Van Klein, the man she truly loved, was terminally ill. In tears, he begged his wife to give him a child.

“I love David Bruce now, not you. Please find someone else.”

His wife coldly rejected him.

I was overjoyed, thinking I had finally received all her love.

The next day, she told me she was leaving for a one-year business trip abroad.

I didn’t think much of it and just wished her well.

But eight months later, on our wedding anniversary, I flew overseas to surprise her—and found her pregnant, clinging intimately to Van Klein’s arm.

Everything had been a lie.

I laughed bitterly at myself and tossed the carefully prepared gift into a trash bin.

——

“Honey, today’s our eighth wedding anniversary. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you.”

Pam Dickson called me.

I paused, then replied, “It’s okay.”

“Honey, when I get back, I’ll give you a big surprise.”

“You already have,” I thought.

I stared at her from a distance—Pam smiling sweetly in Van Klein’s arms, the father of her child. A flicker of guilt flashed in her eyes.

“Honey, these business trips are exhausting. I’m swamped with work every day.”

She was still lying to me.

I clenched the phone tightly.

When we first got married, Pam told me the cruelest thing in love was deception. She once said, “If one day you stop loving me, promise you’ll tell me.”

She also said, “If there’s no love, don’t cause pain.”

But now, she had lied to me. And she hurt me.

I felt suffocated.

“Honey, why are you so quiet?”

I looked up, forcing back tears. My voice was hoarse. “I was working just now.”

On the other end, Pam sighed in relief and chuckled. “Okay, I won’t interrupt. I love you!”

She hung up.

From where I stood, I watched her get into a car with Van, his arm wrapped protectively around her.

As the door closed, tears finally slid down my face.

Why did she lie to me?

“If there’s no love, don’t cause pain”—hadn’t she said that?

I took a taxi straight to the airport.

I had come with joy, but I left with heartbreak.

Later, she sent a message: [Honey, I bought you a gift—the game console you’ve always wanted. It’s already been shipped home.]

I replied with a simple “Oh.”

Was that guilty?

She hadn’t considered my feelings before, and now she tried to make up for it.

Wasn’t that absurd?

When I returned to America, I buried myself at work. I stayed late at the office every night. My coworkers joked that I was trying to earn extra money to buy Pam a lavish anniversary gift when she got back.

They didn’t know I was trying to drown my pain.

The first time I met Pam was at her father’s funeral.

She didn’t cry—she just stood there, staring blankly at the burial.

My heart ached. I walked over and offered a few words of comfort.

What followed surprised everyone, including myself. She became attached to me.

While I worked, she’d come up with excuses to stay nearby.

On weekends, she’d insist we eat together, shop, or watch movies.

She forced her way into my life.

I once asked her why, exasperated.

She said, “Everyone else approaches me because I’m pretty. They have hidden motives. But you’re different. I can feel your sincerity.”

“Dad’s gone. Mom works all the time. I just want someone who truly cares for me.”

“David, are you willing to be that person?”

Looking at her hopeful expression, I smiled and extended my hand to her.

“Hello, my name is David.”

She smiled.

She smiled so brightly.

From that day on, we became friends.

She told me everything—her joys, her sorrows, her complaints. Whenever something made her happy, she’d rush to share it with me. When she was down, she confided in me without hesitation.

Together, we explored every corner of the city.

A colleague once warned me not to get too involved, reminding me that she already had her “white moonlight.”

I just laughed it off.

Because to me, she was just a friend.

But the more time I spent with her, the more I felt sorry for her.

Her father had died, and her mother was constantly busy with work. She was surrounded by people who were drawn only to her looks. She didn’t have a single true friend.

She deserved to be loved.

Then, her mother was in a car accident. As she lay dying, she gripped my hand tightly.

“David, I can tell you genuinely care about Pam. I’m grateful you’ve stayed by her side.”

“Her father is gone, and now I’m going too. I worry about her being alone in this world.”

“David, will you promise me to take care of her for the rest of her life?”

How could I say no to a mother thinking only of her daughter in her final moments?

Pam and I got married.

After marriage, I did everything I could for her. I gave her all my love and care.

Sometimes I wished I could split into two people just to juggle both work and home perfectly.

Whenever I said I was tired, she would smile and massage my shoulders. “God was so good to me, letting you come into my life.”

“Hubby, let’s be together forever.”

But she broke that promise first.

And it hurt more than I imagined.

Two months later, I saw Pam again. She walked out of the airport with a baby—and with Van.

“Hubby, don’t you think the child Van adopted abroad is adorable?” she said with a smile.

I couldn’t bring myself to smile back. I just nodded.

Van grinned and added, “I met Pam abroad. She noticed how hard it was for me to care for the baby alone, so she suggested we return to America. She offered to help with the child.”

I ignored the challenge in his tone and turned to look at Pam.

She avoided my gaze, lowered her head, and said, “Van is a man—it’s hard for him to raise a baby alone. And since there’s a spare room in our house, I thought they could move in. That way, we could help when we have time.”

I stared at her, stunned, speechless.

That house was the home we built together with love—yet now she wanted Van to live in it.

My chest ached. In a rough voice, I said just one word:

“Okay.”

Pam beamed. “Hubby, I knew you were the best!”

I smiled too.

But it wasn’t because I was kind. It was because my heart had completely given up at that moment.

I simply stopped caring.

That night, as we were getting ready for bed, Pam said, “Hubby, go to sleep first. The baby might cry later—I’ll come back after calming him down.”

I waited the whole night. She never returned.

The next morning, she explained, “The baby cried the whole night. I didn’t sleep until dawn. I was so exhausted I had dark circles under my eyes.”

“Yes, Pam worked really hard,” Van added with a smirk. “Without her, I’d have a massive headache.”

“David, you’re not getting the wrong idea, are you?”

I said nothing and quietly turned around to make breakfast.

“Honey, the baby’s turning a month old soon. I want to help Van throw a full-month celebration. What do you think?”

My hand, mid-slice, paused. Then I replied flatly, “Okay.”

“Thank you, hubby!”

Pam cheerfully went off to plan the banquet—with Van.

Watching them, I pressed my lips into a tight line.

Every compromise I made only led to Pam pushing further.

Maybe she got used to it—after all, I’d always been the one to give in since we got married.

I believed that for a relationship to last, one person had to bend.

If both were equally stubborn, things would eventually fall apart.

Since she wouldn’t compromise, I chose to be the one who would.

But everyone has their limits.

And I had finally reached mine.

This time, I wouldn’t give in.

I chose to let go.

On the day of the baby's full-month banquet, Pam went all out. She invited many guests and made the event lavish.

Her best friend laughed and said, “Pam, the baby looks like you—especially the eyes.”

Pam froze for a moment. “Don’t say that. He’s still a baby, how could he look like me?”

Then she turned to me, looking slightly panicked.

“Hubby, don’t listen to her. The child was adopted by Van abroad. Maybe because I’ve been caring for him lately, he’s starting to resemble me.”

“You know what they say—babies start to look like whoever spends the most time with them.”

I gave her a faint smile.

She didn’t need to explain.

During the dinner, Van raised a glass for me.

“David, let me toast you. Thank you for allowing me and the baby to stay in your home, and for letting Pam help take care of us.”

“I’ll stay seated. You go ahead.”

Everyone looked at me.

But that place no longer felt like my home.

And soon, Pam would no longer be my wife.

“Hubby, Van’s toasting you,” Pam said with a trace of annoyance.

Calmly, I replied, “I’ve got something later, so I can’t drink.”

Her brows furrowed. “What could be more important than today? It’s the baby’s full-month celebration. Van’s toasting you out of gratitude. If you won’t drink, at least don’t look so unhappy.”

She walked over and picked up the wine glass, handing it to me. “Come on, just one glass.”

I looked at her for a long moment and said quietly, “Did you forget I’m allergic to alcohol?”

Pam froze, then quickly apologized.

“Sorry, I forgot.”

But she never used to forget.

Whenever I traveled for business or went out with clients, she’d always remind me not to drink.

Van stepped forward, smiling. “Ah, I didn’t know you were allergic. That’s on me. I’ll drink for both of us.”

He downed the glass in front of everyone.

I stared at him coldly.

Pam bit her lip. “Hubby, are you mad?”

“No,” I said, lowering my head.

She let out a breath of relief.

“I really forgot, and it won’t happen again.”

“Mm.”

After the banquet, guests crowded around the baby, cooing and complimenting how adorable he was. Pam was beaming.

“Hubby, come see too!” she called out.

I shook my head. “No need.”

“Why?” She walked over, frowning. “You don’t like children?”

Grabbing my arm, she insisted, “Come on, just a glance. You’ll love him. Our own kids will be just as cute one day.”

“We’re not going to have children.”

“…What?” Pam froze.

I looked at her evenly.

“I said, we won’t be having children. I’ve already drawn up the divorce papers.”

“Pam, let’s end this.”