When I faced a medical crisis during childbirth, my husband, Meir, was nowhere to be found.

Dr. Warren Cooper pulled me back from the edge, and soon afterward, I stumbled upon a post by Meir's assistant—an image showing the two of them wrapped in a passionate kiss.

["At the Alps with the love of my life."]

I didn't break down or make a fuss. Instead, I quietly moved out, leaving behind nothing but the divorce papers.

Later, I heard that when he discovered the divorce papers, he flew into a rage, destroying everything in sight, his eyes burning with anger.

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"Quick, quick, get her into the operating room."

"Prepare for intubation."

"We need an arterial line immediately, get the blood transfusion ready!"

Through the fog in my mind, I could hear the medical team’s urgent voices. Dr. Cooper's voice was constant in my ear.

I struggled to speak, but words eluded me.

"Where is the patient's family? Notify them!"

"She... she came alone."

"She's in a critical state; where is her family?"

I was an orphan; Meir was my only family. Yet, he was allegedly on a business trip, unavailable by phone. Where could he have gone?

That thought lingered until I passed out entirely.

I awoke to find a week had passed. Dr. Cooper was there, his face showing relief.

"You’re finally awake."

My first instinct was to reach for my belly.

"My baby..."

His expression shifted from relief to sorrow.

"I'm deeply sorry, we did everything possible."

"You had a sudden medical crisis. We spent a week pulling you back from the brink with all the hospital's resources. Saving the baby was beyond our reach."

His words echoed in my mind, and tears stung my eyes.

A week ago, I had been shopping when a sharp pain knocked me over. A kind stranger got me to the hospital, where the crisis unfolded.

I was supposed to give birth next month, but now my baby was gone.

It felt like breathing was insurmountable.

I reached for my phone, trying to call Meir.

But there was no response. I checked WhatsApp—nothing from him all week.

Then I saw a message from Lucille Stone, his assistant, sent a week ago.

["Check social media."]

I opened her post, and the sight made me dizzy.

A photo of her and Meir, kissing in front of the Alps. The caption read: ["With the love of my life at the Alps."]

The post was dated a week ago.

While I was on a hospital bed fighting for survival, my husband was on a romantic getaway with his assistant, kissing.

Was this his so-called business trip?

Heartache made my whole body tremble as I clutched my chest.

And once again, I fell into unconsciousness.

When I came to, Meir called me.

“Joelle, what’s going on?”

“I was busy earlier when you called.”

His voice was as gentle as ever, showing no sign of anything unusual. This gentleness, in this moment, felt like a stab straight to my heart. I swallowed the discomfort.

“What... what are you up to?”

“I’m on a business trip. It’s been a hectic day. Met with two clients, but I took your advice and didn’t drink.”

This is how he usually treats me. Wherever he goes on a business trip, wherever he stays, whomever he meets—it’s all reported to me in detail. Everyone says the famous Mr. Nguyen, who has seen countless beauties, only bows to me.

I touched my now-empty abdomen, feeling tears like ice sliding down my cheeks.

“Joelle, why are you quiet? Are you feeling down?”

“No.”

I wiped away the tears. “Just wanted to check in. Don’t worry, focus on your trip.”

After hanging up, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I covered my face and began to cry.

Just then, my phone pinged with a new message. It was from Lucille Stone on WhatsApp.

“1997043 is my TikTok handle, where you’ll find everything about your husband's business trip.”

1997043 was Meir’s birthday.

I composed myself and searched for the TikTok account. She had just uploaded a new video.

The video showed her and Meir at a street food stall, enjoying pulled pork. She held up her phone while Meir fed her, thoughtfully made her a warm coffee, and gently said, “Your period is coming soon, so eat less of this stuff.”

She laughed, carefree and bold.

“Who’d have thought the usually aloof Mr. Nguyen remembers a woman’s cycle?”

At that point, I turned off my phone, gripping it tightly, my whole body trembling. It was as if she was flaunting before me, bragging that she loved my husband.

Have you ever seen Meir like this?

Lucille sent me another message on WhatsApp, with a touch of smugness.

"You always keep him on a tight schedule, making sure he goes to bed early and wakes up early, not to mention those health smoothies he drinks. He's only truly at ease when he's with me."

I had indeed never seen this side of Meir.

He was usually a workaholic, rarely making time for shopping or trips with me. Because of this, his health had declined, prompting me to encourage the smoothies and a disciplined routine.

I still hadn't responded to Lucille. Meir and I had been married for ten years. I wanted him to tell me about this himself.

I texted him: "Call me when you have a chance for a video chat."

And then, I waited and waited for his call.

Evening came; after Erin, the nurse, did her rounds and turned off the lights, I was still waiting for the call.

Scrolling through Lucille's Instagram, I saw she'd posted again. There was a photo of a man and woman in bed, just their shoulders visible under the covers.

"He's so considerate. Even when we travel, he brings his own bedding from home," she wrote as the caption.

The comments were filled with admiration:

"I'm so envious of the love between you and your boyfriend."

"Guys like him are hard to come by. My boyfriend just sleeps all the time when we're out!"

"Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness."

I clicked on her profile and saw her popularity had skyrocketed after posting a video of her and Meir at St. Peter's Basilica, garnering numerous likes and followers.

In the video, Meir, who was usually so precise and polished, was kneeling under the cathedral, praying for her. Everyone thought he was amazing and admired Lucille.

But they didn’t know this man was my husband.

While he was praying for someone else, I was in the operating room, halfway to the grave.