At Ryder Quinn’s kindergarten parent-child sports day, I expected my husband, Michael Quinn, to be away on a business trip.

Instead, I found Michael on stage, dressed in a ballet tutu, dancing as one of the "little swans" in the fathers’ performance.

I had barely taken a step forward when a little girl in a floral dress darted into his arms, calling out to him in the sweetest voice, "Daddy!"

There they stood: Michael, his assistant, Janine Carter, and her daughter—all in matching family outfits.

The moment our eyes met, Michael quickly pulled away from her, fumbling for an excuse. "Janine’s a single mom. It isn’t easy for her. I was just helping out."

I smiled, cold and steady, and handed him the divorce papers. "Then, do me a favor too, Michael. Stop wasting my youth."

"Lena Fowler, you know how busy I am. Don’t start something now, alright?" Michael Quinn buttoned his shirt with one hand while scrolling through his phone with the other.

Messages from Janine Carter were popping up one after another.

The divorce papers I held out to him might as well have been a useless scrap of paper.

Ding!

Another message came in. Michael glanced at the screen, and a helpless yet indulgent smile tugged at his lips.

"Get me another shirt… the gray one."

With practiced ease, he stripped off the white shirt he had just put on and raised his hand toward me, waiting, as he always did, for me to hand him the freshly pressed one.

The phone screen still glowed. I caught sight of Janine’s message: "Mr. Quinn, tonight’s event requires a gray suit."

The professional tone was undercut by a playful cat emoji that followed right after.

"What are you staring at? Where’s the shirt?"

When I didn’t respond, irritation hardened his features.

I said nothing. I only pushed the divorce papers toward him again, my signature already scrawled across the bottom.

A flicker of ridicule crossed Michael’s impatient face.

"Alright, I get it. You had to take Ryder to the event alone today. It must’ve been tough. But I’m really busy. You know that. Stop dangling divorce every time you want attention. Tonight’s dinner is important. Can’t you cut me a break for once?"

He brushed my hand aside, his tone laced with mockery.

Since becoming a stay-at-home wife, I had grown sensitive, even petty. I’d pick fights over small things, just to reassure myself I still mattered. Sometimes, in the heat of an argument, I’d toss out the word "divorce".

However, until today, I had never truly meant it.

"Michael, this is the last straw. I want a divorce." I met his eyes, steady and resolute.

"Lena…" His voice carried warning and impatience.

"Janine’s been waiting at the venue for over an hour. She’s been running around for me, handling connections, all so I can do better in the company." He paused, his gaze hardening. "And you? You’re my wife. Other than housework, what good are you?"

His sudden question struck like a lightning bolt, making my whole body tremble.

Seven years as a full-time wife, and all I had to show for it was cooking and cleaning. Nothing else.

"Enough, Lena. Today, I was just helping Janine. She’s newly divorced, and her daughter, Nina Carter, can’t quite accept it yet. The little girl… well, she doesn’t want the other kids to know she doesn’t have a dad."

Before I could answer, Michael’s tone softened, as if he realized he had gone too far.

"I promise, it won’t happen again." He gave me a small, practiced smile. "Now, bring me the shirt. We’ll talk when I get back."

The whip of his reproach, followed so quickly by that sudden tenderness, left me momentarily adrift. I started to doubt myself. Maybe I really was making too big a deal of things.

After all, without Michael’s work out there, Ryder and I wouldn’t have this comfortable life at all.

Janine was just his assistant. No matter how bold she was, she’d always be just that—an assistant.

In that haze of uncertainty, the divorce papers I had been gripping slowly slipped from my hand.

Seeing that I had calmed down, Michael turned and hurried out, but he left his phone behind in the closet.

I had half a mind to chase after him, until I saw the notification lighting up the screen. It was a message from Janine.

All the doubt and anxiety that had gnawed at me for years pushed me to do something reckless. My fingers trembled as I unlocked his phone. He hadn’t even changed the password.

Where there used to be a photo of the three of us—Michael, Ryder, and me—was now replaced with a wallpaper of two cartoon girls, one big and one small, holding hands.

In an instant, the swarm of suspicions I’d been trying to silence over the years roared back, suffocating me. I didn’t even notice how badly my hand was shaking when I opened his chat app.

The messages between Michael and Janine weren’t particularly incriminating at first glance.

It was mostly her coordinating his outfits, updating him on the progress of the dinner event, and working tirelessly on his behalf.

Then why, in the middle of urging him to hurry, did she also send a selfie?

"Hurry. I’ve almost got Mr. Horace Stevens drunk. Just waiting for you to land the final blow."

The text was followed by a mirror selfie in the restroom. Her professional suit still looked prim and proper, but with her flushed cheeks from wine and a few undone buttons, the image carried a suggestive allure.

Michael replied with two words, "On my way!"

Nevertheless, I could see it: the impatience, the eagerness laced between those two words. Furthermore, I know he had sent them right at the moment he had softened his tone to soothe me.

A laugh slipped from my lips, sharp and bitter.

I couldn’t even tell. Was I mocking Michael’s restless urgency? Or myself, for that fleeting moment of hesitation and self-doubt?

Early the next morning, Ryder’s cries jolted me awake.

I reached for him, only to realize his side of the bed was empty. Panic gripped me as I ran into the living room.

There he was, my little boy, kneeling in the corner, his face streaked with bright red handprints.

Across the room, Michael cradled Janine’s daughter, Nina Carter, in his arms, comforting her with a tenderness I had never once seen from him.

The moment he noticed me, his brows snapped together in fury. "How the heck are you raising this child? He has no manners! If he doesn’t kneel for twelve hours straight, he’s not allowed to get up!"

I rushed forward, wrapping my arms tightly around Ryder. His small hands clutched at my clothes, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Mommy, I didn’t… I didn’t do anything wrong." His voice cracked. "She broke my LEGO on purpose, and then she called me a love child… She said we don’t belong in our own house!"

"Ryder Quinn!" Michael’s roar shook me. "Lying at your age already? Nina was just curious. She barely touched your LEGO. And you twist it into something like this to slander her? Looks like if I don’t teach you a lesson today, you’ll never learn."

He yanked Ryder’s small arm, dragging him toward the bathroom.

Just then, Nina burst into fresh sobs. "Uncle Michael, I’m sorry. Ryder, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I was clumsy. I shouldn’t have broken your LEGO. I only wished I had a daddy like you, Uncle Michael…"

She hiccupped through her tears, choking out more words. "I'm a bad child. No one wants me. I’m just a useless girl."

Her pitiful wails pulled all of Michael’s fury away from Ryder and onto her.

"Sweet girl, don’t cry. You’re Uncle Michael’s little angel." The softness in his tone was a dagger twisting in me. "You’re not unwanted, Nina. From now on, I’ll be your dad. And if anyone dares to bully you, Uncle Michael will take care of it."

Then, he shot me and Ryder a searing glare.

"Mr. Quinn, Lena… I’m so sorry."

The voice came from behind me.

I turned, and there was Janine, emerging slowly from the master bedroom.

On the bed Michael and I once shared were the undeniable imprints of three bodies.

"Lena, I’m so sorry. Last night’s dinner ended late. Michael was worried about me and Nina, so he brought us here. Please don’t fight with him over this. I’ll take Nina and leave right away."

Her words were directed at me, but her eyes never left Michael.

"Leave? Where could a single mother like you even go? Back to your abusive husband?" Michael scoffed, then turned to me. "Lena, for Janine and Nina’s sake, I’ll let Ryder off today. Instead of glaring at Janine, why don’t you focus on raising your unruly son properly?"

With that, he carried Nina in one arm, draped the other around Janine, and walked out the door.

Behind them, Ryder was still crouched on the floor, desperately trying to piece together the LEGO bricks that were scattered in shards.

It had been his birthday gift for Michael.

Building it had torn Ryder’s little hands, leaving cuts and scratches. I had begged him to just buy a ready-made gift, but he was stubborn and wanted to give his dad the best.

A month’s worth of effort was now reduced to broken fragments across the floor.

"Mommy…" After struggling for a while, Ryder finally collapsed against me, sobbing. "Does Daddy not want us anymore? Is it because I wasn’t good? I only wanted to give him a gift."

His voice broke me. My hands curled into fists as I opened my phone.

In Michael’s forgotten device, I had already found their chats. Even deeper still, in a hidden folder, were photos. Too many photos.

There were pictures of Michael and Janine, close, intimate, and undeniable.

No wonder Janine had risen so quickly from receptionist to personal assistant. It was no surprise she had divorced her husband the moment she got the promotion.

They’d been tangled up long before, maybe the very first night Michael claimed to be working late and never came home.

Maybe it was the night Ryder burned with fever, and Michael never picked up my calls.

Even now, flipping through the photos, I couldn’t stop trembling. Throughout our relationship, from school uniforms to a wedding gown, our love story had never once prepared me for this.

In his work group chat, Janine had just posted the latest update. Her profile picture was the same image Michael used as his phone’s wallpaper.

Without another second’s hesitation, I forwarded every single one of their photos into the group chat.

I didn’t care about the fallout. I just wanted one thing: divorce.

Before Michael could even call me, a message came through from my best friend, Lisa Campbell.

"Lena, what the heck is going on? Why is there a video of you spreading online?"

"What video?" My stomach dropped.

She forwarded it to me.

The clip showed a man and a woman tangled together, their voices breathless, unmistakably suggestive.

While the man’s face was blurred, the woman’s was not. It was my face. The video had already gone viral on our local platform.

The most-liked comment was only one sentence: "Isn’t that Ryder Quinn’s mom from Class One?"

Sure enough, the next clip showed Ryder at kindergarten.

The comments beneath it were cruel and venomous.

"Tsk tsk, such a sweet boy, but look at what his mom does."

"Like mother, like son. Rotten to the core."

"My kid’s in the same class. I can confirm it; neither of them is any good."

My vision blurred with fury as I snatched up my phone and dialed Michael.

"Mrs. Quinn, Mr. Quinn is busy. He doesn’t have time for you," Janine answered instead.

"Was this your doing?" My voice shook with rage.

"Lena, what are you talking about? I don’t understand." Her tone was light, mocking.

"But here’s a little tip: if you don’t have the power to spread rumors, don’t try. See? This is what happens when you play games you can’t win."