The Masked Husband's Betrayal

Mark Lynn and I held a very simple wedding. No lavish displays, no ornate decorations—only close family and friends gathered around in a small dining room. The restaurant was bathed in warm yellow light, softly spilling over each face, making every smile feel especially tender. Mark Lynn wore a well-fitted light gray suit, perfectly tailored to accentuate his upright posture. His hair was neatly combed, the stray strands on his forehead lying flat, trading some of his usual casualness for a quiet seriousness. When he held my hand, the warmth in his palm was just right—not cold, not hot—comforting my slightly anxious heart. He gazed deeply into my eyes with focused sincerity, speaking each word clearly: "Willow Scott, from now on, I will hold up this home for you." In that moment, a warm current surged from deep within my heart, full of emotion. I thought this marriage, born from gratitude, would give my brother Caleb Scott and me a stable future. For the past few years, I had lived alone with Caleb Scott. It was exhausting; I desperately needed a shoulder to lean on. I gently nodded, my eyes brimming with tears, and with a slight squeeze of my fingertips, I clasped his hand again: "Thank you, Mark." After the wedding, relatives and friends slowly began to leave. Everyone left with smiles, offering blessings. Some patted Mark Lynn's shoulder, urging him to treat me well; others held my hand, saying I had finally found a good home. Mark and I tidied up the clutter on the table, placed the small gifts from our relatives and friends into bags, and together returned to our little home. It's a two-bedroom apartment in a quiet neighborhood within the city. We chose the decor style together—light-colored furniture and simple decorative paintings. Though minimal, warmth radiates from every corner. On the living room balcony, a few pots of green plants stand, their leaves lush and vibrant, bringing life to the room. I went to tidy Caleb Scott's room first. The room isn't big, but I kept it clean and tidy. I spread the newly bought light blue bedsheet on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles, then placed his familiar little teddy bear beside the pillow — it was a gift I gave Caleb when he was a child, and he has carried it with him all these years. Caleb was shy and pure-hearted. Ever since the accident three years ago, his mental capacity has regressed to that of a five-year-old, making him as dependent on care as a child. "Caleb will stay with us tonight, and tomorrow we'll take him back to his own room." After tidying the bed, I walked to the living room and spoke to Mark Lynn. Mark Lynn was placing our wedding photo on the TV cabinet. When he heard me speak, he put down the frame, came over, and gently hugged me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. His voice was as soft as a feather: "Alright, I'll do as you say.""Willow, from now on we are one family. I will take good care of you and Caleb." I leaned into his embrace, feeling his warmth, my heart swelling with hope for the future. Sunlight streamed in from the balcony, bathing us. In that moment, I truly believed happiness had come to stay.