I kept my eyes shut tight, I could hear her taking off her long dress. Then, she came over to unbutton my shirt. I heard her sigh. “I’m sorry, Benjamin Lowe. Joe Anderson’s been diagnosed with cancer, and his last wish is to be with me. “Don’t worry, though. After he passes, I’ll marry you immediately.” Right then, I realized that her family’s test had been a lie she told just to marry her childhood best friend. The next day, my parents pressured me again to leave the country and inherit the family business. So, I agreed to their request. Since she wanted to marry Joe, I would wish the couple well.

After seven years of marriage, my wife had rarely asked me to accompany her back to her parents' home. She always said she didn't want me stepping into that cramped, crowded little house and feeling wronged. This year, during the New Year, I happened to be in the city where my in-laws lived for a business trip. By chance, I came across a local video online. It was posted by a resident of an upscale neighborhood. "Mom, Dad, my beloved wife and son—thank you for giving an orphan like me a complete and happy life." The elderly couple in the video were dressed in the same high-end outfits I had bought for my in-laws. I thought of how frugal they had always been, how they lived simply and spared every penny. A decision formed in my mind: tomorrow, I would buy them a place in that very neighborhood, in their name, so they could enjoy a comfortable retirement. It would be my small act of filial piety. But the next day, the moment I stepped into the residential complex, I saw my in-laws coming downstairs—with my wife and a child. Could it be that my wife had secretly bought them an apartment? I pressed my lips together, about to step forward, when a man rushed over and caught my father-in-law just as he nearly stumbled. "Dad, careful now." My footsteps froze. My wife was an only child. I had never heard of any foster relatives. He called my father-in-law "Dad." Then… who was I?

When my husband threatened me with divorce for the hundredth time, demanding I sacrifice myself for my sister, I did not cry or make a scene. I simply signed my name on the divorce papers and willingly handed over the man I had loved for ten years to my sister. A few days later, my sister spoke recklessly at a banquet and offended a powerful family. Once again, I stepped forward to take responsibility, bearing all the consequences in her place. When they later proposed that I become a test subject for my sister's drug research, I gladly accepted. Mom and Dad said I had finally grown into someone mature and responsible. Even my cold husband stood by my hospital bed and, for the first time in so long, gently stroked my cheek. He said tenderly, "Don't be afraid. The experiment won't be life-threatening. When you get out, I'll cook you a big meal." However, he did not know that regardless of whether the experiment was dangerous or not, he did not have to wait for me because I was already dying from a terminal illness.

Ever since my wife, Allison Strong, gives birth to our son, Noel Russell, she becomes unable to speak. The doctors say it is likely a psychological issue. For three whole years, she does not say a single word to me. Even when there's a gas leak in the house, she simply waits for me to discover it myself. When Noel cries from hunger, she never tries to comfort him. After my company goes bankrupt, I don't even have time to grieve. I spend my days delivering packages to support the family while taking my wife to see psychologists and specialists. One day, I am dead tired after working from morning until night. As I back my car into the garage, I fail to notice that Allison has left three-year-old Noel to play behind the vehicle. The moment I feel the car roll over something, my gut tells me something is very wrong. Noel's cries last only a few moments before he falls silent. My legs nearly give out beneath me. Forcing myself to stay upright, I scoop up Noel and rush him to the hospital with my hands trembling uncontrollably. Meanwhile, Allison stands silently somewhere to the side. Just like always, she says nothing. Her expression remains absolutely unfazed. Though she is the one who has given birth to Noel, everything seems completely unrelated to her. I have a mental breakdown. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I shake her desperately and yell, "You saw what was happening, why didn't you warn me? Why did you let him play there? What kind of psychological problem do you have that you can just stand by and watch your own son die? "Are you trying to destroy me, Allison?" I scream hysterically, but she still does not open her mouth or make a sound. Despair engulfs me. Three years of complete silence from her crushes me. Just when I am about to give up, Allison pushes through the crowd and softly speaks her first words in three years. They are quiet, but I hear them clearly. "Clarence..." Clarence Welch is the name of her first love. Only then do I realize that her psychological issue is with Noel and me.

In the late stages of her pregnancy, my wife slipped away into the mountains with her childhood sweetheart, seeking some reckless thrill under the open sky. Fate, however, had other plans. She suffered a massive hemorrhage, and the two were rushed to the hospital. As a doctor, I took one glance at her condition and instructed the nurse to prepare for the cremation. In my previous life, I had risked everything to save her. On that very operating table, she and the child inside her perished together. Her childhood sweetheart, overcome with grief and fury, rallied others to accuse me of seeking personal revenge. Their rage was relentless, and they broke my hands. "A butcher like you, without medical ethics, deserves nothing less than eternal damnation!" they shouted, their words burning like brands on my soul. Yet I distinctly remembered—the surgery had been a success. Her vital signs had stabilized. Clinging to hope, I begged my in-laws to conduct an autopsy, to uncover the truth buried beneath the accusations. Instead, they called the police, who swiftly charged me with performing surgery under the influence of alcohol. Stripped of my rights, I was thrown into prison, where suffering became my only companion. Years later, upon release, I stumbled across a sight that tore what was left of my heart to shreds—my wife, alive and well, behind the wheel of a luxury car, accompanied by her childhood sweetheart and their child, living off the fortune I had worked tirelessly to build. Their betrayal didn't end there. Coldly and methodically, they lured me into a trap, casting me into a cement mixer to erase every trace of my existence. When I next opened my eyes, time had rewound itself. I was back on that fateful day, the one when her hemorrhage began.