During our first year of marriage, my husband hired a nanny, supposedly to care for me during pregnancy.

On her first day, I caught her washing my husband’s underwear.

I felt awkward.

“Auntie Miles, you don’t need to wash my husband’s underwear.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Alright…”

A week later, I noticed her lingerie hanging on the balcony.

A month later, without warning, my husband began spending most nights studying.

I lay awake until dawn, night after night.

Finally, I decided to end the life growing inside me.

——

After dressing, I went downstairs.

At the dining table, Auntie Miles sat in my usual seat, laughing with Gregory Stanton. Their shoes touched beneath the table.

The air carried an unspoken, intimate tension.

My chest tightened at the sight, confirming my doubts. Perhaps from guilt, they quickly noticed me standing nearby.

He pulled away from her, a hint of unease in his movements.

Both looked startled.

After all, ever since I became pregnant, I never got up before nine. They had never seen me this early.

Auntie Miles rose and went to the kitchen, returning with a heated breakfast.

“Ms. Hayes, you haven’t had much appetite lately, so I made a light bowl of noodles and an egg. Simple food is good for the baby. Eat it while it’s hot.”

I sneered, glancing at the lavish spread before them.

“Seared foie gras, caviar, toast, eggs Benedict… So you eat like this every morning without me knowing?”

“Auntie Miles, this meal costs a day’s wages, doesn’t it?”

Charlotte Miles’s face paled. Her lips trembled, tears forming.

A woman in her late fifties could still look surprisingly delicate when wronged. Gregory dabbed at his mouth and frowned.

“Sylvia Hayes, why is the scene so early? She’s been through childbirth. She knows what’s good for you. Who are you directing your sarcasm at?”

Auntie Miles tugged his sleeve, murmuring, “Don’t be upset.”

Only then did I notice her outfit—elegant yet seductive, with a plunging neckline that revealed a hint of cleavage.

To an outsider, she could have been mistaken for the lady of the house.

And the man beside her could have been her younger, devoted husband.

Looking at him now, my sleepless night’s emotions surged, and my eyes burned.

We had survived struggles in school, at work, in different cities, and even with family.

We had weathered countless storms together.

I thought we would cherish each other forever.

But reality struck me like a slap.

Still, I clung to hope and asked in a hoarse voice, “Gregory, what if I don’t want to eat?”

His expression stayed calm, his eyes cold.

“Then go make something yourself. She’s an employee, not your servant. Drop your arrogance.”

He had been born poor, an orphan, and his pride was fierce.

I had always pitied his hardships, so when he got angry, I found ways to make peace—acting spoiled in his arms after feigned irritation.

I knew he was waiting for me to do the same.

But this time, I only met his gaze coldly before yanking off the tablecloth.

Clang—

The crash of porcelain filled the air, the wreckage on the floor like the aftermath of a storm.

The man’s face flickered with disbelief and anger.

I forced a satisfied smile, hiding the broken nail from my grip, and asked evenly, “Gregory, you slept with her, didn’t you?”

Gregory and I had been campus sweethearts.

Even in school, he was admired—not just for his stellar grades, but for his handsome, aloof face.

Among the highly educated, he stood out; after graduation, he was a figure of success.

In his prime, many beautiful women pursued him.

But he had always seemed chaste, like a saint untouched by temptation, showing warmth only toward me.

Everything suggested he was loyal and devoted.

So when it came to Charlotte, I found it utterly unthinkable.

She was just a plain woman from the countryside, with a son soon entering junior high and a husband working away year-round.

Her education was limited, but she spoke softly. Her face was ordinary, yet her eyes carried a tender light that defied her years.

When we first met, her shyness even tried my patience. She seemed to practice lowering herself to invite sympathy.

If someone had once compared me to her, I’d have thought them mad.

Yet these past few days, I’d been obsessively comparing myself to her, trapped in relentless self-doubt.

And I still couldn’t find an answer.

“Do you even know what you’re saying?” The man’s furious voice broke the silence.

Beside him, Charlotte flushed, her embarrassment plain.

“Ms. Hayes, please don’t be angry. I’ll clean this up and make you another—”

She crouched to gather the shards, pricking her hand on the porcelain.

When blood welled, the man’s calm broke. He stepped forward, grasped her hand, and frowned.

“Leave it. Someone else can clean later. Go bandage that.”

Their hands together were a scene I couldn’t ignore. Without a word, I raised my phone and aimed it at them, framing the shot to include the woman’s plunging neckline.

Click—

Charlotte’s face turned stricken, caught between panic and grievance.

The man’s expression darkened.

“Sylvia, what are you trying to do?”

I posted the photo to my Instagram Moments with the caption: A stylish middle-aged auntie dressed better than me—it’s no wonder her man adores her.

Then I waved my phone at them.

“Nothing. Just sharing my day. That’s allowed, isn’t it?”

For the first time, I saw true gloom cloud Gregory’s face.

He knew who saw my posts—close friends, yes, but also people across my wider circle. As the Hayes family’s eldest daughter, my contacts were anything but ordinary.

“Enough. Delete it and apologize!”

I smirked, ignoring him. “I’ll ask you again—how many times have you slept with her?”

Charlotte suddenly burst into tears, biting her lip, sobbing, “I’m sorry, Miss Hayes…”

Her repeated apologies almost sounded like a confession.

The man’s face grew darker, shielding her behind him.

“Because she’s joined me for a few decent breakfasts, you twist it into this vicious accusation?”

“You’re a woman yourself. Even at her age, she has the right to dress well. Besides—today’s her birthday!”

“Sylvia, you really do have a talent for humiliating people.”

Gregory was a businessman; he knew how to claim moral high ground and make others feel guilty.

But I wasn’t someone who let another person’s words create pointless inner turmoil.

What I couldn’t believe was that he would actually take Charlotte’s side against me.

Like a gambler placing one final bet, I said, “Gregory, I’ll give you one last chance. Tell her to leave, or we get divorced.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes before narrowing into a sharp gaze.

“Are you threatening me?”

The moment the words left his mouth, I knew our marriage was past saving.

A silence fell before his voice cut through it.

“I won’t fire someone who hasn’t done anything wrong.”

That answer told me where he stood.

The hypocrisy in his eyes made my stomach turn.

Without waiting for more, I turned and walked out.

When the car stopped at the hospital, my phone rang. Charlotte’s information from her legal team had arrived.

My instincts told me Gregory wouldn’t develop feelings for a middle-aged woman without reason; something between them must have existed long before.

So I’d asked someone to investigate her.

Sure enough, when I read that she had once been a dorm manager at the men’s dormitory in Arlington University, a chill went through me.

Back then, Gregory and I were envious of the entire campus—he was the only idol who ever showed me patience.

We studied in the library together, worked on projects in coffee shops, explored every good restaurant near campus, and even checked in with each other before bed.

I’d believed no love could be more perfect.

But after five years together, holding this report, I suddenly wondered—did I truly know Gregory?

I searched my memory for details from our college days.

Then I remembered meeting Charlotte during the summer of my junior year.

Because of his excellent grades and family situation, the school allowed him to stay in the dorms during summer break.

One summer day, he’d said he missed me, so I sneaked to his dorm, gift in hand, my heart full of excitement.

I didn’t notice at first that he had just stepped out of the dorm manager’s office. His shirt was rumpled, so I smoothed it for him and teased him, asking if he was surprised.

His cheeks reddened, his gaze intense—I thought it was love.

But then I saw her.

A middle-aged woman stood inside the dim hallway, watching us.

Though I couldn’t read her expression, I frowned.

After a pause, I asked, “Is your dorm manager very strict?”

He brushed it off and changed the topic, and I let the moment go.

Soon after, it was my birthday. I noticed a gold necklace in his online shopping cart—slightly old-fashioned, but expensive for him back then.

The thought moved me to tears.

Yet on my birthday, the gift I received was a simple crystal bracelet.

I never asked what happened to the necklace. I assumed he couldn’t afford it and chose to protect his pride.