USA, Chicago, Christmas Eve, 7 AM.

The biting cold cut through the morning like a blade, turning the city into a battlefield where the earth was a merciless chopping block, and people, nothing but helpless prey.

It should have been a day filled with cheer, with family, with the warmth of the season. But for 29-year-old Ryan, it was the day he received a phone call from the hospital that shattered everything. He had advanced stomach cancer. Without aggressive treatment, he might not survive the next six months.

The porridge on the stove bubbled softly, steam rising in delicate spirals, but after hanging up the phone, Ryan stood frozen, staring out the window. 29—the peak of his life, and yet it felt like everything was already slipping away.

To the outside world, he had it all: a respectable job, a beautiful wife, and in-laws who were seen as the pillars of Chicago's wealthy elite. A man who had climbed his way from the country to university, achieving more than most could dream of. Everyone thought he was lucky. Everyone envied his life.

But in reality, Ryan would rather face the storm than return to that home. Not every family is a refuge.

"Ryan, what are you zoning out for?" Emma Smith's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp with impatience. "Hurry up and bring the porridge to the table."

Her words brought him back to the moment. He turned off the stove and hurried to serve the steaming porridge.

The breakfast table was already set. Steaming bowls of porridge, honey-coated ham, and the faint sound of utensils clinking. Ryan's father-in-law, James, and mother-in-law, Mary, came downstairs, neither sparing him a glance as they took their seats without a word.

Emma glanced at Ryan with barely concealed annoyance. "Go call my brother George."

This time, Ryan didn't immediately obey. He untied his apron, sat down at the table, and said quietly, "There's something I need to talk to you about."

Emma's face tightened, her irritation growing. "We'll talk after George eats. Go get him."

Ryan didn't budge. His gaze fixed on her, unflinching. "Is George still a child? Why do you coddle him like this?"

Emma's brows furrowed in frustration. "Ryan, what is wrong with you?"

James, noticing the tension, intervened, his tone firm but calm. "Emma, let Ryan speak."

Emma hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. "Fine. Go ahead, Ryan."

Ryan took a deep breath and let the words hang in the air before he spoke. "I'm sick. And it's serious. I—"

Before he could finish, Mary scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I thought it was something important. It's just a sickness. If you're not dying, why all the drama? Don't know why you're making such a big deal out of it."

Mary casually wiped her mouth with a napkin, then went back to eating as if nothing had happened.

James frowned but said nothing. "It's just a little thing. Do we really need to bring it to the table?" he muttered, turning his attention back to his newspaper.

Ryan had hoped that even if Emma didn't care, she'd at least understand. After all, she was his wife. Surely she wouldn't respond the way her parents did.

But he was wrong.

Emma didn't even glance at him. "You're sick? Just take medicine and see a doctor. What's the point of telling us?"

Ryan let out a hollow laugh. "What if I told you I have cancer?"

Emma blinked in surprise, then, just as quickly, dismissed him with a laugh. "Oh, stop. You're living here, eating well, with no real stress from work. How could you possibly have cancer? Ryan, if you want attention, at least come up with a more believable excuse."

James and Mary said nothing, but their mocking expressions were unmistakable.

Emma shook her head in exasperation. "You're really starting to act like a child, aren't you?"

She stood up, ready to walk away. "It's Christmas Eve. Don't ruin it with your negativity. Tonight, your parents are coming over for dinner, and the nanny's gone for the holiday. You'll have to cook."

Ryan's fingers clenched into fists, his body rigid with anger. "Where are you going?"

Emma didn't turn back. "Shopping with my friends. It's a rare day off. I'm going to relax."

At that moment, George came downstairs, his hair a disheveled mess. He sat down at the table, digging into his breakfast with careless abandon. When he noticed Ryan's sour mood, he grinned, mocking him. "Brother-in-law, seriously? The sick act is getting old. If you don't want to do housework, just say so. No need to fake it."

He took a bite, wrinkling his nose. "Honestly, you've lost your touch. This porridge tastes terrible."

Four years of marriage, and not once had Emma, her family, or her brother ever respected him. No matter how hard he tried, he was never good enough for them. He was always the outsider, the one who had to prove himself.

No one cared whether he lived or died.

Ryan stared at the breakfast he had worked so hard to prepare, only to be met with ridicule and indifference. No one saw the effort. No one appreciated the sacrifice.

Frustration surged within him, a tidal wave of resentment that couldn't be ignored.

Why? Why had he sacrificed everything for this family, only to be treated like this?

Ryan's muscles tensed as his anger flared. Without thinking, he stood up, his hands gripping the edge of the table, and in a single, violent motion, he flipped it over. Dishes and pots crashed to the floor with a loud clatter, followed by his furious shout: "Fuck it! Don't eat! Everyone, just fucking stop!"

The room went silent.

Mary was the first to speak. "Ryan, are you out of your mind?!"

James stood, shocked, pulling Mary back. "Ryan, have you lost your mind?"

George, his face red with anger, stood up and pointed at him. "What did you just say? Say it again, I dare you."

Emma rushed into the room, her eyes wide with panic. She grabbed Ryan's arm, pulling him toward the bedroom. "Dad, Mom, I'll handle this."

Once they were alone, Emma's eyes flashed with disbelief. "Is this how you express your feelings now? What's going on with you? This isn't like you. What's wrong with our family? Why are you acting like this?"

Ryan's eyes met hers, and in that moment, memories of their past love came rushing back. They had once been so close, so in sync. But how had everything fallen apart so quickly?

Emma's persistent questioning only made Ryan feel more distant. As she reached for his hand, he instinctively pulled away.

Finally, Emma stopped, her voice laced with confusion. "What is going on with you? Why are you acting like this?"

Ryan looked at her, his voice calm but filled with finality. "Emma, let's get a divorce."

Emma's face fell, her body swaying with shock. "Why?"

Ryan's voice was low, emotionless. "No reason." And with that, he turned to leave.

Emma rushed over, grabbing his hand. "You can't just leave. You need to give me a reason!"

Ryan jerked his hand away, his anger boiling over. "Because I'm fucking done with this life. You. Your parents. Your brother. All of you make me sick. SICK! Happy now? Fuck!"

Ryan kicked over a nearby chair, shoved the bedroom door open, and stormed out of the house, leaving everything behind.