I endured hundreds of injections just to give Stanley Brighton a child. He was moved to tears and held me, promising that even if we couldn't have children, he would love only me.

I diligently followed the doctor's advice and underwent treatment. The day I confirmed my pregnancy, I was so excited that I wanted to rush home and share the good news with Stanley.

But what awaited me was unimaginable. Stanley and the female tenant we shared the apartment with were lying naked together in the bathroom, sharing an intimate bath.

He was behind her, holding her close, his lips incessantly biting at her earlobes.

"I'll give you as many children as you want! Ten, eight—whatever it takes! Just divorce her!"

"Alright, just give me some time. I'll divorce her for sure!"

Hearing their whispered entanglement, I turned away, stepping into the rain, determined to leave.

I would disappear to a place where Stanley could never find me, not in this lifetime.

As I opened the door and stepped out, a wave of decadent, lingering sounds drifted from the room behind me.

My face burned with anger, but I didn't look back. Instead, I walked straight to the stairwell. It was time to buy a bus ticket to leave here.

By the time I returned, an hour had passed. I let out a long sigh, inserted the key, and opened the door.

The bathroom was empty, but when I stepped inside, there it was—a delicate lace underwear, pale and soft, discarded on the floor. A foul, musky odor clung to it.

"Darling, you're back?"

His voice reached me just as I stood frozen in place.

"Time for another herbal moxibustion session? Don't worry, even if we can't have children, I'll love you forever," Stanley said.

The next moment, I heard the bedroom door creak open. Stanley shuffled over to me and wrapped me in his arms. His gaze fell on the table where the moxibustion tools were laid out. With a pained expression, he kissed my forehead.

I entered the room, lying face down, and asked him to light the moxa stick and press it against the small of my back. My head turned slightly, eyes closing as I stared toward the window.

"I want you."

A voice interrupted the silence. Our tenant, Nancy Green had entered the room at some point, wrapping her arms around Stanley from behind and exhaling lightly into his ear.

Stanley's hand gripped her waist briefly before he pushed her aside, gesturing toward me.

"She's asleep. Doesn't the moxibustion always make her drowsy? There's sleeping herbs in it, isn't there? Come here."

Through the mirror on the wall, I saw everything. From where I lay, the reflection laid it bare—their sordid actions unfolding in plain view.

Nancy took Stanley's hand and pressed it to her chest, then straddled his lap without hesitation. She glanced at me, as if testing whether I was truly asleep. Hearing my steady breathing, she buried her chest against Stanley's face.

Stanley exhaled sharply, unable to resist. His hand lifted her skirt, reaching beneath it.

"You devil, hurry up!" Nancy gasped, her voice trembling with faux urgency.

What followed was the unmistakable rhythm of their bodies moving together. My tears spilled silently. They had the audacity to carry on right in front of me, without a shred of shame.

Before long, a low growl marked the end of their act, followed by the rustling of clothes as they dressed. Nancy left with a satisfied smile, leaving Stanley to finish the moxibustion.

When I felt the cooling touch of the moxa stick against my back, I slowly opened my eyes, pretending to have just awakened. This treatment was meant to warm the womb and calm the mind, leaving me drowsy after each session.

"Darling, don't push yourself too hard. Rest for a while," Stanley said with affected concern, holding the moxa stick as he turned to leave the room.

I watched his retreating figure with a cold smile. Their earlier passion had left them careless—he hadn't even noticed he was wearing mismatched socks.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

"If you've really decided to come back, hurry up. Once you're here, you can't leave again," my mother's voice reminded me over the line. "Help us manage the family business,okay?"

I nodded and hung up.

When I stepped out to fetch some water, Nancy appeared, wearing a low-cut top that barely covered her modesty. My gaze flickered to her chest, where a fresh bite mark stood out.

Stanley's front teeth had a distinctive gap. The mark matched perfectly.

I watched her flaunt herself, a smug triumph radiating from her every move. My gaze darkened, sinking like a stone into deep waters.

Stanley, noticing my lowered head, mistook my silence for discomfort from the treatment. He hurried over, his hands reaching out to steady me.

I lifted my head, and my eyes traced the line of his shirt buttons. Beneath them, faint red lipstick stains dotted his chest, alongside a network of fresh scratches.

It was those marks, I realized, that emboldened Nancy to taunt me so brazenly. The thought hit me with a dull thud, and I shook off his hand, retreating to the bedroom.

I lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm the storm inside. My hand brushed against something damp—a stain they had left behind during their sordid affair.

The realization made me gag. My stomach churned violently, and before I could stop myself, I vomited onto the floor.

They hadn't just desecrated my trust; they'd desecrated my space. I was left to clean up their mess, the silent witness to their betrayal.

In that moment, it felt as though someone had struck me across the face, leaving my mind hazy and my chest aching. All the pain I had endured—endless treatments and bitter medicines—just to give Stanley a child. And yet, he had repaid me with this.

Hearing the commotion, Stanley rushed in. He knelt beside me, concern etched into his features as he wiped the corner of my mouth. "Did you drink that bitter medicine again? You don't need to push yourself so hard. It's okay if we don't have a child!"

He paused, his voice softening as he added, "Do you… not love me anymore? Is that why you pushed me away earlier?" His tone was tentative, almost pleading, his eyes searching mine like a lost child awaiting reassurance.

I forced a weak smile, one that felt like a pale shadow of itself. "I've just been taking too much medicine. It's made me feel a bit off. Don't overthink it." I turned away from him, pulling the covers over me to hide the emptiness in my expression.

He hesitated, then tried to soothe me. "Then stop taking it. A child will come when the time is right. I'll keep trying, okay?" His voice dropped into a murmur as he slid under the covers beside me, his hand creeping under my shirt, his lips grazing the edge of my ear.

"Stanley, I'm tired. I just want to rest." My words were calm, but my hand shot out, stopping his. For the first time since we were married, I denied him.

He froze, his hand hovering in midair. His eyes widened in disbelief, then sank with quiet disappointment.

"Are you in a bad mood?" he asked, his voice tinged with boyish dejection. "Fine, get some rest. Once you wake up, I'll take you out for something delicious. Just don't leave me, okay?"

With those words, he tucked the blanket around me with care, turned off the light, and left the room.

I stared after him, his gentle demeanor at odds with the man who had been tangled with another woman in this very bed not long ago. Was I blind, or had he simply hidden that side of himself too well?

The room fell silent once the door closed behind him, but not for long. Muffled voices drifted in from the living room.

"Look what you've done—you bit me so hard! It hurts. Come and kiss it better." Nancy's voice was sweet and syrupy.

"You've already broken all my little toys," she added, her tone coquettish. "When are you going to buy me new ones?"

"Anything you want," Stanley replied, his voice low and indulgent. "Just remember to wear it for me. You know I love it when you act wild."

My tears came unbidden, hot and relentless.

They didn't even bother hiding it anymore. To them, I wasn't worth consideration.

Fine. If they didn't care, neither would I. It was time for me to leave.

At seven in the evening, my stomach growled loudly with hunger.

When I stepped out of the room, I saw Stanley cooking my favorite goulash. He knew I liked it slow-cooked in a pot over a low flame for at least half an hour, but he had always been too impatient to make it before, complaining it took too long.

"You're up? Come and have some of your favorite goulash!" he called out cheerfully, ladling a bowl for me.

"I didn't have dinner earlier. Can I eat with you?" Nancy emerged from her room and seated herself directly across from me at the table.

"Sorry, this is for Becca. If you want some, go cook it yourself." Stanley's tone was cold and dismissive, as though they hardly knew each other.

But beneath the table, Nancy's foot had already wound itself around his leg.

I took a few sips of the goulash, then stood up. I didn't want to stay and watch their little performance any longer—especially since her foot occasionally brushed against mine under the table.

Stanley's expression turned pitiful as he looked at me. "I thought this was your favorite goulash?"

"I don't have an appetite. I'm going for a walk."

I turned to leave, but Stanley hurried to the closet, pulling out a coat for me. "I'll go with you. It's too cold outside—you might catch a chill." He draped the coat over my shoulders and clasped my hand as we stepped out.

The way he looked at me, so tenderly, almost made me believe I had imagined everything.

For a fleeting moment, I thought he would always treat me well, that my sacrifice of leaving my hometown and coming here alone hadn't been in vain. But how much time had passed before he changed? Before he became this way—betraying me so blatantly, without a shred of guilt?

We strolled around the neighborhood, his phone constantly in his hands as he typed away. I didn't need to guess who he was texting.

When we reached the gate, I stopped walking. He darted off somewhere, returning moments later, slightly out of breath.

In his hands was a bouquet of flowers.

"Becca, these are for you. I hope they'll make you happy." He handed me the bouquet and kissed me gently on the forehead.

I glanced at the flowers. The petals were curling at the edges, wilting slightly, as if they'd been sitting around for days. And they weren't daisies—my favorite. I never liked any other flowers. Stanley knew that.

Yet, here he was, presenting me with what looked like a secondhand bouquet, expecting me to be overjoyed.

"Becca, I love you. In this lifetime, I only love you. So please, don't be upset—it breaks my heart to see you like this."

He grasped my hand, his face earnest, his words almost convincing. Then, as if remembering something, he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a ring.

"This was meant to be your birthday gift, but I thought I'd give it to you early."

He slid the ring onto my finger—a size too large, its loose fit glaringly obvious.

I recognized the brand instantly. Nancy had posted about this exact ring on her social media, flaunting it in one of her stories.

So, this wasn't meant for me. It was for her.

Twisting the ring slightly, I looked at him. "Are you sure you bought this for me?"

Stanley nodded quickly, his lips pursed in a pout of mock hurt, as if offended by my doubt.

Before he could respond further, his eyes darted past me, drawn to a figure in the distance.

Nancy was approaching, dressed in a revealing miniskirt, a small bag of trash dangling from her hand.

"Well, what a coincidence. Is this a proposal I'm seeing?" she said, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

"My boyfriend proposed to me recently too. Becca, do you think I should say yes?"

Her words were directed at me, but her gaze was fixed squarely on Stanley.