In the seventh year of our marriage, around Thanksgiving, my husband still refused to introduce me to his family. Each time I brought it up, he would smile and say:

“Times are different now, darling. People like to maintain personal boundaries.”

“You married me, not my family.”

“Marriage is just between the two of us, as long as we love each other, that’s all that matters.”

“Besides, you don't need to meet my parents, and I won’t meet yours; wouldn’t it be better to keep our families separate?”

His words sounded so reasonable that I never doubted him. Until the next day, when my mom asked me to attend my cousin's son’s birthday party—a cousin I hadn’t seen in seven years—and there I saw my husband playing joyously with a little boy who looked alarmingly similar to him.

My breath caught, and I shakily pulled my aunt Vivienne aside, asking:

“Is that Cecelia's husband? And the little boy, is he their son?”

Aunt Vivienne chuckled warmly, “Yes! They've been together for six years.”

“It’s just that they were living abroad all this time. I hear they’re back to get their marriage license.”

"You should go say hi to your cousin and her husband.”

Across the room, I caught Phillip Daniels’ gaze; he froze on the spot. The next instant, Cecelia came over, her arm linked through his, with a smile that greeted my shocked expression.

“You must be Jemma Price, right? It's been ages!”

“This is my husband.”

A flicker of discomfort crossed Phillip’s face, but he stayed silent.

A ringing filled my ears, my mind went blank.

The room buzzed with noise, but I couldn’t hear a thing.

Cecelia Fischer smiled softly, but I could clearly see the mockery in her eyes, as if she was ridiculing me for my ignorance.

Seeing I remained silent, she asked with concern:

“You don’t look well. Are you feeling okay? Would you like to go inside and rest?”

“Phillip, you don’t mind, do you?” she coaxed him, clutching his arm.

With a small gesture, he tweaked her nose lightly and replied tenderly:

“You’ve asked, how could I refuse?”

Watching their intimate exchange, I wanted to confront Phillip Daniels, yet no words came out.

The man who just yesterday told me he was on a business trip was now at my cousin’s son's birthday party, and he was her husband.

And they had a six-year-old son.

So what was I then?

For seven years, I had been thoroughly deceived.

No wonder Phillip went on business trips every month, often for more than half the month.

No wonder he always found reasons to avoid meeting my relatives.

Turns out he was hiding something on the side.

All those reassurances were just a cover.

Suppressing a tide of emotions, I lifted my head and stared at Phillip Daniels, hoping he would offer an explanation.

He only glanced at me coldly, saying, “Miss Price, if you’re feeling unwell, you should rest.”

“Otherwise, if something happens, we won’t have time to take you to the hospital.”

My heart felt as if it was being ripped apart, the pain making my eyes sting.

Cecelia glanced between Phillip and me, her brows lightly furrowed.

“What’s going on? Do you two... know each other?”

Phillip promptly replied, “No.”

His quick denial made my mouth twist into a bitter smile.

Nearby, the little boy ran over, clinging to Phillip's leg.

Looking up, he said, “Daddy, can you play with me?”

“Mommy has a baby sister in her tummy, so she can’t play with me anymore.”

Phillip stiffened, instinctively glancing at me.

For just a second before he turned away, bending down to pat the boy's head.

“Alright, Daddy will play with Jackson.”

Jackson gleefully bounced up and turned to Cecelia, “Mommy, can you come too?”

Cecelia laughed. “Okay.”

I felt completely numb.

Jackson led Phillip away, leaving Cecelia and me alone.

She dropped her pretense, savoring the sight of my pallor with satisfaction.

Caressing her belly, she said, “Did you know? Ever since I went abroad, Phillip would fly over every month and rent the apartment next to mine, just to take care of me.”

“Even back then, when we weren't married.”

“You two have been married all this time, and you don’t have any children, right? He told me his children would only come from my belly. Any from another woman... he wouldn't recognize.”

“Dear cousin, sometimes it’s better to have some self-awareness.”

She leaned closer with a smile, “Don’t you agree, Jemma?”

I was frozen in place.

Ever since we got married, Phillip always insisted on using protection.

Whenever I expressed my desire to have children, he said the timing wasn’t right, that we should wait.

But now, he had a child.

And it wasn’t with me.

From a short distance away, Jackson turned and waved over.

“Mommy, come on!”

With a smile, Cecelia answered and went to Phillip, falling into his embrace.

Phillip held her, murmuring something to her. Cecelia coyly hugged him in return.

Watching their small family, despite the heat of summer, I felt like I was caught in a snowstorm.

My gaze lingered numbly on a family of three not far away. Perhaps sensing my stare, Phillip Daniels glanced up towards me and then quickly averted his eyes. I forced a small smile, filled with self-mockery.

Like a moth to a flame, I kept my eyes fixed on them, as if trying to etch this scene into my mind forever. As I watched, my phone buzzed with a message from Phillip.

[I’ll explain today’s situation when I get back. It’s Jackson’s birthday today. Please don’t make a scene, alright? Just come home and be sensible, okay?]

A wave of nausea hit me like a punch to the gut. I gripped my phone tightly, unable to bring myself to respond. Phillip glanced at me, then put his phone back in his pocket, feigning normalcy as he continued to play with his son.

All the guests were family, and I couldn't blow things up in front of so many people, or it would be my parents facing the gossip.

Cecelia Fisher, looking slightly worn out, came over and sat down across from me, while Phillip poured iced coffee from his thermos and handed it to her.

"Iced coffee again? It's scorching today; I’d prefer something hot," she pouted, inching closer to Phillip. "Just a little bit, alright?"

It was as if she was performing for my benefit. Phillip glanced at me and then lowered his head, his voice gentle. “No, you have the baby to think of; you shouldn’t drink hot things.”

Denied, Cecelia didn’t get upset, just said regretfully, “Alright then.”

I stayed silent, holding back the resentment boiling inside me. Seven years with Phillip, and I never knew he had this side—gentle, caring, eyes full of affection. I had never seen him look at me this way.

I met Phillip at work; he was my boss, and I was his intern assistant. My genuine affection for him began at a work event when a client became too pushy, trying to touch my leg until Phillip stepped in.

He raised his glass, smiling apologetically at the client. “Mr. Walsh, let me join you tonight. Please spare my assistant.”

That night, Phillip drank half a bottle of whiskey and vomited as soon as we left the hotel. I still remember what he said to me then: “In the business world, you need to stay sharp.”

He taught me how to navigate tricky social situations, how to tailor my words to my audience. My success today owes much to Phillip. After I left and joined a new company, I encountered Phillip again—this time as a client. Our paths crossed more frequently, and he pursued me. Within two months, we were married.

I thought he loved me. Reality, however, hit hard.

“Jemma,” Cecelia suddenly spoke, pulling me out of my thoughts. She propped her chin and smiled, “I heard from your mom you’re married too. Why didn’t you bring your husband? He might enjoy chatting and having a drink with your cousin-in-law.”

Vivienne Aguilar happened to overhear as she walked by. She looked at me, surprised. “Jemma, you’re married?”

“When did you get married? How come none of us knew?”

I instinctively looked at Phillip, then Cecelia, and forced a sarcastic smile. “Yes, married.”

“But he’s dead.”

Vivienne seemed taken aback, realizing she had misspoke and awkwardly tried to comfort me. “Well, if he’s passed, you can always remarry.”

I chuckled, “Sure.”

Phillip’s face was dark, but I chose to ignore it. Cecelia stared directly at me, holding Phillip’s hand. “You haven’t changed, quite the joker.”

“Isn’t that right, Phillip?”

Phillip didn’t even look at me, gently caressing her head. “I don’t care about anyone else. These things have nothing to do with me.”

My heart was gripped fiercely, as if by an iron fist. I faced Cecelia, speaking loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Right! I do joke around. Like joking that you’re the mistress, right? I bet nobody knows.”

The room went silent. Relatives' eyes darted between us, and I smiled at her. Cecelia’s eyes widened, tears brimming.

“Jemma, I just asked a little; there’s no need to be so harsh. My husband is right here; how could you say that?”

I forced my emotions down, “Cecelia, why the big reaction? I was just joking. Or did I hit the nail on the head?”

Phillip glared icily at me. “Jemma, if you keep defaming my partner, I’ll be contacting my lawyer.”

Facing his gaze, the one who used to love me held nothing but cold indifference now.

Cecelia’s mother, Samara Bishop, was the first to react, berating me: “Jemma, you’re out of line. Cecelia is your cousin. How can you speak that way?”

“I’m calling your mother to ask how she raised you.”

I turned to her with a smile. “Aunt Samara, I was just joking.”

Then, I looked at Cecelia once more. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Phillip spoke coldly, “Jemma, you’re not welcome here.”

“Please leave.”

Relatives whispered among themselves, their words filled with blame for me. My heartache made it hard to breathe.

Phillip simply helped Cecelia to her feet and left without hesitation. His son, seeing his mother upset, pointed a water gun at me without a second thought.

“Bad woman! Bully my mom, will you? Get out of here! Daddy said you’re not welcome!”

“Leave!”

My meticulously done makeup and styled hair were ruined, my clothes soaked through, leaving me utterly disheveled.

I was dragged away by Cecelia’s mother. “Get back to your house.”

“You’re not welcome here.”

“Go home and have your mother teach you some manners.”