He Got a Dream Vacation, I Got Three Kids

After my husband, Samson Ferrell, receives his year-end bonus, he takes his godsister, Maya Taylors, on a three-month overseas trip.

Meanwhile, I'm forced to continue working while taking care of our children on my own.

In the middle of the night, when my children catch fevers simultaneously, I have to console my younger daughter with soothing words while wiping my oldest daughters down with a damp towel.

My phone doesn't stop buzzing the whole time. From time to time, I receive pictures of Samson and Maya in swimwear while lounging under the Moldave sun. Sometimes, I see photos of them skiing happily in Chwiss.

Honestly speaking, if Samson is just a friend of mine, I'll find myself admiring his relaxed and casual lifestyle. Unfortunately, he is my legal husband.

My phone screen lights up again. This time, it's a racy picture sent by Maya.

"Hey, I heard that you're taking care of the children at home. Well then, I shall take good care of Samson."

After saving all of the photos and purchase history, I book an appointment with a divorce attorney.

The day of Samson's return to the country will be the day he receives a lawsuit to recover marital assets.

I saw Samson Ferrell's and Maya Taylors' bodies pressed very closely together in the photo. Her neck was also covered in bite marks and hickeys.

My fingertips hovered over the photo for a long time before finally sliding downward.

Samson was shirtless, his arms casually draped over Maya's shoulders.

I couldn't help looking down at his waist and abdomen.

Ten years had passed, and yet, the muscle lines on his lower abs were still clear and well-defined. It was the kind of physique achievable only through long-term, high-intensity training.

He had been taking really "good" care of himself.

On the other hand, I had aged terribly over the same timeframe.

I had barely managed to survive on the living expenses he sent me every month, and I'd been so busy that I hadn't even taken a proper look at myself in the mirror in a long time.

I instinctively lifted my hand and pressed down lightly on my tummy through my pajamas, where my three curved C-section scars were. I moved my hand slightly farther up, where the excess fat from childbirth and breastfeeding clung stubbornly in a lumpy mess.

My phone buzzed again with a notification, and Maya's text message appeared.

"It must be tough for you to stay home with the kids, isn't it, old hag? I can't believe you'd still believe Sam when he said that he was just treating me like his younger sister. No wonder you're stuck at home all alone every time. Dumb bitch."

I clenched my fists.

I had been truly dumb and naive—foolish enough to believe that Samson not coming home until well past midnight was due to overtime work, and that wiring me money each month for living expenses was already his best effort.

Just then, the bank issued me a credit card statement, reminding me that the month's payment was due.

These relentless blows, one after another, were like a tidal wave, suffocating me and making me fall into despair.

"Mommy?"

My eldest daughter, Bernice Ferrell, rubbed her eyes as she trotted out of her room with her two younger sisters, Eunice and Janice, trailing behind her.

They climbed onto the couch with me and hugged me tightly.

"Why are you sad, Mommy? Let me tell you a joke to make you happier!"

Bernice was insistent on cheering me up. Meanwhile, Eunice pulled a rug over my shoulders to comfort me.

I inhaled deeply and hugged them all tightly in my arms. I couldn't afford to sink into despair for the sake of my precious daughters.

I picked up my phone and called Samson.

"What is it, Alexa?" he barked, sounding frustrated about being interrupted in the middle of something. "What do you want? Didn't I tell you that I'm just tired of work and decided to go traveling on my own?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and asked, "When are you going to send over your year-end bonus? I'm… I'm running out of funds for this month's living expenses."

He was obviously caught off guard for a few seconds. Then, he replied, displeased, "Didn't I already tell you that the bonus is meant for my trip and my enjoyment? What the hell have you been doing with the money I sent you? Don't keep asking me for money!"

"Samson, the kids—"

"Whatever," he said, interrupting me as he softened his voice a little, sounding dismissive as always. "I'll be back tomorrow with souvenirs for you and the kids. Stop making a fuss and go to bed early tonight."

Then, he hung up on me. All I could hear was just the busy dial tone.

The last shred of hope died in my chest just then.

I put down my phone in an oddly calm manner.

Even the last of the warmth in my heart gradually cooled off, and what was left was only a deathly, eerie stillness instead.

Maybe this was for the best. This way, I wouldn't have any regrets about leaving anymore.

I picked up my soundly sleeping daughters and carried them back into their bedroom, then pulled out a sandalwood box from the innermost corner of my wardrobe.

This was the box that Mom had left for me before she passed away. She'd once earnestly and seriously told me about the contents inside.