On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband came home with a sheepish grin, saying he’d had to work late. But I had stumbled upon him celebrating the birthday of his illegitimate son, a ten-year-old boy who was his spitting image.

"Dad, you're late. Mom's upset; you should make her smile," the boy said as he blew out the candles on his honey spice cake and closed his eyes to make a wish. "I wish for Mom and Dad to always be together."

My husband pulled the boy and a woman with flowing hair into a warm embrace. "We'll always be together as a family," he promised them.

In that moment, I realized my marriage was a complete lie. For ten years, my husband had been the perfect partner to someone else.

Sitting in the darkness, I blew out the candles on our anniversary cake and made a wish of my own. "I want to make him pay for this betrayal."

A noise outside startled me, and the lights flicked on. "Honey, why are you sitting in the dark?"

Ford had returned, the faint smell of alcohol lingering on him. "I thought you were working late. Why do you reek of alcohol?"

I picked up a knife and slowly sliced into our "Happy Tenth Anniversary" cake, the red strawberry leaving a bright stain on the cream.

He bent over, dipped his finger into the cream, and tasted it, trying to placate me. "This cake you made is incredible! Too bad I already ate at the office. We celebrated a colleague's big win with a grand dinner, and I accidentally drank some champagne."

"Oh really? What did you have?" I asked, my voice cold and distant.

"Italian food," he replied, removing his jacket and struggling with his tie. He gave me a pleading look, and I stepped forward to help. He leaned in to kiss me.

"While some have mommy issues, I rely on you. I’m not sure what I'd do without you," he said.

After we got married, I became a housewife, centering my life around Ford and attending to his every need. I tied his tie in the morning and untied it in the evening, protecting him like a man-child who couldn't fend for himself.

"If you had Italian, why is there cake on your tie?" I teased, brushing my pinky against it and sniffing.

"This isn't my cake," I observed, tasting the cream with my tongue, my gaze fixed on his. "It's a birthday cake for a kid, way too sweet and sugary."

"Oh, right, now I remember, my colleague's kid came to the office. It was his birthday, so we had some cake."

His expression didn't waver, his lies so smooth. If I hadn't seen him from the restaurant, habit might have made me believe him.

I gathered up his discarded socks and straightened his shoes, ready to ask the question that had been gnawing at me.

"We've been married for ten years with no children. Do you ever regret it?"

Sensing my mood, Ford hugged me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Kids don’t matter; you’ve given me everything. Marrying you was my greatest fortune."

"Don’t overthink. Being a DINK couple is perfect—just the two of us, right?" He smiled, "Happy anniversary, I love you, Val."

From the start, he loved to nuzzle into my shoulder and play coy. Even after marriage, he treated me like we were still honeymooners.

In return, I had always been unconditionally accommodating, even willing to sacrifice everything for him. As long as he loved me and stayed faithful, being the only father of our lost child.

The shower switched on and then off. He poked his head out. "Hey, darling, let's do our dinner tomorrow since I’m home late tonight, okay?"

To everyone else, he was the perfect husband, successful at work, providing stability and a sense of security.

I once thought if he were to pass away before me, I’d follow him without hesitation. After all, we had no children, just our marriage and each other.

He sang loudly in the shower as usual. In the living room, his phone buzzed with a message.

"Dad, thanks for celebrating my birthday with us tonight! Mom and I really love you!"

I woke up at five, as always, putting on makeup and preparing breakfast to be ready by half-past six.

When he woke up, breakfast would be at the perfect temperature, and I’d look presentable, no morning mess in sight.

"Darling, your cooking is amazing! Thanks for making breakfast every day for ten years."

While he ate, I organized his briefcase, slipping in a discreet GPS recorder.

With practiced hands, I tied his tie, held the elevator door, and handed him his bag. "Thanks, darling. I'll come home early for dinner tonight."

After he left, I turned on my phone, examining the photos I’d secretly taken last night. Was that child really my husband’s son?

With trembling fingers, I zoomed in on the photos; his small face was undeniably a miniature version of Ford, especially the droopy eyes, a trademark of the Robinsons.

I remembered the day in the maternity ward when my mother-in-law cradled our newborn, bursting with pride.

"Oh, my dear grandson looks just like his daddy and granddaddy with those distinctive Robinson eyes!"

Thinking about this, I unthinkingly jabbed at the boy's eyes in the photo. Wait! Who was the woman clinging to his arm? Why did she seem so familiar?

Frantically, I increased my phone's brightness. The woman had long, flowing hair, her style glamorous and unlike mine. Her eyes and brows struck a chord.

"Darling, I have to work late again tonight. Don't wait up, okay?"

Suddenly, Ford texted, standing me up again just like the previous evening.

I stormed into the kitchen and dumped the lovingly prepared anniversary dinner.

The night before, feeling let down, I had driven to another part of the city, only to spot my husband through the large restaurant windows.

I’d wanted to say hi, but a little boy suddenly hugged his waist. Ford lifted the boy up, grinning and kissing the woman beside him.

The boy called Ford "Dad," and the stunning woman "Mom."

The cake said "Happy Tenth Birthday!" What a picture-perfect family they made.

Ford, we’ve been married for ten years, and you have a ten-year-old son?!

Disguised in a mask and sunglasses, I took a cab to his location. It wasn’t his office; he stood outside a toy store, leaning against a pillar, smoking, waiting for someone.

"Daddy!"

A small boy ran over, and Ford immediately stubbed out his barely lit cigarette, tenderly ruffling the child’s hair.

"Ezra, slow down, careful not to trip!"

The woman behind them playfully scolded the boy, sauntering up and entwining her arms with Ford’s.

"Sorry, Ezra wouldn’t eat unless he saw you," she said with a flirtatious smile, exuding both maternal warmth and undeniable allure.

Up close, her face brought back memories—Jolie Adams, a junior from our university days!

On the drive home, my heart pounded as I ran red light after red light, an urgent need driving me onward. A ten-year-old kid, a junior who left school amid rumors of pregnancy.

My heart raced as I delved into the storage room, rifling through boxes for my university yearbook, finally finding the familiar face in a club photo. Though her hairstyle had changed, it was definitely Jolie Adams!

To confirm, I called my good friend Cameron, now a divorce lawyer.

"Valentina? Finally remember the friend you ditched for love?" she joked.

"I want to catch up. Do you recall Jolie from the university club?"

"Of course! Didn’t she leave school amid a scandal with a teacher?"

That was the story back then, both Jolie and the teacher getting expelled. But why did the child look so much like my husband?

"Cameron, hypothetically speaking, if my husband had been cheating for years, what should I do?"

"Don’t tip him off. Quietly gather proof of his infidelity," Cameron advised, echoing my thoughts.

I got a part-time job at Ezra's school as a cooking teacher. With my Le Cordon Bleu certification in French cuisine, securing the position was easy; I recalled the principal's astonished look.

"A Le Cordon Bleu chef? You’re okay teaching part-time at an elementary school?"

Absolutely.

To prepare delightful meals for my husband, I...

We were sitting at a nearby McDonald's, where Simon Crawford was wolfing down his burger like he hadn't seen meat in forever.

"It's all because of that witch, Jolie Adams, that I lost my job! She wrecked my life—my home, my family!" he spat out bitterly.

"Rumor has it that you were involved with her, even got her pregnant, which led to both of you being kicked out of school, right?" I asked.

Simon picked his teeth with a toothpick and glowered. "She tried to use me as a scapegoat! She had a wild night with Ford Robinson, got pregnant, and then tried to pin it on me just when I was pursuing her!"

"Are you talking about that night during the semester's team-building event?"

"Exactly. I was supervising, and I overheard everything from outside the cabin. Accidentally caught a glimpse of her... assets," he said with a smirk.

My heart felt like it had plunged into ice. The night before, Simon had confessed his feelings to me and stolen my first kiss. The next day, he had taken Jolie Adams's first night.

"So, did you harass Jolie Adams afterward?" I pressed.

Simon burped obnoxiously, the nauseating smell spreading in the air.

"It wasn't that serious! I just touched her once, and she had the gall to demand money for an abortion from me! Later, she spread rumors claiming I was the one who got her pregnant! The kid was Ford's, but nobody believed me!"

Simon suddenly fixed his eyes on me as if he remembered something.

"By the way, you ended up marrying Ford Robinson, right?"

Silent, I stood up, grabbed my purse, and walked away.

"I'll cover the meal. Thanks for the revelation, Mr. Crawford. But just so you know, even touching can count as harassment."

I hadn't expected Ford to stray so early on. Could men really separate love from lust, or was he just pretending with me?

I returned home earlier than planned, turned on his computer, and entered the date of our daughter's memorial. Wrong password. I remembered Ezra's birthday, tried it, and it worked. What deep paternal love, Ford.

He probably didn't expect me to know his password, so none of his chat history with Jolie Adams had been erased. Their conversations went back a decade. I backed up the files while scanning the latest exchanges.

Jolie Adams: (teasing) Sorry, hubby, I was just worried that hag might hurt our son, so I met with her.

Ford Robinson: She's just a brainless housewife who only knows how to cook and clean. She wouldn't have the wits to uncover our affair. Quit stirring the pot and affecting my career prospects.

Jolie Adams: (whiny) Got it. When will you come to see us? Ezra keeps calling for Daddy. You love him the most, right? Don’t forget you once discarded your daughter for Ezra’s sake. Sometimes, I really envy that father-son bond.

Ford Robinson: Stop bringing that up. I know. I’ll come over for dinner tonight.

Right then, I received a text from Ford—

"Sorry, sweetheart, working late again tonight, don't wait up for dinner."

I sat frozen, processing the details from their chat. "Did away with your daughter for Ezra’s sake?" Was that about our Iyla, who lived only 15 days?

I thought of our daughter's memorial year and dashed to the storage room. Where was that USB with the surveillance footage? How did my daughter really die?

During the time of my daughter's death, I had avoided recalling those dreadful days, consumed by guilt and hating myself for not being a good mother, thinking I had left the Robinson line without a future. Was her death premeditated?

Thankfully, every corner of our home was monitored, and the USB had stored records from each year.

The time marked for my daughter's death was five o'clock in the afternoon on that fateful day. I found that day’s footage in the home surveillance files.

That day, I was asleep in the master bedroom, while Ford fiddled with his phone in the living room. My daughter lay peacefully in her cradle nearby. The doorbell rang, waking her, yet she didn’t cry.

The visitor was none other than Jolie Adams. She slapped Ford viciously and demanded to see me. Ford glanced nervously at my door, trying to calm her down. Jolie quieted down, but my daughter started wailing.

Not wanting to disturb my sleep, Ford grabbed a towel from the sofa and covered my daughter, trying to muffle her cries.

At the same moment, Jolie started her tirade again, beating Ford’s chest relentlessly.

"You promised you'd marry me!"

"Now that this woman has given you a daughter, you're abandoning me and our son?"

"I’ll kill this brat and her mother today!"

Ford held her tightly and kissed her forcefully, bringing her into silence. They stood there in our living room, kissing fervently in front of me and my daughter.

"Alright, I forgive you this time, but don’t ignore my calls again."

Jolie’s cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen from the kiss.

"Next time, let's spend the night at your place."

Ford gave her a playful squeeze on her backside and sent her off.

Returning to his seat on the sofa, he finally remembered to remove the towel from my daughter. But by then, my precious girl had suffocated.

I smashed the computer screen to the floor, screaming in agony—

"Ahhhh—I’ll kill you all!!"

I had always believed my daughter died of sudden infant death syndrome. I thought it was because I had failed to place her correctly in her cradle after breastfeeding, leading to her suffocating in her sleep.

I had blamed myself endlessly for napping that day. Had my baby been well-fed before leaving us? Were her final moments prolonged agony or a swift end? I had replayed that day countless times in my mind...

It was Ford who had helped me through that period of depression, stopping my self-harm, tears streaming as he snatched the knife from my wrist:

"Valentina, this wasn’t your fault! Live on for our daughter’s sake—I can’t live without you!"

You’re right, Ford Robinson, this truly wasn’t my fault.

I’ll live on and make sure you pay, for our daughter’s sake!

Suddenly, I was calm again.

I didn’t just want a divorce or financial compensation. Those were mere trifles compared to my daughter’s life. I wanted the lives of you, your mistress, and your son.

My mind was crystal clear. Pain was no longer a priority; I had more important tasks at hand. I wiped away my tears, tidied up the debris, and placed the computer back on the desk.

I heard movement outside; Ford had returned, as caring as always.

"Did you eat, love?"

I took his briefcase, removed his jacket, and undid his tie, being the same attentive wife as ever.

"Honey, how about we invite Jolie Adams and her family over for dinner?"

His expression revealed a fleeting moment of panic, but he quickly regained his composure.

“I didn’t mean to keep things from you earlier. You know, Jolie is a single mom, and since we’re all old friends, it’s only natural to help each other out, right?”

“Sure, that makes sense.”

“That marriage certificate was just a prank Ezra pulled during his computer class. He really longs for a father figure, so he photoshopped it. You wouldn’t hold that against a kid, would you?”

“Of course not, I get it. You’ve always been a great dad to the kids.”

I could no longer stand his smug expression, so I turned away to serve the meal.

“Oh, by the way, honey, I’m going back to the Italian restaurant as head chef. You’ll have to get takeout from now on.”

“What? Why so suddenly? You’ve been a homemaker for a decade. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Absolutely. Haven’t I been cooking for you every day? It's basically the same work—actually, it might even be more relaxing at the restaurant.”

Ford fell silent, clearly displeased, but I was done acting like the doting wife.

“This weekend, let’s have Jolie and her son over for Thanksgiving dinner. It’ll be a nice reunion with old friends.”

Back in the day, I pursued a Cordon Bleu certification for Ford because he had such sophisticated taste. He was particular about food texture and freshness—a true foodie. Eating takeout regularly would probably upset his stomach, but that’s no longer my concern. I was set to start working again.

Milan, the restaurant owner, greeted me warmly, giving a gentlemanly kiss to my hand.

“Valentina, it’s been ages! I’m honored to have you back as our head chef!”

Milan and I have a special connection; he was the one who facilitated my Cordon Bleu certification, and later his restaurant became a huge success.

I looked around and noticed the kitchen was buzzing with new faces.

“Why are there so many new apprentices here?”

“We’ve secured a huge contract! Harrods is hosting a banquet and specifically asked us to cater the event! Your timing couldn’t be better!”

“That’s amazing! When is it happening? How many guests are we serving? Any special menu requests?”

I was eager to make a grand comeback with this banquet!

“Their secretary will provide us with the details shortly. Oh, here comes the secretary now—”

Jolie strutted into the restaurant, wearing 3-inch heels and swinging her curvy hips.