The Porridge That Exposed My Husband's Betrayal

My husband never set foot in the kitchen. So when he started following me around, asking to learn how to cook, I thought he was finally coming back to real life.

I was happy about it for a long time.

Not until his skills became flawless—and he stopped coming home—did I realize the truth.

And that bowl of morning porridge pushed me into the abyss.

Morning porridge warms the heart more than any sweet talk.

Delia Cobb, my husband's assistant, posted it on social media with pictures: a bowl of porridge, and two hands intertwined.

On the back of the man's hand was a fresh burn scar—from Leo learning to cook.

And that porridge was my original recipe.

Everything—absolutely everything—proved those hands were my husband's.

All that time he was learning, he never let me taste a single dish. Said he was afraid they wouldn't be good enough.

Turns out he wanted Delia to be the first.

I made the same porridge in silence. Then I headed straight for the company.

——

At Farley Tower, the security guard snapped to attention when he saw me.

Inside, every employee I passed regarded me with solemn respect.

I hadn't been to the company in a year. They still remembered me.

But Leo seemed to have almost forgotten—he was simmering porridge for another woman now.

"This is the chairman's private elevator. Without his permission, no one is allowed to use it."

A face I didn't recognize blocked my path.

"Vice Chairman Hughes, this one's new—doesn't know any better." A senior staff member hurried forward. "Vice Chairman, my team hit a snag recently. Could you give us some guidance?"

I frowned. "Trying to get me away. Something wrong with Leo's office?"

He lowered his head and said nothing.

The unfamiliar face tried to stop me again, but several senior employees pulled him aside.

After I stepped into the elevator, I saw him reach for his phone—and get stopped again.

So there really was something wrong.

The chairman's elevator went straight to the top floor.

This entire floor was Leo's domain. You could work here. You could live here.

He was bent over his desk when I walked in. Didn't even look up at the footsteps.

"You need to rest. Why won't you listen? Go lie down."

My heart warmed. Could I have misunderstood him?

This past year, the reason I stayed away was to recuperate. Years of working day and night had taken a toll on my body—I still couldn't get pregnant.

"Nothing to do at home," I said. "So I came to see you."

Leo's head snapped up.

His gaze dodged. My heart tightened. Those words just now—they weren't meant for me.

"Why are you here?" Awkward small talk, because he had nothing real to say.

I walked to his side and looked at the photo frame on his desk.

It used to hold a picture of us. He said whenever he was tired, one look at it would bring him back to life.

Now the woman in that frame was Delia Cobb.

"Lost a round of Truth or Dare a few days ago. The little assistant insisted on taking a photo with me, made me keep it here for a week."

I didn't take the bait. I just set down the porridge. "You haven't been home in days. I was afraid you weren't eating well."

On the way here, I'd thought about everything. The initial rage slowly cooled as I got closer.

There was still fire in my chest. But losing my temper wouldn't solve anything.

I asked myself: did I still want to hold on to this marriage?

If yes—then rage was meaningless.

If no—rage didn't matter either.

Win or lose, I couldn't fall apart. Even if I didn't want this marriage anymore, I refused to hand it to Delia Cobb.

I didn't go hysterical. I looked at Leo calmly and opened the porridge.