Isabella held Eleanor’s frail hand tightly.

Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably.

“Grandma, I’m so relieved you’re awake! I was terrified when you collapsed. What triggered your heart attack?” Her voice shook with raw emotion.

Eleanor had always been in good health with no prior cardiac issues.

The sudden attack left Isabella deeply confused and worried.

With her free hand, Eleanor gently wiped Isabella’s tears.

Her own eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Isabella, have you been hiding something from me?” she whispered weakly.

Isabella froze at the question.

“What do you mean?”

Eleanor’s gaze was filled with deep concern and sorrow.

“Are you involved with a married man?” Her words were heavy with grief.

Tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “I failed to protect you.”

Confusion and anxiety surged through Isabella.

“Grandma, why would you think that? Who told you these lies?” Her voice rose in frustration.

Eleanor continued with great effort.

“Someone left photos and a letter at my door. They showed a man holding you as you got into his car.”

Isabella gasped.

A man holding her? Entering a car?

“The letter accused you of stealing another woman’s husband,” Eleanor said, each word draining her strength. “It warned you to end it or face consequences.”

A cold dread crept down Isabella’s spine.

She was momentarily speechless, scrambling for a response.

Eleanor’s eyes fixed on Isabella’s forehead.

Her face paled with horror. “You’re hurt? Did that person come after you?”

Her voice trembled with fear and panic.

“Sweetheart, you must stay away from another woman’s marriage. End things with that man now.”

With each word, Eleanor’s anxiety intensified.

Her breathing became ragged, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Isabella felt an invisible fist clench her heart.

It squeezed until she could barely breathe.

“Grandma, it’s not what you think,” she said, her voice unsteady despite her efforts.

But Eleanor’s doubtful gaze remained firm.

Isabella exhaled deeply, weighed down by the misunderstanding.

“Where are the photos?” she asked softly.

Eleanor pointed toward her clothes. “In my pocket.”

After leaving resuscitation, a nurse had changed her into a sterile gown.

Her belongings were placed in the ward.

Isabella walked over to the clothes.

Her hands fumbled through the fabric until she felt something stiff and glossy.

She pulled out the photos.

There, frozen in glossy images, were pictures of her and Ethan.

His arm was wrapped around her waist in a protective, intimate embrace.

Their closeness appeared undeniable, almost tender.

Isabella’s breath caught in her throat.

She couldn’t recall ever being that close to Ethan.

A bitter knot twisted in her chest, rising like bile.

How could she explain this to Eleanor?

If she revealed the truth—that the man was her husband—it would only worsen the situation when their inevitable divorce happened.