When my wife, Sandra Lane, finally returns from her business trip, I pin her against the wall, my lust overwhelming my rationality.

Halfway through our session, Sandra's phone starts ringing all of a sudden. She quickly pushes me off her body before grabbing her phone.

"Sandie, I'm feeling a little uncomfortable. Can you check out what's wrong with me?"

A racy video is soon sent to Sandra's private chat.

Angered, I question Sandra, "Has William gone nuts? Why did he send you these videos? Is he going to keep badgering you just because he can't find himself a wife?"

Sandra responds by slapping me instantly.

"What the hell are you talking about, Steven? What's with that gutter mind of yours? I've just rescued William from another city! His parents are already dead, so I'm the only one left in his life! Naturally, I'm obligated to take good care of him!

"You disgust me to no end, Steven! Hurry up and apologize to me right now, or else we're getting a divorce!"

Sandra and I have been married for six years. During these years, she has used divorce as a threat against me multiple times. But when I'm with Sandra, I've already confessed 1001 times to her.

Upon noticing my silence, Sandra just smiles smugly, thinking that there's no way I will ever leave her.

But this time, she's wrong.

I sat there quietly, not raging or shouting like I usually did.

Sandra Lane took it as me finally realizing I was in the wrong. She didn't even bother to look at me before walking out to the living room to video call William Jones, her childhood sweetheart.

"Let me see how you're recovering."

"Hey, looks like it's healing pretty well. But be careful with that cut."

"I'm not a doctor, but I've saved plenty of people. I know how this works. Just listen to me!"

"Alright, alright, quit teasing. I'll come by tomorrow and cook you something nourishing."

I listened to my wife laugh as she responded to his flirtatious remarks. Without a word, I stepped onto the bedroom balcony and called my lawyer.

Even though it was late at night, his voice was sharp and alert.

"Prepare a divorce agreement for me by tomorrow morning," I instructed.

"Yes, Mr. Green. Are you and Mrs. Green—"

"Don't ask about anything else. Just get it done," I said and hung up.

After that, I stared at a phone number I knew by heart, hesitating for a long time before dialing.

"Dad, I've made up my mind. I'm going overseas to take over the family business. I won't be staying here anymore."

It seemed to be daytime where my father was. He had always been a man of few words, but upon hearing my words, he kept repeating how glad he was.

"Steven, as long as you're willing, I'll always be your safety net. You can come anytime. Remember, I'll always love you."

I held back the tears burning at the corners of my eyes and nodded. "Okay."

Right after I hung up, my overseas account received a transfer of 50 million dollars. A message from my father followed. It read, "Steven, take care of everything back home first. If anything comes up, just call me."

I knew exactly what he meant when he told me to take care of things back home. My gaze drifted to Sandra, still in the living room, laughing sweetly into her phone.

Her voice softened as she said something intimate to the screen. More than once, I heard a man's voice say, "Let me see."

Each burst of laughter felt like an invisible hand tearing my heart apart.

For six years, I gave everything I had to this marriage—my time, my energy, my youth, and my money.

I gave Sandra all of me, just hoping for a little love in return. And every time, she took it, then turned around and hurt me all over again.

She had hurt me more times than I could count. I didn't have it in me to take any more.

I sat on the balcony in a daze, smoking as I stared up at the distant moon.

The sound of slippers approached behind me. I looked over instinctively and met Sandra's gaze, full of contempt and disgust. She probably thought I was about to throw another fit.

Before I could speak, she struck first. "Let me tell you something, Steven. Don't sit there acting all brooding and upset. It's useless. Either you apologize to Will, or we get a divorce! I'm not letting this go until you apologize!"

Her cold eyes swept over me. It was as if the woman who had been laughing so sweetly just moments ago was someone else entirely. There was not a trace of love or pity on her face.

Sandra had given everything to that so-called childhood sweetheart of hers.

And me, her actual husband?

All I got was humiliation and ridicule.

She kept using the love I had for her against me, over and over.

After saying her piece, Sandra went straight back to the bedroom. I had no desire to stay in the same room as her, so I went into the guest room instead.

Early the next morning, just after my lawyer sent over the divorce papers, my in-laws called.

"Steven, we heard you argued with Sandie last night over Will?"

I muttered a sleepy acknowledgment, and then both of them started lecturing me.

"Steven, honestly, what's wrong with you? You're a grown man with zero tolerance. She can't even make a call at night without you interfering, huh? You ought to learn to mind your own business!"

"You sit around at home all day, doing nothing, and you still have the nerve to criticize Sandie? You're worthless! If it weren't for her generosity, you'd still be single!"

"Let me tell you something. Will was so upset because of what you did yesterday that he's practically depressed. Get over her and apologize to him right now!"

"And don't come empty-handed! Bring some supplements or superfoods. When you get here, cook Will a decent meal. He just got injured and needs to get his strength back."

They hung up before I could even respond.

That was just how it was. In their eyes, I was never family. They never saw me as their son-in-law. I was nothing more than a target for insults, a servant to their whims, and someone to take money from.

I let out a self-mocking laugh. I had only myself to blame for loving her so blindly, for letting them control me completely.

I was about to get out of bed when my best friend called me on video. Thinking it was urgent, I picked up right away. I had just opened my mouth to ask what happened when he shushed me.

On the screen, Sandra was holding William's arm as they stood outside Shavroula Hotel. They leaned into each other like a real couple, completely absorbed in their own world.

Sandra's face was flushed. William, wearing a lewd grin, guided her inside.

The call ended, and a moment later, my friend sent me two photos.

In one, Sandra was at a supermarket with William, picking out snacks, drinks, and contraceptive pills.

In the other, they were entering an adult store together, clearly comfortable and intimate with each other.

The bags from those photos were the same ones she was holding in the video call.

Even an idiot could tell what they were planning to do.

That was all my friend sent.

"Thanks," I replied.

After that, I texted my in-laws, "Don't worry. I'll be there tomorrow."

I turned off my phone. The black screen reflected my face—expressionless, utterly cold.

The next day, I went to my in-laws' house empty-handed.

As usual, when I stepped inside, my mother-in-law, Winter Sutton, was already busy in the kitchen, while William was still with my father-in-law, David Lane, drinking coffee and playing chess.

The moment I opened the door, all three of them lost their smiles, as if my arrival had blown it all away.

William quickly pasted on a look of pain. His acting was terrible, but it still fooled everyone around.

David snorted and pointed at me angrily. "You rude fellow! Why didn't you knock before coming in? You've given Will a scare! Apologize to him right now!"

I ignored him and went straight to the couch.

"Steven! Didn't I tell you to bring some supplements?" Winter's voice cut through the air like a knife, and she flung the spatula in her hand at me. "Go! Get in the kitchen and cook! I'm exhausted!"

In the past, as long as I was around, I would never let Winter cook. I'd even make her a bowl of chicken soup and have her sit back and rest.

And every time, all I got in return was her complaining—saying I wasn't good enough, that a grown man like me shouldn't be in the kitchen, nothing like William, who had already built a career for himself.

I set the spatula down on the table and said nothing.

"Where's Sandra?" I asked.

Winter got upset and came straight at me, pointing and yelling. In her anger, she slapped me. "How dare you ask about Sandie? Don't you know what kind of mess you've made?"

I lifted my eyes to hers. The humility I used to carry was gone, replaced only by heavy disappointment.

Although I was their son-in-law, all I ever received were orders and outbursts. To them, I was just someone to dump everything on—the work, the blame, the insults.

I had only come today to settle the divorce with Sandra. I didn't come here to pick a fight with them.

Even after all these years of being yelled at and pushed around, I still treated them like elders and chose not to stoop to their level. I never expected them to take it even further.

All I did was ask a simple question, and I got slapped for it—just to stand up for Sandra's so-called childhood sweetheart.

A stranger might think William was actually their son-in-law.

"Alright, it's not worth getting worked up over him. After all, you're his elders. Steven's probably just upset about something."

Winter and David, who had just been ready to tear me apart, suddenly calmed down as if William's words carried real weight.

With a triumphant grin on his face, William said to me, "You're here to see Sandra, right? I'll call her."

As he spoke, he pulled out his phone and called her.

I had tried all morning to reach her, sending message after message, but none got through. Yet William's call connected instantly.

William shot me a smug look, like he was the one who truly belonged there—and I was just an outsider.

He spoke in a low, sugary tone, carrying on like he and Sandra were the real married couple, flirting openly as if no one else was there.

Every so often, he glanced at me, waiting to see me crack.

If it had been before, I would've leaped at him in a rage. But now, I remained seated, motionless, as if I hadn't heard a thing. My heart had already been broken too many times.

The wounds had long since closed over, leaving me numb. And all the love I had once held for Sandra—she had erased it herself.

I turned my gaze elsewhere. Then my eyes locked on the photograph on the table.

It had once been our wedding photo. I could still remember the happiness on her face that day. But now, it was still a wedding shot—only the groom had changed. William, who was on the phone, was in my place, holding the bride in his arms.

Sandra wore the white wedding dress I had spent a fortune having made for her. I'd learned everything from scratch, worked with professional designers, and refined it until it was perfect.

On the day I gave it to her, I smiled and said, "Honey, this is the dress I personally designed for you. It's a symbol of our love—and of the thousand-and-first time I finally convinced you to be mine."

I could still remember her face full of joy, remember her collapsing into my arms, crying, and telling me she'd only wear the dress for me alone.

And now, in the photograph, she leaned against William, wearing that very dress.

I couldn't help but clench my hands so tightly that my knuckles cracked. Betrayal, anger, confusion, sorrow—all hit me at once. And yet, somehow, a faint, bitter smile crept onto my lips. I had loved such a worthless woman.

The sound of the door opening snapped me back to the moment.

Sandra rushed in, shielding William behind her. Her eyes were icy as they landed on me. "Will, don't worry. I won't let Steven push you around!"

I looked at her, about to demand an explanation. Why had she worn the wedding dress she promised only to wear for me for someone else? Why had she taken wedding photos with another man?

But Sandra ignored me completely. She turned toward William, checking him over from head to toe. "Will, did Steven hurt you? It's okay. I'll make him pay."

Her worry for William seemed to erase all awareness of my presence. She pressed herself to him, murmuring anxiously.

I remembered last year's car accident. I had been hospitalized with a leg injury for ten days. Sandra never visited once. The only person at my side was the caregiver I had paid for.

When I recovered, I asked why she hadn't come. She had replied matter-of-factly, "You're a grown man—why are you being so delicate? I was busy. You're capable of taking care of yourself, aren't you?"

And now, William was hurt, and everyone attended to him. When he got sick, my in-laws stayed with him day and night. Sandra, who had always been busy, too, had taken time off to care for him. The difference between love and indifference was painfully clear.

I swallowed every question that rose to my lips. It didn't matter what I asked—the love that had vanished was gone for good.

With that in mind, I pulled a folder from my briefcase and set it in front of her, my voice cold and resolute. "Sandra, let's get a divorce!"

"What?" Sandra shot to her feet.

Even William, who had been pretending to be weak just moments ago, dropped the act, staring at me in shock.

"Steven, have you lost your mind? Are you seriously divorcing me over something this trivial?" she questioned.

I didn't feel like arguing anymore. I just nodded calmly.

Sandra's expression hardened, her voice turning sharp. "He's my childhood friend! We grew up together. His parents died young, and we've been there for each other for years. Whatever happens, it's not for you to decide. He's family. Do you understand? Family!"

"Family?" I let out a cold laugh. "Do you go hand in hand with a family member to the store to buy birth control, then head to an adult store together? Do you act intimately with a family member outside a hotel? Do you sleep with a family member? You even used my membership card to pay for the hotel room!"

The more I spoke, the angrier I got. I roared, "Are you sure he's family?"

I stared at her, hoping to catch even a hint of shame or regret. But all I saw was blame—and the fury of someone caught red-handed.

Before Sandra could respond, William stood up and cut in. "Steven, who do you think you are, yelling at her? She's precious to us in this family! You don't value her, fine—but how dare you treat her this way?"

David and Winter nodded along, looking at me like I was some sworn enemy.

I laughed bitterly. Of course—they had always been the true family. I was never part of it. Those words drained whatever desire I had left to argue. I was calling her out for cheating, yet William had the gall to say I was the one at fault.

Sandra seemed to gain confidence from it. She walked straight up to me.

Maybe out of embarrassment, maybe anger—she tore the divorce papers to shreds and threw them in my face. "Steven, stop acting crazy. What exactly do you want? Say it, right now!"

I looked at the torn papers drifting down and then at her furious face. I kept my expression steady, a quiet smile playing on my lips. "It's simple. You choose. It's either William or me. One of us stays. Make your choice."

Sandra's anger flared instantly. "Are you insane? Even now, you still think there's something going on between Will and me? I'm telling you—even if I had to choose a hundred times, I'd pick him. As for you, get out. Now!"

I glanced at her furious expression, let out a bitter laugh, and without a second thought, turned and walked out of that disgusting place.

I used to think of that place as my second home. But no one there ever treated me like family.

Perhaps I had been far too submissive, too eager to please. All those 1,001 confessions in college, every painstaking gesture I made—they made them think I was hopelessly in love with Sandra, like I couldn't live without her.

And maybe, back then, that was true.

I'd given up nearly everything for her. The first time I confessed my feelings to her in college, I was afraid she'd feel pressured, so I rented a romantically decorated mansion just for the two of us.

We'd known each other for a long time by then, and the sparks between us had been building. I thought it was finally my moment to make it real.

At that time, she had responded, "Let me think about it."

I thought that was a rejection, and I was ready to give up.

Then she reached out again, asked me to hang out, and treated me to meals. It seemed like she wanted to keep our game of teasing going—she even reached for my hand.

I didn't understand why she did it, but I fell for her all over again.

That night, she told me she lacked a sense of security—that she needed a lot of love and convincing, and someone who wouldn't leave her.

I thought maybe if I confessed 1,000 times, she'd see how sincere I was and agree to be with me.

From college through seven years of working, I confessed my feelings to her a thousand times. On the thousand-and-first, she finally said yes.

Those 1,001 confessions took years of my life, my youth. Setting aside the time and energy, even in terms of money alone, I had spent millions of dollars on her.

I sacrificed all that to make her happy and give her that so-called sense of security.

It wasn't until now that I realized how ridiculous and hollow her so-called sense of security really was.

Perhaps, once, those 1,001 confessions had moved her, but none of it mattered compared to a single word from William, the childhood sweetheart she always prioritized.

After William's parents died, he moved into her home. He always found ways to stay close to her—claiming he was sick, saying he was in a bad place and needed to see her.

And every time he called, Sandra would drop everything and fly to wherever he was.

I remembered that not long after we graduated, I came down with a high fever and ended up in the ICU.

I called Sandra and begged her to come see me. She kept making excuses—until I promised to buy her the latest designer bag. Only then did she show up, reluctantly.

At the hospital, she sat in the chair I'd bought for her and scrolled through her phone. No concern, no thought for me—she just sat there, lost in her own amusement.

I figured she must have been tired from the trip, so I didn't ask her to do anything. I lowered my head and looked at my phone.

That was when I saw that William had posted something on Instagram, full of self-pity, about wanting someone to be with him.

I didn't think much of it and kept scrolling. However, Sandra's expression changed.

I asked her gently what was going on, and she replied, "My phone's lagging! It's driving me crazy!"

I immediately offered to buy her a new one.

She shook her head and said, "No need. Just send me the money. I'm not feeling well. I need to go to the restroom."

I transferred the money, and she left the ward.

And that "restroom trip" lasted the entire day.

That night at nine, William uploaded another post—a photo of him holding a woman's hand. On her finger was the same ring I had given Sandra.

She had used the excuse of going to the restroom, booked the next available flight with the money I had given her, and flown straight to where he was.

So when she said she wasn't feeling well, what she really meant was that she couldn't stand being around me.

After I was discharged, I wandered the streets aimlessly, like something inside me had caved in. I didn't make it home until late at night.

Now, looking at the crafts we'd made together, the photos, the love letters—I called in a cleaning service and had them throw away everything that had anything to do with her.

After everything was cleared out, I checked my phone.

Winter had been going off on social media and in family group chats, posting long rants about how inconsiderate and heartless I was as a son-in-law.

Some relatives who didn't know the truth jumped on the bandwagon and criticized me as well. A few even talked about showing up at my place to beat me up.

At the same time, Sandra had uploaded something on Instagram. It was a photo of her and William, arms linked, standing by the glass wall on the top floor of a hotel.

The caption read, "Truth will reveal itself."

After letting out a cold laugh, I picked up the phone and called the foundation.

"Hold off on that 50 million dollars donation to the rescue team," I said.

I paused, then added, "Send out everything the investigator dug up these past couple of days. Let the public see what this so-called glamorous rescue team leader is really like behind the scenes!"