My powerless hands clenched into fists, and my nails pierced deep into the flesh.

Henry and Emma were hugging, and I, in Mrs. Barkley's words, was a heinous sinner.

I haven't done anything yet.

"Emma is also my friend and I want to stay with her."

In my memory, there are countless times Emma has been kind to me.

When I got married to Henry that year, Emma accompanied me to try on wedding dresses, from day to night, without getting tired of trying on several sets.

She was my only friend in City A, and even all the details of the wedding were handled by Emma.

But Mrs. Barkley was clearly not polite to me. With disdain in her eyes, she pushed me out of the door and said, "Violet, you deserve it too?" It was Emma who kindly treated you as a friend, but that doesn't mean our Barclay family approved of you! Would a fatherless country guy dare to be compared to us? If it weren't for Henry insisting on marrying you, do you think you would have the chance to be friends with Emma?"

"It's all our Barclay family's charity for you!"

With that, Mrs. Barkley slammed the door shut, leaving the space entirely for Henry and Emma.

Through the glass window, I saw Emma curled up in Henry's arms, patting her back and rubbing her hair from time to time.

Compared to this scene, Mrs. Barkley's words hurt me even more.

My nose stung and tears welled up in my eyes, which is why I was so eager to find my biological father and mother as soon as possible.

That way, I wouldn't be looked down upon.

"In fact, only you think so." I held my head high, trying not to let my tears fall, maintaining my remaining dignity, and said, "Henry loves me and Emma regards me as a friend, that's enough."

"Oh, how naive!" Mrs Barkley sneered, with a hint of contempt in her laughter.

Looking up, I saw Emma and Henry looking at each other affectionately. They were so close that they were just a centimeter apart to kiss each other's lips.

I knew they were little friends, I knew they were more like family.

But why did this scene hurt me so much? The sentiment in Emma's eyes clearly crossed the line.

It's not like looking at a family member or a friend, but rather full of longing, like courtship, like looking at a lover.

Henry's lips moved, not knowing what he was saying, and he let go of Emma, turned around and brought the medicine box.

Emma, on the sofa, had a clearly displeased expression.

As Henry turned around, she took out a knife from under the sofa.

Emma tried to take her own life.

I quickly tapped on the window, pushed Mrs. Barkley in and shouted, "Emma, don't do that!"

But someone was faster than me.

Henry suddenly clutched Emma, and the knife landed on his arm, making a bloody gash.

I exclaimed, "Henry!"

Having said that, I immediately brought the gauze and iodophor. When I turned around, I saw Henry looking at Emma nervously, looking her up and down and asking, "Is there anything hurt?"

I was stunned, the first aid kit in my hand seemed so superfluous.

Henry let the blood from his arm fall to the ground and never took his eyes off Emma for a moment.

If one time is a coincidence, then are many times still coincidences?

I just stood there and none of them noticed me.

Emma burst into tears: "Henry, what should I do? I can't live... '

"Don't be like this, Emma. You still have me, still have me."

At this point, Henry finally found me by his side.