When my husband passed away, I was still in the prime of my youth. Despite my family's objections, I insisted on observing three years of mourning with my four-year-old son. I thought those three years were a testament to my devotion to my late husband. But on the eve of his death anniversary, I stumbled upon a shocking secret: the man buried in the grave was not my husband, but his twin elder brother. The man who once cherished me like a precious treasure had actually spent three years living under the same roof as his own sister-in-law, all in the name of family. He abandoned his lawful wife, allowing his biological son to call out 'Daddy' to his memorial tablet, yet never once responded as a father. Those three years I spent alone as a widow were actually spent repaying a life-saving debt on his behalf. Now that the debt is repaid, our fate together has come to an end.