The person everyone believed would be absolutely devoted to me…

His heart started to wander.

As for whether he actually cheated, that's something I still need to figure out.

That night, I didn’t say a word, didn’t ask anything.

I did what I always do: brushed my teeth, then climbed into bed.

When I turned off the lights, Wesley was still on his phone.

His fingers moved quickly, like he was replying to someone’s messages.

That girl, he must like her a lot.

Every time he responded or made a call, he couldn’t help but smile.

Lying there with my eyes closed, I suddenly realized it had been a long time since Wesley held me to sleep.

In the past, every night, he would cling to me like an octopus, wrapping himself around me.

He’d complain that he couldn’t fall asleep without holding me.

Now that I think about it… ha, men’s sweet words are so easy to say.

In the dark, I lay there, thinking for a long time.

Thinking about my past with Wesley and about the future.

Until I heard the soft sound of his breathing beside me.

Wesley had fallen asleep.

I gently sat up, stretched my arm, and grabbed his phone from the pillow beside him.

Wesley’s phone password was my birthday, and he even had my fingerprint registered.

Back then, he’d insisted on me recording my fingerprint. I had refused.

I believed there should be a certain level of privacy between people, no matter how close they were.

But Wesley wouldn’t listen. He insisted that he had no secrets from me.

He took my finger and personally registered it on his phone.

Maybe, back then, he was speaking from the heart.

It’s just that he never expected hearts could change.

He had changed so quickly, and now, he was interested in another girl.

If he had foreseen this day, he probably wouldn’t have given me his password.

I opened Wesley’s Instagram. The top profile picture was of a cute girl with a bun hairstyle.

Clicking on it, I found a flood of messages from just the past hour.

There was nothing before that.

It seemed Wesley was quite cautious, deleting messages right after chatting.

He must have thought I was asleep when he forgot to delete the conversation earlier.

They sure could talk—just a little over an hour, and their messages were more than what Wesley and I would share in a whole week.

The girl’s name was Penelope, and it sounded somewhat familiar.

Their conversation had started with her glancing at Wesley at work, then moved to complaints about the awful lunch they had ordered.

They talked about the constant rain lately, and the rock band they both liked.

They had endless topics.

I thought, this must be what being in love feels like.

Always wanting to share everything.

Because Wesley and I were like that before.

Although we were more of the type where he did most of the talking and I said little.

But back then, our chat history felt endless, like it would never run out.

Now, with him and Penelope, although the girl said more, Wesley responded to every single word.

He really paid attention to her, making sure her words never went unnoticed.

The girl was like a little bird, chattering away.

She’d complain about how annoying it was to sit in a car on rainy days, or how her skirt would get wet holding an umbrella to the subway.

Then she’d mention how her appetite had been off lately, and how she’d lost three pounds in a month.

And then, she’d mention how the band was going on tour, but the tickets were too expensive.

Wesley immediately arranged a private car for her for the month.

Penelope sent a pouting emoji.

"The driver’s not you, I want to ride in your car to work."

Wesley replied, "You think I’ll be your driver? Dream on!"

Penelope sent a frustrated emoji.

Wesley sent her a head-pat emoji.

"Good girl, I’ll take you out for a nice meal tomorrow."

"You can’t lose any more weight, I’ll start worrying about you."

I placed Wesley’s phone back where it had been.

In the silence of the dark room, my mind wandered—Penelope, why did that name sound so familiar?

I clicked on her profile picture, confirming that I didn’t recognize her.

From the chat history, it seemed she worked at Wesley’s company.

Wesley’s company was a business he co-founded with his college roommate. There weren’t many employees, and I knew them all.

Last year, when I attended their annual meeting, I didn’t meet anyone new...

So, she must be one of the recent hires.

A newcomer?

Suddenly, it clicked.

After the New Year, Wesley had mentioned that a few interns had joined the company.

He’d told me the interns had been recommended by his university professor.

It was mostly a formality—just a signature for their internship certificates.

He said he had a good relationship with his former professor, so he couldn’t say no.

Not long after, I overheard him complaining.

He mentioned that one of the female interns wasn’t very cooperative.

She would leave right on time every evening, not a minute later.

Even if she had just about finished her tasks, she would leave without hesitation.

She said the best part of working was clocking out.

Not only did she refuse to stay late, but she also encouraged others not to work overtime.

She claimed overtime was just selling your life to help the capitalists make money.

Once, when the entire company was working over the weekend to meet a project deadline, only a few interns didn’t show up.

To speed things up, the project leader called each intern, asking them to help, and promised overtime pay.

Everyone agreed, except for that girl.

She flatly refused, saying she would only work if the overtime pay was five times the usual rate.

That left the project leader stunned.

Wesley had been pretty upset with her at the time—he wouldn’t have brought it up at home otherwise.

He didn’t like talking about work at home.

He always said the home should be a warm and happy place, and work should stay outside.

I remember him, angry and eating, saying, "That Penelope is ridiculous. She openly declared in the office that Gen Z is coming to fix the workplace."

It all came back to me now—yes, that girl was Penelope.

I remembered Wesley saying he had scolded Penelope harshly at the office.

It had made her cry.

I believed it.

Wesley had a short temper. When he got angry, he didn’t care who you were—he would yell at anyone, man or woman, equally.

But he didn’t fire her.

He said he kept the interns around because of the professor’s favor.

"If it were the old me, I would have kicked all of them out, no matter whose favor it was," he’d said.

"Looks like I’ve become a lot softer after entering the real world."

"Of course, it’s also thanks to you, my wife. Your good temper has rubbed off on me."

"Anyway, the internship only lasts three months. I’ll just put up with it for now."

That’s what he said.

I didn’t know how the annoying Penelope he had once complained about ended up working at his company.

Had she left after her internship and returned after graduation?

Or had she stayed the whole time, never leaving, working there until now?

But whatever the case, Wesley’s opinion of Penelope had clearly changed.

From someone he couldn’t stand to now calling her "cute."

On his Instagram, he even labeled Penelope as "Little Cutie."

The next morning, Wesley left for work.

Five minutes later, I quietly followed behind him.

I took a cab and stayed a little behind his car.

After getting my master’s degree, I first worked at a big company as a corporate drone for a few years. Once I built up my client base, I left and started freelancing.

Now, I’m a freelance illustrator.

I earn more than I did before, and best of all, my time is my own.