My Husband Lied to Me, and I Chose to Let Him Go

After a fight with my husband of three years, we’d been giving each other the cold shoulder. When I left on a business trip, I didn’t bother telling him.

Sitting in my seat with a mask on, I saw a girl approach, asking to switch seats with me. She pointed at the man standing beside her, explaining she wanted to sit next to her boyfriend.

I looked up—and what a coincidence. Her “boyfriend” was my husband.

The girl clung to my husband’s arm, a smug, taunting smile on her face, while he glared at me with open disdain.

Without a word, I rose, delivered a sharp slap across his face, then turned and walked off the high-speed train—leaving both my seat and my husband behind for her to enjoy.

Part 1

"Hi, could you switch seats with me? We're a couple and I'd like to sit with my boyfriend."

As soon as I heard that familiar voice in my ear, I almost thought I was imagining things.

I looked up to see Amicia Bright's face brimming with a smile and a strange feeling crept over me as I turned to glance at the man beside her.

Greg Portman. My husband of three years.

I took off my mask and stood up, catching the surprised, evasive look in Greg’s eyes.

Amicia clutched his arm a little tighter, deliberately raising her voice.

"Oh wow, Wendy, I didn’t even recognize you without makeup! What a coincidence! Greg’s taking me to a concert—want to come with us?"

I looked straight at her, meeting the curious stares gathering around and replied with a half-smile,

"No thanks. I’m not interested in joining my husband and his mistress on their date. Have fun, you two."

The murmurs around us grew louder. Amicia’s face flushed bright red, her eyes filling with tears as she clung to Greg's sleeve.

Greg’s panic vanished instantly, replaced by a look of pure disdain as he glared at me.

“Wen, don’t spread lies in public.”

I slapped him hard across the face, enunciating each word clearly, “Let’s get a divorce. I don’t need this seat or this pile of trash.”

With that, I walked out of the train car, giving a slight nod to the staff member gesturing toward me.

With my back to the closing train doors, my tingling hand still shook slightly. The wind from the departing train dried the tears I hadn’t meant to shed. I took out my phone and dialed the number.

“Leon?” He was a lawyer I knew from way back, “Is now a good time to discuss my divorce?”

After hanging up, I smoothed my windblown hair and glanced at the messages flooding my phone. They were all from Amicia: photos of her and Greg together. I opened each one, saving them one by one.

As I settled into a taxi, a new message from Greg appeared:

[Wen, you’d better think about how you’re going to apologize to me. Don’t force my hand into making our divorce a reality.]

I smirked and locked the screen, gazing out the window at the scenery rushing past, my mind drifting back to when we had just gotten married.

Greg was a professor at Gale University and we met at an academic seminar. I was there representing a high-end laboratory equipment supplier.

Even in a sea of disheveled professors, Greg caught my eye instantly—his refined, rimless glasses and spotless lab coat seemed to glow.

Through work, I gradually found ways to start conversations with Greg, listening as he spoke passionately about his field. The dry data of experiments seemed to come alive with a new allure.

I started making excuses to visit Gale University, subtly gathering bits and pieces about Greg whenever I could.

At first, he turned me down firmly, but I persisted, using every resource I had to offer him favors and conveniences.

To repay these favors, we began interacting more frequently. That refined, scholarly aura of his drew me in even more.