For five years, I thought our marriage was solid. Then, my husband, Lionel Franco’s first love, Sandra Howard, posted a photo of a property deed on her social media.

The caption read: [Thank you, Lionel, for transferring the house to me.]

I stared in disbelief and left a single comment: [WTF?]

Lionel called within minutes.

“She’s a struggling single mother. Transferring the house to her makes it easier for her son to get into school. It doesn’t affect where we live,” he snapped.

“How can you be so lacking in compassion?”

In the background, I heard her muffled sobs.

Half an hour later, she tagged me in another post. 

This time, she flaunted her Mercedes worth over a million dollars, with the caption: [Paid in full. As the saying goes, ‘Where a man spends his money, that's where his heart is’.]

I knew he bought it to soothe her temper.

But this time, I had enough. I decided to divorce him.

When Lionel Franco returned home, I swallowed a mifepristone tablet—the medication I was supposed to take for the abortion—with a bite of cake.

It was my birthday. I had bought the cake earlier, planning to celebrate with Lionel and tell him I was pregnant.

I waited until 7 p.m. but he ignored my calls and didn’t reply to my messages.

Then I saw Sandra Howard’s Instagram post flaunting a property deed.

I couldn’t help myself so I left a comment.

Within seconds, Lionel called back—not to explain, but to lash out at me.

Before I could explain, he hung up and blocked me.

I was so furious that I nearly suffered a miscarriage.

When he finally arrived home, he glanced at the cake and the medication on the table.

He furrowed his brow.

“Whose birthday is it? Yours?”

I silently put away the pills and threw the cake in the trash.

“No,” I said calmly. “It’s a friend’s.”

He exhaled in relief.

“I thought so. Your birthday’s September 28th and today’s only the 8th.”

Five years of marriage, and Lionel had forgotten my birthday every single year.

The irony was that he always remembered hers.

Lionel sat down beside me and handed me a stuffed bear.

“Sandra asked me to give this to you. She was upset by your passive-aggressive comment earlier. Go apologize to her.”

I noticed that the bear wore a tiny Mercedes logo.

It was a promotional gift that came with the Mercedes. A greasy stain marked its surface.

“I don’t want it,” I said flatly.

Lionel frowned.

“What’s with the attitude? She was terrified and even took the initiative to make amends.

“Can’t you just apologize to her?”

When I didn’t respond, he grabbed my arm, determined to have me call Sandra.

His grip was forceful, and as he yanked me up, my injured leg hit the cold edge of the coffee table.

The injury was Lionel’s doing.

A week ago, he had walked out of the kitchen carrying a pot of boiling soup. He was distracted by his messages with Sandra and spilled the scalding liquid all over my right foot, burning the skin raw.

Now, as blood seeped through the wound again, Lionel panicked.

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” he said, flustered.

I decided not to argue with him.

“Fine.”

Once we got into the car, the Bluetooth connected to an iPod and played a woman’s demure voice.

“Welcome back, my big guy. Remember to work hard and earn lots of money for me to spend!”

Lionel stiffened.

“That’s from last time,” he muttered. “Sandra must’ve left it in the car. I’ll get rid of it.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I replied evenly.

He was silent as he gazed at me uncertainly.

“You’re not angry?”

I pressed my lips together.

Once, I had cared deeply about his involvement with Sandra. But now, I didn’t even care about Lionel so why would I bother with the women he got tangled up with?

“Just drive. It’s late.”

The hospital was only a kilometer away—one U-turn and a straight shot.

Just then his phone rang. His lips curled into a smile as he answered.

It was Sandra.

Her playful, teasing voice filled the car, begging Lionel to teach her how to drive a Mercedes with a stickshift.

“She has something urgent on,” Lionel said as he ended the call.

“I’ll drop you off here. The hospital’s just across the street.”

He didn’t even want to make the U-turn.

He couldn’t wait to see her.

I stared at him.

“I can’t walk.”

Lionel looked at me coldly.

“Can you stop being so dramatic? It’s such a minor injury!”

He opened the passenger door and yanked me out of the car, forcing me to stand on the pavement.

“Call me when you’ve had your bandages changed,” he said before speeding off.

The car’s tires splashed dirty water onto my injured foot, soaking the wound.

A fine drizzle began to fall.

Raindrops mingled with the dampness on my skin as my eyes burned with unshed tears.

Fifty meters to go.

It wasn’t far, but after just a few steps, cold sweat broke out all over me. A sharp pain suddenly tore through my abdomen, and my legs gave out beneath me.

I collapsed in the middle of the crosswalk.

Cars sped past, some swerving dangerously close.

If not for the security guard outside the hospital who rushed to help me, I might have been hit.

After struggling through hours of treatment and finally returning home, I lay down to rest.

Lionel stormed into the room, fury etched on his face.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me after getting your bandages changed? I waited for you at the hospital entrance for a whole hour! Your phone’s been off this entire time!”

I stared at him blankly, unable to muster a response.

I had been hooked up to an IV drip for two hours at the hospital, but when I came out, Lionel’s car was nowhere in sight.

I felt miserable, and unable to bear it any longer, I took a cab home.

My phone died soon after.

That’s when it hit me—he hadn’t come to pick me up.

Once, he had been so attentive to me.

When had he started pulling away, growing distant and cold?

“You blocked me so I couldn’t call you,” I said flatly.

Lionel blinked, his anger fading slightly from his handsome face.

“I figured you’d be hungry, so I brought you some supper. Beef stew and some hash browns.”

I looked at the bowl in his hand.

It was just some watery soup with a few chunks of beef in it.

It looked more like leftovers from someone else’s meal.

Half an hour ago, I saw Sandra’s post on Instagram.

The picture showed Lionel in the kitchen, stirring the stew:

[Who says there are no good men in the world? Not only did he teach me to drive a stickshift, but when I was hungry, he made me some beef stew. It smells so good!]

I stirred the stew and a wave of nausea came over me.

“Throw it away. I don’t want it.”

Lionel’s face darkened instantly.

“What’s the problem now? I went out of my way to bring you supper, and you want me to throw it away just like that?” he asked.

“Is it because I transferred the house to Sandra that you’re upset? But I never said you couldn’t stay there.

“Her child now has a place to stay and go to school, so she thanked me on Instagram.

“And you? You go on there leaving passive-aggressive comments. Don’t you think I have a right to be angry?”

Fresh from a miscarriage and dealing with an injured leg, I was drained—physically and emotionally.

“You misunderstood me. I was just confused because why would the property deed she posted have our home’s address on it?”

Lionel cut me off, his impatience rising.

“Misunderstood you? Sandra’s right. You’re exactly like she said!

“You’re always flying off the handle, with no grace or tolerance. Every time I talk to another woman, you get paranoid! I think there’s something wrong with you!”

In the past, I would have argued back and tried to make him understand.

Now, I just stared coldly at him.

“Are you done? Could you turn off the lights for me?” I asked calmly.

He glared at me, slammed the door shut, and left.

A few seconds later, I heard the front door slam shut.

It had been a pattern with him that whenever we argued, he would go and stay at Sandra’s and I would spend the whole night tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

That night, I slept soundly and comfortably.

The next day, I contacted a friend and consulted a lawyer about initiating divorce proceedings.

Lionel had been absent for the past three days since he left.

The next time I saw him was in a photo posted by his friend, Harry Stewart, from a trip.

In the group photo, Lionel was standing beside Sandra. They were both wearing matching outfits.

Sandra’s smile was radiant.

I silently hit “like.”

Predictably, Lionel immediately returned my call.

“I’ll pick you up later and take you to the beach to meet my friends.”

He paused, then added, “I don’t have to invite you, but since you’ve been behaving well lately, I thought it’d be a good way to reward you.”

“Okay,” I said without enthusiasm.

The divorce proceedings were underway, and I didn’t want to stir things up with him.

True to his word, Lionel came to pick me up.

Oddly enough, Sandra—the drama queen—was nowhere to be seen.

When we arrived at the beach, Harry greeted me warmly.

“I organized our last outing. My fault for not giving you a heads-up. I’ll have three shots to make up for it,” he said with a wink.

Harry’s friendly apology helped put me at ease in front of the others.

I forced a smile.

“Things have been busy at the company lately, I’ve been working nonstop,” he explained.

“By the way, I heard you’ve convinced several of your top talents to open another branch in Amazonite. Congratulations!”

I smiled politely.

“That’s the plan, but whether it succeeds or not is still uncertain.”

Just then, Lionel strode over, his gaze fixed on me. He looked displeased about something.

“You’re going to Amazonite? Why didn’t you tell me? Did I give you permission to go?”

I turned and silently watched his angry expression.

The atmosphere around us became awkward once again.

Lionel continued accusing me, as Harry tried to smooth things over.

He gave up and finally suggested we make our way to the barbecue area.

While Lionel sat beside me, the men quickly set up the grill.

For the first time, his usually composed face showed signs of panic.

“I promised Sandra that when her child graduates from elementary school, I’ll transfer the house back to you.

“You don’t have a right to be so upset. It’s my house, and I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

“Oh,” I said and nodded calmly.

Not long after, a familiar, striking figure slowly walked toward us, and my smile instantly faltered.

A young man, one I had never seen before but who was close to Harry and Lionel, stood up excitedly and waved toward Sandra.

“Hey, Sandra, Lionel’s over here. Come on over!”

I could almost hear the sharp intake of every breath in the vicinity.

Harry kicked the young man and gave him a look for being so clueless.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said softly.

I rose slowly, not wanting to lose my temper in front of everyone.

Lionel glanced at me, then at Sandra, but ultimately didn’t follow me.

When I returned, everyone had eaten and drunk their fill and was now sitting on the beach.

Sandra and Lionel sat closely together, their postures intimate. I quietly found a spot in one corner to sit alone.

Harry tried to lift the mood again.

“Alright, now that we’re all here, let’s play a game—Truth or Dare!”

Lionel won the first round against Sandra.

She chose Truth, and Lionel, in a rare moment of generosity, asked, “What’s something that’s made you happy recently?”

Sandra blinked and gazed at Lionel, her eyes full of affection.

“I met a really good man, and in just one day, I got a house and a car. Oh, and he even taught me how to drive a stickshift.”

She threw a smug look at me and raised her eyebrows playfully.

Everyone in the group knew how Sandra had gotten her house and car, but they had turned a blind eye to it.

When she openly brought it up like that, it was another matter entirely.

The atmosphere changed again. Even Harry, who was usually unfazed, looked somewhat uncomfortable.

Seeing that I wasn’t showing any signs of anger, Harry had no choice but to force a smile as he attempted to smooth things over.

“Come on, let’s play the second round! Ah, it’s beautiful Misha’s turn now.”

Sandra chose that moment to punish me.

“Truth,” I said flatly.

Sandra walked over and stood before me, a glass of wine in her hand.

“Let’s make it interesting. How about a dare instead?”

I furrowed my brows, alarm bells ringing in my mind.

“I choose Truth.”

“Come on… I won’t make it too hard for you,” she said, a sly smile creeping onto her face.

“I heard from Lionel that you’re a great swimmer. How about you swim a lap for us to see?”

She stared knowingly at my belly.

“I’m not feeling well, I can’t swim,” I said without hesitation.

Sandra looked at Lionel with a hurt expression, and Lionel frowned in mild anger.

“You’re a star athlete, swimming is your forte. How could you possibly not take up the challenge?” Lionel asked.

“A few days ago, she apologized to you, and now she’s making an effort to be nice again.

“Just swim a lap for her, what’s the big deal? It won’t hurt you,” Lionel said and with Sandra, pushed me toward the beach.

Sandra seized the opportunity to remove my jacket as she opened a bottle of wine and then drank it in one go.

“This one’s for you, Misha. Now let’s see what you’ve got.”

She nudged me toward the water.

“I told you I don’t want to swim. I’m not interested in drinking either, and why can’t I choose Truth?”

Sandra pouted in dissatisfaction, her eyes reddening.

Lionel’s expression darkened instantly.

He suddenly threw the bottle of wine onto the sand.

“Why are you acting so high and mighty? Swimming is your best skill! It’s not like she’s making it hard for you.

“She even took a swig for you! Why are you being so ungrateful?”

I glanced at Lionel who was playing the hero, and then at Sandra who was sobbing softly.

I gave them a cold smile.

“Did I ask her to drink? I told her I didn’t want to swim, but she insisted I do it. Why is she making it difficult for me?”

Sandra’s cries grew louder at my protests.

Lionel’s face turned red.

“Don’t want to swim, huh? Fine, I’ll swim with you!” he spat as he rolled up his pants.

Amidst the shocked looks of his friends, Lionel yanked my hair, dragged me into the water, and forcefully pushed my head under.

A chill seeped from my feet into my skin, and my scalp tingled with the cold.

Seconds later, seawater rushed into my nose, and I choked violently.

I struggled in pain but Lionel still wouldn’t release me.

My eyes turned red as tears and snot flowed freely.

I desperately tried to push Lionel away but he held on.

Just as my lungs felt like they might burst, he finally let go.

At that moment a big wave hit us.

I tried to grab Lionel’s leg, but he forcefully kicked me away.

I was swept into the sea and the cold water engulfed me.

It felt like an eternity before I reached the shore, gasping for air.

Lionel was holding Sandra in one arm, gently comforting her.

“Don’t cry. I’ve punished her.

“She deserves it. I’ll teach her a lesson later.”

He walked over and looked down at me smugly.

“Apologize to Sandra! Take a swig of that wine as punishment! Or else—”

Perhaps it was the crowd’s shocked gazes and Lionel’s forceful stare made me snap.

My eyes burned with anger as I interrupted him.

“Wait to hear from my lawyer, Lionel. I’m divorcing you!”

At those words, Lionel froze, his dark eyes filled with disbelief.

I staggered forward weakly.

As I reached the main road, everything went black, and I collapsed.

Before losing consciousness, I heard someone shouting, “She’s fainted!”

“Call an ambulance! Oh my God, she’s bleeding!” yelled another.

“There’s a lot of blood!”