###1
Ms. Lancaster, you and your husband have been married for thirty years. You have a son, a daughter, and a darling grandson. With such a picture-perfect family, don’t you feel even a little reluctant?
The lawyer’s brows drew together slightly, hoping I might reconsider.
Happy? I couldn’t help but curl my lips into a cold smirk.
Not long ago, I was in a car accident. The hospital had called Stephen Mortimer and the children repeatedly, but none of them answered. Not even once.
When I finally woke from the coma, I saw that my daughter-in-law had forgotten to block me from her latest Instagram story.
That was how I found out: while I had been lying in a hospital bed, they had all been at the Clarendon Court Hotel, throwing a banquet for Stephen’s first love, Eleanor Windsor, celebrating her sculpture’s award.
In the video, my grandson ran across the floor, and children’s laughter echoed in the background. Stephen, with his graying hair, held Eleanor in his arms, smiling with radiant joy.
I sat in a daze the entire afternoon, finally realizing that this self-deceiving marriage should have ended long ago.
“I’ve made up my mind. Please prepare the divorce papers and the equity transfer contract.”
I had decided, on the day of our thirtieth wedding anniversary, that I would give Stephen the biggest gift and also the final one.
Congratulations. He no longer needed to sneak around with his first love.
1
When I returned home from the law office, Stephen was out on the balcony, speaking to his assistant over the phone.
“Yes, the fireworks must be as breathtaking as a starry sky. Only something that beautiful is worthy of Eleanor!”
In thirty years of marriage, Stephen had never once brought me flowers. One year, I hinted that I wanted roses for my birthday, and he merely frowned with impatience.
“Can’t you be a little more frugal, Victoria? Roses? Aren’t there plenty blooming in the garden?”
Back then, I thought he simply lacked a taste for romance. Yet now, he was ready to spend millions on custom fireworks just to craft the perfect evening for Eleanor.
I stood frozen in the living room. Stephen ended his call, stepped inside, and without even sparing me a glance, tossed his suit jacket into my hands and muttered, “Why are you back so late? Haven’t made dinner yet?”
I suddenly realized that after all these decades, I had never been his beloved, only a tireless servant.
Suppressing the hollow ache in my chest, I quietly hung up his jacket.
“Stephen, I’m going to prepare your anniversary gift.”
Only then did his scowl ease. He even raised an eyebrow, his mood visibly lifted.
“Then just order takeout. How about that Spanish place? Don’t you like Spanish ham?”
It was Eleanor who liked ham. The mere scent of it made me nauseous.
Half a lifetime had passed, and he still knew nothing about me.
Before I could say a word, his phone lit up again.
Though he swiftly turned the screen and stepped onto the balcony, I had already seen the name flashing.
Eleanor.
Ten minutes later, he came back in a rush.
“Working late tonight. Eat without me.”
I grabbed his arm and handed him a single signature page and a pen.
“Stephen, I’m thinking of getting a new car for the house.”
He clicked his tongue in annoyance and signed without even glancing at the page.
“Such a spendthrift. Fine. Just don’t waste my time with nonsense.”
He tossed the paper back at me and reached for his coat. In his haste, he yanked a scarf off the rack and stepped right on it as he rushed out the door.
That scarf was the one I’d spent over a month knitting, my hands raw with cuts, just for our anniversary last year.
I picked it up and threw it in the trash as if discarding my own bruised and bloodied heart.
Then, I took off my wedding ring and walked into his room.
I entered the combination on Stephen’s safe, Eleanor’s birthday.
The door opened immediately.
Inside the box lay an album, carefully preserved, each page a silent witness to the years he spent with her.
My husband had taken three fixed business trips every year. But now, I knew the truth: each one was to accompany Eleanor on her travels abroad. From the age of thirty-five to fifty-five, for twenty long years.
My hands trembled as I turned to a photo of them wrapped in an embrace, locked in a kiss under the golden sun of the Gold Coast.
She wore a swimsuit, her figure still stunning despite her age, while he, though lined with crow’s feet, still held that broad-shouldered strength and masculine charm. The way they looked at each other wasn’t just affection. It was devotion, captured in a moment like two lovers forever sealed in time.
The earlier photos had already yellowed with age. In them, they were young, recklessly so.
The first one was taken beneath an observatory tower, the two of them holding hands just as the first shooting star streaked across the sky.
In Stephen’s familiar handwriting beneath it.
“I once missed a meteor shower. I hope I never miss the one who loves the stars.”
From black hair to white, they had never missed each other again.
I remembered the happiest moment I ever had with Stephen, the day he proposed.
Beneath a star-strewn sky, high on the grasslands at three thousand meters, he had slipped a glittering ring onto my finger. His gaze had been deep and earnest, his voice steady as he promised me a lifetime of loyalty.
But in the end, I realized it was never about me. It was because Eleanor loved stars.
Those burning vows were never mine to keep.
My chest ached, torn open by the weight of that truth. I set the album down, and tears spilled freely, like shattered beads, falling with no end in sight.
I had chased Stephen for three long years before he finally agreed to be with me.
Back then, my parents had warned me, told me he didn’t love me, not the way a man should. But I believed that if I gave him all my heart, he would eventually give his in return.
But a fruit forced to ripen was never sweet.
And after thirty years, I had finally tasted that bitterness in full.
I had watched over his meals, raised our children, helped with the grandchild, always moving, always giving, always exhausted.
Once a young, radiant girl, I had become a worn, plump woman. While he and his beloved remained untouched by time, elegant, graceful, glowing still.
Over ten years ago, Stephen had started forgetting our anniversaries, missing my birthdays, and leaving me alone at the hospital with nothing but a cold phone call.
Back then, I told myself, if I could count sixty-six disappointments, I’d walk away for good.
This was the sixty-sixth.
I placed the wedding ring and the signed divorce agreement into Stephen’s personal safe.
Then I picked up the phone and dialed.
“Edmund Dalton, do you still want my shares in Mortimer Group?”
###2
“Wow, did I hear that right? You love that Edmund guy so much, and now you’re offering your shares to me?”
The man’s deep voice rose by two pitches, laced with disbelief, and when I stayed silent, he let out a low chuckle.
“Then I’ll gladly accept. But in return, I’ve got a big gift for you, Victoria. How about signing a lifelong contract with me?”
“Aren’t you into traveling? As it happens, I’ve just invested in a large-scale travel show. I’m still looking for the perfect host.”
I froze. “But I’m old now, and my image—”
Edmund cut me off. “It’s never too late to begin again, especially when you’re only fifty-five. Back then, Victoria was the brightest, most dazzling host to come out of an Ivy League university.”
He didn’t ask what I’d gone through. As if everything was already within his grasp, his tone allowed no room for refusal.
“Forget that washed-up Stephen and look ahead. I’ll come get you when I’m back from this trip.”
Honestly, he was still just as overbearing as he had been in his youth.
A few seconds later, I let out a long sigh. “Alright. I accept, Edmund.”
Yes, my life was only beginning, and this time, I would finally live it for myself.
Stephen didn’t come home that night.
Early the next morning, he called and asked me to bring breakfast to the company. “Make sure it’s a double portion. We have a guest.”
He never liked anyone else’s cooking. For the past thirty years, whether I was running a fever, had insomnia, or just felt unwell, I still got up in the rain or cold to cook for him.
An hour and a half later, I opened the door to Stephen’s office, only to see Eleanor standing there in an elegant champagne-colored blazer and pencil skirt.
At her feet lay my favorite painting, roughly torn and scattered in shreds across the floor.
In the spot where it had once hung proudly, there now stood a new sculpture.
My mind froze for several seconds. Then, unable to hold back the fire in my chest, I shouted, “Who did this? That was my painting!”
Eleanor widened her eyes with an innocent look, then lightly covered her mouth.
“Oh no, I thought it was just some worthless junk, it looked so ugly. I gave Stephen my own piece instead. Sorry, Victoria, I’ll make it up to you with a new one.”
But that was the only painting Stephen and I had ever completed together during a trip we once called our most precious memory.
Stephen, flipping through documents at his desk, didn’t even glance in my direction. He walked over and casually took the thermal container from my hands.
“No need. That thing was worthless anyway. Now that your artwork’s here, this whole office feels elevated.”
As he walked toward her, he brushed past me carelessly, knocking me off balance. I fell hard.
The nails from the broken frame jabbed into my palm. Blood surged out instantly, the sting sharp enough to send cold sweat running down my back.
I bit my lip and tried to push myself up. But just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of pink underwear tossed carelessly in the corner.
It felt as if an invisible hand clutched my chest, squeezing tighter and tighter, leaving me breathless.
But Stephen didn’t notice the blood dripping from my palm. Nor did he see the pink underwear, Eleanor’s, the one he had taken off himself.
Instead, when she looked up at him with teary eyes and a pout, saying, “Stephen, there were peanuts in the oatmeal. I’m severely allergic… I could’ve died,” he immediately scowled.
Without hesitation, he slammed the oatmeal I had spent an hour preparing into the trash.
Then, glancing at me, still sprawled on the floor, he let out a cold scoff.
“Stop pretending to be fragile, Victoria. Get up and clean that ugly painting. And don’t you dare put peanuts in the food again.”
With that, he turned and took Eleanor out to enjoy a Michelin breakfast.
My entire body trembled. The pain in my palm throbbed harder, and warm tears finally spilled from my eyes.
Later that evening, at Eleanor’s celebration banquet, I saw him take her hand, refusing to let her carry even the smallest bag.
“Your hands create art, they should be treated like a goddess’s.”
And yet I had spent half my life tending to him like a maid, scrubbing, cooking, enduring, and no one ever asked if I was okay when I bled.
When I got home, I casually dabbed some ointment on my bleeding hand, then began sorting through all the gifts Stephen had ever given me.
Every holiday, he would buy things in twos. I used to think it was generosity until I checked his social media through a hidden account and saw the truth. Everything he ever gave me, he also gave to Eleanor. Not one thing was meant solely for me.
He simply couldn’t bear for her to go without.
By the time I finished sorting, the sun was already dipping. I didn’t even have time to fix my disheveled hair before rushing off to pick up my first-grade grandson, Henry.
When Henry walked out with his classmates, a few boys nearby pointed and snickered, “Hey, Henry, is that your grandma?”
His face flushed instantly. With panic in his eyes, he shouted, “No, she’s our housekeeper!”
“This is my grandma, she’s a famous sculptor!”
Henry held up a fashion magazine photo of Eleanor looking elegant and stylish. My head buzzed loudly.
My head went numb. This was the boy I had raised with my own hands.
While my son and his wife were busy managing the business with Stephen, I had changed every diaper, nursed every fever, and sung every lullaby, and now he denied me.
And now, I was nothing but his shame.
In the car, Henry kept his head down the entire ride. He either stared at his shoes or watched the world blur past the window as if afraid I might scold him.
But this time, I said nothing. No nagging, no lectures. I just sat there in silence, mocking the pitiful woman I had become.
When we pulled up to my son’s house, Henry kicked at the curb as he climbed out, his voice barely a whisper. “Grandma, aren’t you mad?”
I looked at him, my gaze steady and calm. “Henry, do you want a different grandma? If you do, I’ll help you get what you want.”
###3
I tossed him to the nanny and drove off without glancing back.
When I got home, worn down to the bone, the first thing I saw was the piano dumped carelessly on the lawn like garbage.
Inside, Arthur stood by the door, dragging in several large suitcases.
“Mom, Aunt Eleanor will be staying in the country for a while, so she’ll be living here. She doesn’t like noise, so I cleared out your music room to make a sculpture studio for her.”
I stared at him, his face distant and cold. At that moment, I realized I no longer belonged. I was just some unsightly remnant, awkward and out of place, stubbornly lingering where I wasn’t wanted.
That piano, his eighth birthday gift to me, was bought with all his New Year’s money.
He used to sit beside me, giggling in the sunlight, hands on the keys, clinging to my arm and saying, “I love Mommy the most.” That little boy had vanished into time.
Swallowing the ache in my chest, I forced a smile through the tears that threatened to spill.
“Arthur, this is how you treat your mother now.”
A flicker of unease crossed his face, awkward, almost guilty. And just then, soft footsteps echoed from behind him.
Stephen stepped into the yard with Eleanor beside him, his expression cold and identical to Arthur’s as he looked straight at me.
“Eleanor’s afraid of the dark. Your room gets the most sunlight. Please move out and let her stay there.”
I lowered my gaze and nodded. “Alright. I’ll move all my things out.”
They had expected resistance, perhaps tears or a tantrum. But my calm reply caught him off guard, and his face stiffened with surprise.
“Victoria—”
“Victoria, you’re so sweet! Then let’s get along well during this time,” Eleanor cut in with a sugary smile.
I didn’t spare them a second glance. I turned, climbed the stairs, and headed to the bedroom.
There, I bent down and quietly dragged out one heavy bag after another. Every item I packed carried years of silence, sacrifice, and dust.
When I tossed thirty years of memories into the trash truck, Stephen followed me out, brows furrowed.
“Why are you throwing away so much?”
“Just old junk I’ll never use again.”
He eyed me warily, unsettled by the eerie calm in my voice. He reached into one bag and froze.
“These… these are the gifts I gave you.”
I smiled faintly. “Things from decades ago should’ve been thrown out a long time ago.”
Just like certain people.
Stephen’s face tightened, displeased. “You used to treasure them…”
Yes, as long as it was a gift from him, I used to light up like a child, clutching it to my chest, promising I’d treasure it forever.
Back then, Stephen would glance at me and feel an inexplicable warmth bloom in his chest.
But forever was far too long. A heart soaked in betrayal couldn’t carry its weight.
I brushed past him without pause. “There’s someone new in the house now. You’ve never liked a crowd, have you?”
He opened his mouth, perhaps to explain that Eleanor was only staying temporarily, but I had already turned away and loaded everything into the car.
He let out a sigh. “There’s a banquet tonight. You haven’t been out in a while, why not come along with Eleanor.”
He hadn’t invited me to a formal event in years. Ever since I gained weight, he had stopped taking me anywhere that mattered.
At the banquet, the two of them stepped out of the car first.
The host beamed with admiration. “President Mortimer, your wife is still as beautiful as she was in her youth.”
Stephen didn’t correct him. With a smile, he naturally took the mistress’s hand.
“Thank you.”
“And this lady is…?”
Only then did he glance my way. There was a brief flicker, and then he looked away. “She’s our assistant.”
I stood frozen in place. Even though his answer didn’t surprise me, it still felt like someone had torn my heart wide open.
Swallowing the sting in my eyes, I lifted my head and walked into the banquet with what remained of my dignity.
Eleanor clung to Stephen’s arm, swirling her wine glass as they mingled effortlessly among the glittering crowd, like a true couple of high society.
And I stood at a distance, watching it all unfold as if I were just a passing shadow. The laughter, the glamour, none of it belonged to me.
Then, suddenly, a searing pain shot through my injured right calf.
###4
In an instant, cold sweat drenched my back.
The lingering injury from the accident flared again, my previously fractured leg sending waves of pain with every heartbeat. I had no choice but to borrow a room to rest.
But all the organizers gave me was a cold, pitch-dark utility closet.
The moment I stepped inside, I heard a sharp “click” from the outside. The lock.
“Stephen has always loved me. You pitiful woman who threw herself at him, so what if you were married for decades? He never loved you!”
Outside, Eleanor’s voice rang with cruel delight.
“You saw it yourself, didn’t you? I sat in the front passenger seat next to Stephen tonight. This couture gown I’m wearing? A gift from your daughter. This limited-edition Cartier watch? Your son bought it for me. They all adore me, not you!”
My leg throbbed with unbearable pain. Drenched in sweat, I rattled the door, my voice shaking.
“You can have him and them, all of them! Just let me go to the hospital. I’m begging you!”
“Stop dreaming. I won’t let you out to steal the spotlight. Tonight, stay here and learn your place.”
Then, she hung a “Do Not Disturb – Under Maintenance” sign on the handle. The click of her heels echoed down the hall, growing fainter with every step.
I collapsed onto the cold floor, drained and defeated. Reaching for my phone, I realized with horror it was dead.
“Help me!”
I slammed my fists against the locked door, shouting until my voice broke, but the room was too remote, the night too quiet. No one came.
In the end, the pain consumed me, and everything faded to black.
Two hours later, when the banquet had ended, Stephen still hadn’t seen me. He looked around with a frown of irritation.
“Didn’t I tell her to behave and stay put? Where did she run off to?”
Eleanor clung to his arm, biting her lip with feigned guilt. “Did she leave because you called me your wife? If I’d known she’d be hurt, I would’ve explained it to her.”
But Stephen only replied with a scoff.
“Everyone tonight was high society. Do you really think her disheveled look wouldn’t have embarrassed me? Eleanor, I’m grateful you were by my side. You helped me save face.”
“Victoria is always so dramatic. Let her sulk. Let’s go home.”
Eleanor glanced smugly toward the utility room, the corner of her lips lifting in silent triumph.
And I was locked away in that dark room, was left forgotten. Not a single soul in that family remembered me.
The next morning, when Henry had to be taken to school, my son finally remembered I existed.
“Why isn’t she here yet? Do you even know what time it is?!”
But when my phone went unanswered, he didn’t bother calling again.
Instead, he waved it off and told the nanny to take Henry.
I was finally let out by a hotel staff member.
After charging my phone, there were no messages from Stephen asking where I was or expressing concern. What I did see was a blaring headline lighting up the screen.
[The long-absent Mrs. Mortimer, wife of the Mortimer Group president, turns out to be a renowned sculptor. A match made in heaven, a truly gifted man and elegant woman.]
Weak and numb, I stared at the screen and gave a bitter smile.
Then my phone rang.
For a fleeting second, I thought maybe it was Stephen.
But no. The name flashing on the screen was Edmund. I picked up, and his voice came through instantly, tight with worry.
“Victoria, I called you all night! What the hell happened? Are you alright now?”
###5
It turned out Edmund had seen the trending headlines last night. Fearing I might do something reckless, he had searched for me the entire night.
I never imagined the only warmth left in my world would come from someone outside the family.
My eyes reddened, and I choked back tears. “I… I’m okay…”
“No, you’re not,” he said, his voice dropping into a stormy calm. “You’re not okay at all. I’m cutting my trip short. I’ll come get you.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry…”
“You never have to say that to me, Victoria. My feelings have never changed.”
Years ago, Edmund had once pursued me. But back then, I had been hopelessly in love with Stephen, blind to everyone else.
I never thought that, after thirty years, he would still hold a place for me in his heart.
When I returned home from the hospital, I found Eleanor draped across Stephen’s black bed, wearing a loose men’s shirt and holding a glass of champagne. Her legs were shamelessly splayed.
Stephen had always been obsessed with cleanliness. He used to hate me, leaving even a trace of scent in his room.
Twenty years ago, when his business had yet to flourish, he offended an important client because of his temper.
To salvage the situation, I drank until I nearly suffered a gastric hemorrhage.
But when I stumbled back home that night, he didn’t offer a word of concern. He only wrinkled his nose in disdain and stopped me at the door.
“You stink. Wash it off yourself.”
I had been left outside in the snow all night. By the time I dragged myself back to my room at dawn, my body was burning with fever, and it lasted an entire week.
And now, Eleanor, reeking of alcohol, lay sprawled comfortably in his bed.
So, all those rigid rules were only meant for me.
She rose slowly, deliberately tugging open the shirt that still carried Stephen’s scent, exposing the crimson hickeys blooming across her skin.
“Stephen was wild last night. He went at it for hours. Said you were as stiff as a board, boring as hell. You never knew how to please him.”
I felt nauseated like bile rising up my throat, but I forced it back down and looked her straight in the eye, cold and unfazed.
“So what? Eleanor, you’re still just a mistress.”
The word struck her like a slap. Her eyes darkened with venom. But then, she rolled them with exaggerated flair, grabbed the glass beside her, and smashed it to the floor.
A sharp cry followed as she collapsed to the ground.
“Eleanor!”
Stephen burst through the door, eyes wide with panic. He rushed to her side, cradling her like porcelain.
Tears clung to her lashes as she whimpered, “I just wanted to explain last night to Victoria, but she told me to die and pushed me into the glass…”
Stephen held her bleeding hand, just a shallow cut, yet his expression twisted with heartbreak, his eyes bloodshot with fury as they turned to me.
“Apologize to Eleanor!”
A tidal wave of grievance surged through me, and I cried out in despair, “I didn’t do anything! She—”
“I’d better leave before Victoria finds another way to hurt me!”
Eleanor’s wailing cut me off as she pretended to pull away from Stephen’s embrace.
But instead of pushing her away, he held her even tighter, as if she were the most fragile treasure in the world. His eyes burned into me with contempt.
“You’re so petty and small-minded. Go reflect on yourself.”
And with that, he left, taking Eleanor to see a doctor as if I were the criminal.
Later, the bodyguards dragged me into the basement like a discarded object. I had no choice but to call my son for help.
Arthur’s voice on the line was cold and sharp.
“I already heard from Dad. You went too far. It was just a little misunderstanding, and you actually hurt Aunt Eleanor?”
“Mom, can’t you learn to be more like her? Be graceful for once. Stop embarrassing the family.”
My heart froze.
I stared at the screen, tears falling without end. My fingers trembled as I hung up in silence.
Stephen was determined to punish me. He didn’t even allow a drop of water.
After a day and night of silent suffering, my foot throbbed with unbearable pain. At last, the old housekeeper, unable to stand it anymore, secretly let me out.
Just as I arrived at the hospital, I saw Eleanor’s latest post on Instagram.
The first photo showed Stephen’s back as he ran hospital errands for her. The second was a pregnancy report.
[With a man who truly loves you, the sense of security is overwhelming.]
Beneath the post, the Mortimer family lit up the comments.
My son: [Congrats to Dad for winning back the heart of his goddess.]
My daughter, writing from overseas: [Didn’t you used to joke about borrowing some sperm to have a baby? Looks like your hard work with my father paid off. Congrats!]
My daughter-in-law: [We absolutely need to throw a party for you two.]
Then came a reply from Stephen himself.
[Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m just helping Eleanor. If you keep stirring things up, are you trying to push your mother and me to divorce?]
At once, my son and daughter-in-law replied together. [Got it. We won’t say more.]
But then my daughter wrote. [Everyone knows you’ve never let go of Aunt Eleanor. Why not follow your heart? We support you.]
I never thought the child I loved most would say something like that.
She respected her powerful father, but her own mother, less graceful and less impressive, could never compare to Eleanor. In their eyes, I didn’t deserve to be his wife, nor their mother.
So, all those years I gave and all the sacrifices I made were worthless.
Now that the marriage had shattered and the family I once protected had turned cold, I had nothing left to lose.
I typed slowly on my phone.
[Congrats on having a child in your old age. Don’t worry, I won’t interfere with your happy family. Stephen and I are getting divorced.]
The moment I hit send, my phone started ringing.
###6
“What kind of nonsense is that? Eleanor and I aren’t what you think. She wanted a child, and I simply donated sperm to help her.”
I wiped my swollen, burning eyes and let out a bitter laugh. “Oh? Since when did infidelity come with such a noble excuse?”
Just as I said it, I looked up, and there they were. Stephen and Eleanor stroll down the hospital corridor side by side.
The moment he saw me, his face darkened. He marched over, waving his phone accusingly.
“What are you doing here? Are you following us?”
Leaning on my crutch, I replied calmly, “My foot hurt, and I was lightheaded from hunger. I came for a checkup.”
Eleanor snorted. “Come on, Victoria. You’ve always acted like nothing could bring you down. What’s with all these sudden little ailments?”
Stephen’s anger faltered for a second. His eyes lingered on my pale lips and unsteady steps. His voice dropped, softer.
“What happened to your foot? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I looked at him in silence, a cold smirk tugging at my lips.
Why did it hurt? Even now, he still believed the accident had been a performance.
He had vanished for a full week to celebrate with his lover. When he returned and saw me limping on a crutch, he sneered and said I was getting better at faking pain just to earn his sympathy.
He had locked me in the basement to “teach me a lesson” for her sake. I could already imagine the humiliation waiting on the other end.
But since I was leaving anyway, there was nothing more to say.
I bit my lip, said nothing, and bore it in silence.
Seeing me like that, something must have finally registered. His expression shifted with unease. He grabbed my hand, panic slipping into his voice.
“Eleanor and I only went through a medical procedure, I swear. She and the baby won’t affect our marriage. Tomorrow’s our 30th anniversary, I’ve planned a surprise for you.”
Watching him act, watching him grasp at whatever script he thought would move me, I almost laughed.
“I’ve got a surprise for you too.”
Perhaps out of guilt, he personally arranged my hospital admission and even ran out to buy me fruit. A rare sight.
My son and his wife also showed up, looking awkward and hesitant, trying to smooth things over.
“Dad and Aunt Eleanor, they’re not what you think.”
“Mom, they ended things thirty years ago. They’re just friends now.”
“Yeah. Friends who do artificial insemination. I’m tired. If that’s all, you can go.”
They stared at me in shock. I’d always spoken gently to them. My sarcasm now struck like a slap.
At that moment, my phone buzzed with a new message.
[I’m coming to get you tonight. Ready? Doesn’t matter. I’ll carry you if I have to.]
Without a word, I typed back: [Be on time.]
Stephen walked in with a bag of fruit, his eyes lingering on my phone. “Who are you messaging?” he asked quietly.
“Credit card company. It’s time to pay the bill.”
He chuckled lightly. “If you need money, just tell me. All these years, it’s not like I’ve ever let you go without.”
Right. Even beggars on the street didn’t starve.
That day, Stephen played the role of a devoted husband, pouring tea, peeling fruit, and buying dinner.
But I knew better. It wasn’t love. It was guilt.
As night settled in, his phone rang.
He took one look, locked the screen, and quickly tucked it away. Then he leaned down, kissed my forehead, and murmured, “There’s an emergency at the office. I’ll be back soon. Get some rest.”
Minutes after he left in a rush, a message popped up on my phone.
[Don’t get smug, bitch. One call from me and he’s already not coming back to you tonight.]
Attached was a photo of him kneeling on the ground, reverently kissing her stomach.
I turned off my phone, opened the cabinet, pulled out my suitcase, and walked out of the hospital.
A Bentley waited under the streetlamp. The window rolled down, revealing the refined, handsome face of a mature man.
Once inside the car, I opened my social media and carefully selected several photos to share.
One of the wedding ring and divorce agreement resting in the safe.
One of my hospitalization records after the car accident.
One of them, tangled together in passion at a hotel while I was clinging to life.
And lastly, a photo of my notebook, where I had quietly documented sixty-six moments of heartbreak.
When the clock struck midnight, I pressed send, tagging Stephen. [After the 66th disappointment, I’m finally free. Hope you enjoy this 30th anniversary surprise. Happy divorce.]
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