Lydia Mercer only found out at the very end of her life that she had spent all those years as nothing more than a stand-in.

She lay in a private hospital room, staring blankly ahead, while the words she had read in Theodore Cavendish’s diary the day before kept circling in her mind.

"It was never going to happen between me and you again. But she looks a little like you. For a moment, I lost my head."

She had borne his children, waited on his parents, worn herself out for that whole family her entire life, and in the end, all she had ever been was a substitute.

A substitute.

All this time, she had honestly believed he loved her deeply enough to marry a woman with a stammer. She had been grateful, so grateful she had nearly broken herself trying to be good to him.

And this was how it turned out.

What a joke.

At that thought, Lydia suddenly let out a laugh. It sounded dry and sharp in the quiet room. Tears slowly gathered in the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Theodore Cavendish... if your heart truly belonged to someone else, then why didn’t you go love her properly? Why did you have to drag me into it?

Just because she happened to resemble the woman in his heart a little, did that mean she deserved to suffer all this?

This time, she had been so angry she ended up in the hospital, and even then Theodore Cavendish had not once come to see her.

Outside the door, the nurses’ voices drifted in, one line after another.

"It’s the lady in this room, Professor Cavendish’s wife. Be a bit careful with her. She can’t speak, but she’s delicate as can be."

"Professor Cavendish is so famous in academic circles. Who would’ve thought his wife was mute? And just some housewife who barely knows how to read."

"What? Then how did Professor Cavendish ever fall for her back then?"

"Shh. Keep your voice down."

The gossip outside gradually faded, then went quiet.

Lydia covered her face without making a sound. After a long while, she finally reached out and pressed the call bell by the bed.

A young nurse hurried in. "Ma’am, do you need something?"

As soon as she said it, she glanced out of habit at the paper and pen by Lydia’s hand, waiting for her to write.

All the nurses here knew Professor Cavendish’s wife could not speak. Usually, if they wanted to communicate with her, they had to do it through writing. It was troublesome, sure, but she was staying in a private room, so no matter what they thought, they still had to serve her patiently.

Lydia Mercer did not reach for the pen. Instead, she slowly parted her lips and, with clear effort, forced out a few words. "Want... some water."

"Huh?" The young nurse froze on the spot, so startled her eyes nearly popped out. Her mouth hung open.

How could someone who never spoke suddenly start talking?

Lydia glanced at her and said, "Go pour it."

Only then did the nurse come back to herself. She hurried out in a panic, legs weak, almost tripping at the doorway.

The moment she got outside, she stammered to the head nurse, "Professor Cavendish's wife... she, she can talk!"

Inside the ward, Lydia drew in a long, deep breath.

She had not meant to frighten anyone on purpose. It was just that she had kept up the act for so many years, and she truly did not want to go on with it anymore.

It was not that she could not speak at all. She only had a stammer.

But every time Theodore Cavendish heard her speak in broken, halting bits, he would knit his brows, his whole face full of impatience.

Later, as his standing rose higher and higher, she began to feel that her flaw would only bring him gossip and ridicule. So when they went out, she simply kept her mouth shut.

After enough years passed, everyone came to think of her as mute.

She had told herself that was fine. A mute woman might win a little pity. A stammering one only got laughed at.

And so, in front of outsiders, she had not spoken a single word for decades.

Yet in that diary, he had written: Her voice sounds nothing like yours. Better if she stays silent. I do not want to hear her speak.

The ward door opened.

The one who came in was not the young nurse, but Theodore Cavendish, dressed in a neat Zhongshan suit.

He had aged well. Though he was nearly sixty, he still carried himself with quiet distinction.

Gold-rimmed glasses rested on his nose. In his hand was a cup of warm water. His tone was flat, almost casual. "People outside are all saying you spoke. You were fine all this time, so why start talking now?"

Lydia had always been mild and soft by nature, but when she spoke now, there was a chill in it. "Professor Cavendish... am I... mute?"

She finished the sentence with difficulty, each word catching on her tongue. The line sounded weak enough, yet her eyes stayed fixed on him without blinking.

Theodore Cavendish’s brows drew together a little. "What difference does it make? That’s what everyone thinks anyway."

Lydia Mercer snatched the cup from his hand and hurled it hard onto the floor. It shattered with a bang. Gritting her teeth, she forced out each word one by one. "Divorce. We’re getting divorced!"

That finally made Theodore unable to stay seated. He shot to his feet and grabbed her wrist, his voice turning cold. "What is wrong with you? All this over that diary?

"Lydia Mercer, look at yourself. At your age, and you’re still acting like some young girl throwing a tantrum?"

"Divorce? You don’t even have a pension. If you leave me, what are you going to live on, the north wind?"

Lydia couldn’t shake his hand off. She lowered her head and bit down hard on the web of his thumb, her whole body trembling with rage. "Di-vorce!"

Theodore had never expected this.

This woman who had been gentle and obedient for most of her life,

this wife who had treated him like he was her whole world,

was now, at this age, making a scene over one lousy diary and demanding a divorce.

Annoyed, he yanked off his glasses and let out a cold laugh. "Divorce? Keep dreaming. I can’t afford that kind of humiliation.

"What else do you want from me? Haven’t I treated you well all these years? Did I ever leave you short of food or clothes?

"When you go outside, who doesn’t politely call you Mrs. Cavendish?"

"Lydia Mercer, yes, I married you because of Diana Linwood. Fine. So what? The man who stayed by your side all these years was still me, wasn’t it?

"How long are you planning to keep this up? Do you think I didn’t spend my whole life on you too?"

After saying that, he drew in a deep breath and softened his tone a little. "Lydia, our lives have been tied together for this whole lifetime. If you really want to leave me, then wait for the next one."

He would not let go, yet he openly admitted he regretted marrying her. Wasn’t that a plain contradiction?

Lydia stared at him with icy eyes. "You don’t want to lose face, then go to court. I must get divorced."

Her refusal to back down finally pushed Theodore all the way past his limit.

The professor, usually refined and mild, had gone stiff-faced now as he stepped toward her. "I said no. Unless it’s in the next life!"

Lydia burned with fury. She had always been soft with people, always patient, but right then she looked like a woman who had lost all reason. She grabbed whatever was near at hand and flung it away. Even the machine by the hospital bed started screaming with a sharp, piercing alarm.

This couple, praised in the papers as a "model of devoted love," finally tore off the mask they had worn all their lives. The hospital room was left in utter chaos.

People got old, and old bones just couldn’t take this kind of blow.

Lydia Mercer suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood. Her whole body went limp, and she dropped straight down.

Half-conscious, she caught one last glimpse of Theodore Cavendish’s panicked face...

When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was an old calendar hanging on the wall, faded and worn, with May 1, 1984 printed on it.

She stared blankly at the young woman in the mirror. From the main room came the sound of people talking.

"We work at the same factory. That’s a fair enough match. So, Zhizhi’s father, when do you think would be a good day to settle the wedding?"

Lydia slowly came back to herself.

She had returned to the very day the Cavendish family came to ask for her hand.

She remembered it clearly. Back then, Theodore Cavendish’s parents had worn the same lofty, half-charitable look on their faces, like they were doing her family some great favor. And she, foolish and full of joy, had been thinking only of marrying Theodore Cavendish. She hadn’t noticed the hesitation in her parents’ eyes at all. She had agreed on the spot.

The words Theodore Cavendish had said in her last life still seemed to ring in her ears. Even the writing in that yellowed diary was sharp and clear in her mind.

Without a second thought, Lydia shoved on her shoes and rushed out of the room, shouting at the top of her voice, "I’m not marrying him!"

Everyone in the main room froze.

Her gaze passed over both sets of parents and landed straight on the man sitting in the corner.

Theodore Cavendish’s eyes were dark and heavy. After a moment, a trace of mockery flickered through them.

"If you’re unwilling, then there’s nothing to discuss."

The Theodore Cavendish of his younger days had never shown that kind of expression before. But after being husband and wife for decades, they knew each other too well.

Lydia looked at him quietly.

In that instant, she understood.

He had come back too.

The two of them had returned together, to the time before any of it had happened.