Jake never came back that night. Not even after he stormed out of the house, furious with me for daring to challenge his affair. Hours passed, and I was left alone with the silence and a gnawing pain in my stomach that wouldn’t go away.

By the time I finally called 911, the pain had worsened, and I was rushed to the hospital.

Lying in the sterile hospital room, my thoughts kept drifting to him. I dialed his number, hoping he’d at least pick up this time. But all I got was the cold, impersonal sound of a busy tone. Jake was unreachable.

I put the phone down, trying to push the disappointment out of my chest. But then, a notification flashed across my screen. It was an update on social media—an update from none other than Angela, his secretary.

The photo she posted was simple, but the caption stung: "I knew I didn’t love the wrong man—being here for me at night, staying by my side during my hardest moments~ What should I use to repay you, boss? Maybe a favor in return?"

In the image, her hand rested on a hospital bed, an IV drip attached to her wrist. And who else was with her but Jake, his arm wrapped protectively around her, his expression one of deep concern. There was a photo someone else posted, capturing Jake holding Angela in his arms, his face etched with tenderness.

The pain in my chest intensified, and I realized it wasn’t just from my condition—it was from him. I picked up my phone again and, without hesitation, dialed Jake’s number one last time.

“Let’s get a divorce,” I said coldly, before immediately hanging up.

As I lay in that hospital bed, memories of the past seven years flashed through my mind. I had heard people talk about the infamous “seven-year itch,” but I never believed it would happen to us. Now, I realized it wasn’t just a myth. I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, mentally.

The miscarriage was barely monitored by the doctors. I could barely process it myself. After a few hours, I left the hospital, dragging my aching body home.

The moment I stepped through the door, Jake was already there, his face twisted in anger. “What the hell is wrong with you, Lauren?” he shouted the moment he saw me. “Do you have to be so jealous all the time? Angela was sick! You think I was wrong to stay with her?”

I stared at him, my heart pounding, my voice barely a whisper as I interrupted him. “I had a miscarriage. Just now.”

Jake froze, his eyes widening for a moment, but the regret or sorrow I expected never came. His eyes reddened slightly, but he didn’t rush to me like he might have in the past.

We were considered the perfect couple in our social circle—successful, happy, glamorous. But the one regret that lingered between us was that we had never been able to have children. Three days ago, when I discovered I was pregnant, my hands shook with excitement. I couldn’t wait to tell Jake; I wanted to surprise him during the Mid-Autumn Festival. It was going to be the perfect gift.

But now, the gift didn’t matter. The future I imagined no longer existed.

He spent the festival with Angela, mocking me, treating her like she was the most important person in his world. And the most ridiculous part? The green designer bag he gave me—the cruelest mockery of all. He knew what green represented, and he flaunted it in front of me like a joke.

Jake’s face twisted in disbelief as he finally registered what I had said. His voice wavered as he spoke, “Lauren, I didn’t know...”

But I didn’t let him finish. “You didn’t pick up my calls. I was lying in that hospital bed, alone, and you were with her.”

I had given him so many chances, more than anyone deserved. But even when I was losing our child, he had chosen to stay by Angela’s side.

He stood up suddenly, his fists clenched, his knuckles white with tension. His eyes filled with something that resembled regret, but I couldn’t tell anymore. “Enough, Lauren!” he shouted, his voice shaking. “You’re lying! There’s no way you had a miscarriage. You’re just trying to get my attention. We’ve been married for seven years, and you never got pregnant once. Now, suddenly, you were?”

He grabbed my arm, forcing me down onto the sofa. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you? I pick up my secretary from work, and suddenly you’re pregnant? This is just another one of your jealousy tantrums. You’ve been watching too many soap operas, and it’s messing with your head!”

His words were like daggers, and I felt the sharp sting of every one. He shook me roughly, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

I stared at the door, not moving. In the seven years we had been married, I had always been the one to apologize. In every argument, it was always me who begged for peace. I had forgotten what it was like to stand up for myself.

Over the course of those years, Jake had given me ten designer bags. The remaining ninety-nine had all come after he met Angela.

I thought we still had a chance to fix our marriage. But after today, after the miscarriage, after watching him run to Angela when I needed him most—I knew it was over. There was no love left. Only resentment and betrayal.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, and sent a text message to the lawyer I had been too afraid to contact before.

“Hello, I’d like to file for divorce. The sooner, the better.”

This time, there was no going back.

For four days, Jake didn’t come home. I didn’t hear a word from him. No explanations, no apologies—just silence. On the fifth day, his call finally came. His voice was cold, detached, as though nothing had happened.

“Come downstairs. My mom wants us to join her for dinner,” he said, and before I could respond, he hung up.

Jake’s mother had always been kind to me, and as much as I didn’t want to go, I knew I had to. If only for her sake.

When Jake pulled up, I got into the car, dressed as impeccably as always. He took one look at me and sneered.

“Well, I see you’re still strong enough to dress up. Guess the ‘miscarriage’ you told me about wasn’t real, huh? Playing tricks again, Lauren?”

His words stung, but I didn’t let it show. I offered a faint smile and said, “Yeah, sure.”

Without another word, he turned on the car radio. As soon as the music started, a sweet, high-pitched voice chimed in over the speakers.

“Mr. CEO, don’t forget to drive safely while you listen to music! Love you~”

It was Angela’s voice. The secretary. Her sticky-sweet tone filled the car, making the atmosphere even more unbearable.

If this had been before, I would have demanded an explanation right then and there. I would have pressed him for answers, cornered him until he came up with some half-hearted excuse. But now, I didn’t care enough to ask. I just sat in silence, numb to it all.

Jake glanced over at me, a rare flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. “Angela said these custom voice prompts were trending, so I let her make one for me.”

I just nodded, pretending to be indifferent.

When we arrived at his parents’ house, dinner was tense. My mother-in-law, sensing the strain between us, kept giving me worried glances, her eyebrows practically glued together in concern. She’d always been good to me, but today, I could see that even she was growing uncomfortable with the obvious rift between her son and me.

By the end of dinner, she couldn’t hold back any longer. She leaned in and asked, “You two haven’t been fighting, have you?”

Jake let out a fake laugh, wrapping an arm around my waist like we were the perfect couple. “Of course not, Mom. You’re overthinking things.”

But his mother wasn’t convinced. “I heard some gossip online... rumors about you and your secretary. But I told everyone, ‘My boy wouldn’t cheat on his wife. That’s impossible!’”

“Rumors? What rumors?” Jake’s eyes narrowed, confused.

His mother pulled out her phone and showed him. “This. There’s a trending hashtag, something about ‘YangYu,’ talking about the ‘CEO and his secretary.’ Look, there are even photos!”

Through the gap in the conversation, I glanced at the screen and saw the truth unfold. The internet had compiled a collage of photos of Jake and Angela—pictures I hadn’t even seen before. One, in particular, caught my attention: the two of them painting ceramic figurines in a park. The same figurine that Jake had placed on my bedside table, telling me it was painted by an employee’s kid.

He had been lying to me for months, maybe even years.

Jake looked panicked as he handed the phone back to his mother. He grabbed my hand, desperate to explain himself. “Lauren, these were taken during a company retreat. It’s not what it looks like. Angela just graduated, and I’ve been mentoring her. She’s like a little sister to me, that’s all. She even tells me to go home early so you won’t get upset!”

His excuses fell on deaf ears. I didn’t care about his explanations anymore. I wasn’t interested in his version of the truth.

“Uh-huh. I understand,” I replied blandly, barely acknowledging him.

He relaxed slightly, thinking his words had worked. But then, I turned to his mother, my voice steady and calm.

“I want a divorce.”

Silence fell over the room. I pulled out the divorce papers I had prepared and placed them on the table in front of his entire family. His mother’s face drained of color, her hands trembling as she looked at me, then at Jake.

“What’s going on, Lauren? Why are you doing this? You’ve been married for seven years—haven’t things been good?” she asked, her voice laced with shock.

“Good?” I thought bitterly. Once, I had believed that. I had convinced myself we were happy, that we were building a future together. But now, I saw the truth. Our marriage had been dead for a long time, and I had been too scared to admit it.

“There’s nothing left to salvage,” I said firmly. “I’ve made up my mind, and no one can convince me otherwise.”

Jake snapped, flipping the table in a rage. Plates and silverware crashed to the floor as he stormed toward me.

“What the hell, Lauren? All this because I had dinner with Angela? She’s my secretary—an employee! You’ve been going on about this for days, throwing around accusations, making up lies about miscarriages! One day, your lies are going to catch up with you.”

He turned to his parents, his face red with anger. “Don’t listen to her. She’s just trying to make a scene. She has nothing else to do but stir up drama.”

But as he spoke, I felt the pain in my stomach return, sharp and sudden. I doubled over, clutching my abdomen, my legs barely able to support me. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead.

“You still think I’m lying to you?” I gasped through the pain.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the miscarriage report and threw it on the table.

“As you can see, Jake, I had a miscarriage. So congratulations—you got what you wanted. I can’t have your child anymore.”