"Alright," I replied absentmindedly while stirring coffee in my mug.

Weston didn’t seem to notice my indifferent demeanor. He lingered in the room for a bit before I heard the shower start in the bathroom.

My phone buzzed with a text notification. It was from my brother, Cody.

"I just landed. Let's meet up to discuss everything face-to-face."

I sighed, knowing that persuading Cody to postpone Amazon's upcoming orders would lead to more questions.

Years ago, I had stepped back from the business to focus on starting a family, following Weston's advice. If I were to divorce him, the company would undoubtedly become a major battleground.

I texted Cody back and went to the bedroom to change.

Just then, a notification appeared on Weston's phone. It was a message from Veronica.

"Has your wife caught on to anything?"

The screen quickly dimmed, the sound of the shower still audible. I hesitated, then picked up the phone.

I recalled how Weston used to joke during our dating days—and even years into our marriage—about why I never snooped through his phone.

I would laugh and pat his cheek, saying I trusted him.

He’d always smile, calling me the love of his life.

Using the password I remembered, I unlocked his phone. Our wedding photo from ten years ago was still the lock screen, now feeling like a cruel irony.

As I scrolled through their past messages, I realized their affair had been going on far longer than I’d imagined.

A chill ran through me, my fingers trembling.

Those open, intimate exchanges made my eyes sting.

All those times Weston claimed he was on business trips, he was actually sneaking around with Veronica.

The night he celebrated her birthday on a Ferris wheel, I lay writhing on the floor with severe gastroenteritis, caused by my strict dieting.

I called Weston first, only to receive an irritated reply.

"You’re not a child. Going to the hospital on your own won’t kill you."

That day, I lay on the floor for a long time until the pain subsided, then went to the hospital alone. Weston never asked about it afterward. I consoled myself, blaming his behavior on work stress.

Thinking back now, I can’t help but feel foolish.

Suppressing my turmoil, I quickly grabbed my phone, snapped photos of the incriminating messages, and carefully put his phone back in its place.

When Weston emerged from the bathroom, I was selecting a Victorian-style dress to wear out.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind, his warm breath tickling my ear.

Instinctively, my fingers dug into my palm, trying to suppress the nausea rising in my chest.

I frowned, trying to break free, my tone sharp and irritable:

"What do you think you're doing? Let go. I have plans and need to head out soon."

"Sweetheart, are you upset with me? I've been swamped with work lately, and I haven't had much time for us. With Thanksgiving coming up, how about we plan a little getaway?" Weston leaned on my back like a lazy cat, his hold unyielding as he rambled on.

"During my last business trip, a client mentioned a spa resort," he continued. "There's even a Ferris wheel there—supposed to be quite the spectacle. How about a little adventure to relive our youthful days?"

His suggestion sent a chill through me, bringing back those recent messages I'd seen, weighing heavily on my heart. My eyes filled with tears, and I stomped on Weston's foot, pushing him away with clenched teeth.

"I'm not going. If you want to go, go by yourself!"

Weston stumbled back, glaring at me with anger. "What's gotten into you? Is it morning madness again? If you're not feeling well, maybe you should take some medicine. Such bad luck."

He turned and picked up his phone, muttering under his breath as he headed toward the bed. "Women going through menopause are such a pain."

I knew this wasn't the right moment for a direct confrontation. But the faint red marks on his shoulder were like mocking, clawing demons, mocking my downfall.

A thread inside me snapped. I grabbed a bottle of lotion from the table and threw it at Weston.

"Is it because I'm aging, because I don't look the same anymore? After ten years together, is this how you justify what you've done? You jerk!"

I lifted my shirt, pointing at the bruises on my abdomen from the fertility treatments, and demanded, "For years, I've sacrificed for you, for us. Do you have any idea what I've endured? How can you do this to me?"

Weston's expression shifted uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his head. But then he glanced at my no-longer-youthful stomach, and a flicker of disdain crossed his eyes before he sneered.

"You're the one who's betrayed me," he retorted.

"Was it my idea for you to prepare for pregnancy?"

"When we were younger, you insisted on focusing on your career instead of having kids. Did I ever object? You waited too long, and now you blame me?"

"If you weren't so stubborn, so selfish, our child would already be in school by now. You've ignored your duties as a woman, and if I weren't so forgiving, who would want a woman who can't even have kids?"

I stared at Weston in disbelief, but all I found was disdain where there was once love. I laughed bitterly, realizing that in his eyes, I had become insignificant. Five years of sacrifice were nothing but a joke, and a wave of resentment and injustice surged within me. I lunged at him in anger.

"Weston, how dare you treat me like this!"

In the next instant, he shoved me to the floor with force, pointing at me threateningly. "You're out of control! If you keep this up, don't blame me for being harsh!"

Clutching my stomach, I lay on the floor in a heap, unsure if the pain was from the fall or my aching heart. Tears blurred my vision as Weston said something, but my head grew heavier and heavier.

Before I completely lost consciousness, I saw Weston rushing toward me in a panic.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself lying on a hospital bed, with an IV drip in my arm. The nurse at the door noticed I was awake and quickly came over to check on me. Weston rushed in right behind her, his face filled with worry.

“Nurse, my wife is usually in good health. What could have caused her to faint so suddenly?” he asked.

The nurse, busy with her notes, replied, "The patient's emotional stress led to gastric spasms. For now, let's finish the IV and see how it goes. I’d recommend a full examination."

I touched my abdomen gently and managed a faint smile. “Thank you, I understand.”

After the nurse left, Weston knelt beside the bed, guilt written all over his face. He gave himself a hard slap.

“I'm so sorry, honey. It's my fault, all my fault. I was a fool this morning, drunk and out of my mind. I nearly had a heart attack when you fainted.”

His actions attracted curious glances from those nearby, but he ignored them. He reached into an insulated bag, pulling out a few containers filled with my favorite foods, like spiced honey cake and pulled pork sandwiches. He even brought fresh clothes for me.

He used to take care of everything for me, ensuring I had a stress-free life. Having witnessed his former love, his betrayal now felt utterly unforgivable.

I looked at him calmly, without uttering a word.

“Your health is what matters most,” he began, “Later, I'll arrange for you to…”

His phone rang, cutting him off. As he pulled it from his pocket, I glimpsed the name, Veronica Walker. The next second, Weston stood up, body tense, and walked a few steps away, turning his back to me.

“Yeah, I get it. Don't worry, I'll be there soon,” he said, a small smile unintentionally forming at the corner of his mouth.

Once he ended the call, he returned with a slight furrow in his brow. Before he could speak, I interjected, “If there's something at the office, you should go. I’ll manage.”

He glanced at me, noting my calm demeanor and seeming indifference to the morning’s incident. He tucked the blanket around me and, before leaving, asked the nurse to keep a close eye on me.

He appeared courteous and caring, prompting praise from others in the room about what a great husband I had. I lowered my head, not responding, while inwardly scoffing.

After the IV drip finished, feeling relatively okay, I politely refused the nurse’s suggestion for a comprehensive checkup. She looked at me disapprovingly, insistently advising, “Ma'am, take some time to get checked. It's for your own and your family's benefit. Your husband also urged you to look after your health. Gastric spasms are not trivial; early detection and treatment are key if other issues are causing it.”

I gave a small smile and calmly replied, “Thank you for your concern, but I know the cause. Just yesterday, I underwent a procedure and haven’t fully recovered. I was emotional this morning because I found out my husband has been unfaithful for over a year.”

“You’re right, health is paramount. I won’t let myself fall apart over him anymore. I’ll come back for proper recovery when it's time.”

The nurse widened her eyes in shock, rooted to her spot, speechless.

Ignoring the surrounding stares, I headed home.

My phone showed numerous missed calls, all from Cody.