On my seventh wedding anniversary, my grandmother, Adele Fortescue, appeared to me in a dream.

In the dream, she tapped my head with her tobacco pipe with full of disappointed expression on her face.

“Flavia, you’re a stubborn girl. You didn’t even notice your husband was cheating on you. His mistress—you could see her the moment you opened your eyes!”

Half-believing and half-doubting, I opened my eyes to find three women sitting in front of me.

One was my best friend, Beatrice Alvarez.

Another was Camilla Brader, the college student whom Diego Rodriguez and I sponsored together.

And the last was Emily Carlson, Diego’s female assistant.

My gaze swept over the three of them, a wave of confusion rising in my heart. So, who exactly did Diego cheat on me with?

——

Seeing I was awake, all three of them breathed a sigh of relief.

My best friend, Beatrice, spoke first, “Flavia, can you please keep an eye on your Diego?”

“He called me at two in the morning, saying you were in terrible pain from menstrual cramps and begging me to rush over to take care of you. If I hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve called 911.”

My heart instantly softened.

Ever since Diego and I started dating, whenever I got hurt or fell ill, he’d panic more than if he were the one sick.

Last night, my stomach hurt so badly. I had to take two sleeping pills before I could fall asleep.

Diego was out of town on a business trip. He probably worried about me because he couldn’t reach me, so he asked them to come and look after me.

Emily, who was standing nearby, also joked.

“That’s right, Mr. Rodriguez is so worried about you. Even after all these years together, you two still act like newlyweds. It’s truly enviable.”

Her tone, as always, held a hint of teasing. My eyes fell on her, a hint of hesitation.

Emily was six years older than Diego and me and her son was already in elementary school.

Not only was her family happy and harmonious, but she also had a generous personality and exceptional work skills. She had served as Diego’s assistant for many years.

In my heart, I always treated her like an older sister.

As for any romantic involvement between her and Diego, I simply didn’t believe it.

Maddie, the housekeeper, brought a steaming bowl of traditional medicine to me. There was a hint of envy in her tone.

“Mr. Rodriguez treats his wife with impeccable care.”

I studied Beatrice’s expression closely. She appeared perfectly composed, showing no signs of jealousy.

Seeing Maddie’s arrival with the herbal medicine, Camilla nervously handed over a box of preserved fruit.

The moment I looked at her, Camilla quickly lowered her head, avoiding my gaze.

She spoke softly and her tone was tense, “Flavia, this folk remedy has been passed down in our village.”

“It’s very effective for menstrual cramps, though it tastes rather bitter.”

My heart warmed and I quickly thanked her.

“Thank you, Camilla.”

“If this remedy can ease the pain even a little, it would be a tremendous help.”

As I spoke, my gaze lingered on her.

She kept her head bowed. Her fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of her shirt. Her clothes were washed to a bleached whiteness, the cuffs frayed and unstitched.

She was clearly a girl in her early twenties, yet dressed more shabbily than Maddie’s daughter.

Fearing she might feel embarrassed, I deliberately lightened my tone.

“To thank you for bringing this remedy, we’ll go shopping this afternoon and pick out some clothes that fit you properly.”

Camilla snapped her head up. Her cheeks flushed instantly.

“Flavia, it’s okay. I’m fine with what I have...”

I smiled and patted her hand.

“Don’t be so polite with me, silly girl. You’re a student Diego and I sponsor together. Dressing up properly will make you look more like a college student. If others see you like this, they’ll think we’re neglecting you.”

Camilla’s lips twitched. The tears glistened in her eyes, but she still nodded softly.

Beatrice yawned beside us, her voice light with amusement.

“Alright then, Flavia. This afternoon, you take Camilla clothes shopping and pick out a bag for me too. Mr. Rodriguez promised me a new limited-edition model as compensation.”

Her tone was half-serious, half-joking and tinged with playful teasing.

I smiled and agreed to her request.

“Sure, I’ll pick out a bag for you too.”

After speaking, my gaze swept unobtrusively across the faces of the three women. They were the people closest and most trusted to me.

Beatrice was my childhood best friend, Camilla was the student Diego and I had sponsored together and Emily was Diego’s capable assistant who had been by his side for many years.

Their presence had witnessed nearly every moment of my thirteen-year relationship with Diego.

Yet a strange heaviness settled in my heart. I refused to believe it, refused to doubt.

But my grandmother’s words still echoed in my ears. I knew the other woman was among them.

Truthfully, when my grandmother mentioned Diego’s infidelity in my dream, my first reaction had also been disbelief.

Diego and I met when I was eighteen.

Back then, he had nothing, only a fierce determination not to admit defeat.

He said, “Flavia, following me will be tough. But when I make it big, I’ll make sure you live better than anyone.”

Without hesitation, I took his hand.

From street stalls to small shops, from constant setbacks to founding our first company.

During the most difficult times, he went after the thieves alone when our goods were stolen. While I limped on an injured leg, I guarded our last cash reserves.

What made me happy was that Diego never broke his promise. For ten years, he cherished me deeply and never wavered.

In the second year of our marriage, we were in a car accident.

In that instant, Diego shielded me with his body, but was knocked unconscious by the immense force of the impact.

In the split second before losing consciousness, he forced a smile and whispered, “Flavia, don’t be afraid. I love you.”

Who could believe such a man like that would cheat?

At that time, I smiled and blurted out, “Grandma, please don’t joke with me.”

“Trust is the most important thing between husband and wife. I trust Diego.”

My grandmother took a drag from her pipe and snorted coldly. “Flavia, you’re still too young. There’s not a single man in this world who doesn’t cheat! I’ve sent you three dreams and saved your life three times. And now you still don’t trust me?”

A lump formed in my throat, stuck there—I couldn’t swallow it down.

Adele had sent me three dreams and every one had come true.

And Diego had indeed been acting strangely these past few months.

He wore our wedding ring for six years.

Not long ago, he took it off and told me he’d sent it to the store for cleaning and maintenance.

Last time I rode in his car, I found potato chip crumbs in the crevices of the passenger seat.

Diego had always been a neat freak and never allowed anyone to eat in his car.

At that time, he explained, “Emily borrowed my car a few days ago to pick up her child. These must be some potato chip crumbs her kids dropped.”

I trusted Diego completely back then and didn’t think much of it.

***

But now, looking back, every little detail hints at something being amiss. I suppressed my doubts and casually brought up the topic.

“By the way, Emily, it’s almost noon. Shouldn’t you be picking up your child from school?”

Emily was stunned for a moment, then laughed.

“Oh dear, I transferred him to No. 9 Middle School last year. It’s right next to my house, just a five-minute walk. I haven’t needed to pick him up for ages.”

She spoke with a lightness of voice, her gaze serene. Yet my heart sank and my fingers couldn’t help but clench the quilt.

No. 9 Middle School? She transferred last year?

But Diego had clearly said it was when Emily picked up the child that she ate potato chips in his car, leaving crumbs behind.

A chill ran up from the soles of my feet, so cold that my breath was stifled.

I forced a smile and nodded lightly. “Oh, I see. That makes things so much easier.”

My voice remained composed, but inside, a storm was brewing.

So that dream was real. Diego had truly cheated on me.

The next day, Diego returned.

As soon as he entered, he quickly walked over to the bed, his tone filled with nervousness.

“Flavia, are you feeling better? The doctor said your constitution is weak and you need to nourish yourself properly.”

As he spoke, he set down several large bags filled with my favorite fruits and tonics, plus a limited-edition silk scarf.

“You glanced at it a few times last time we were at the mall? I remembered and went out of my way to buy it today.”

At that moment, my heart skipped a beat.

He was still the same as before—attentive to every detail, remembering all my preferences and keeping me dear in his heart.

After dinner, he took the initiative to cook, preparing my favorite pork rib soup while reminding me to limit my phone use and get to bed early.

Yet inside, my emotions were churning violently.

Later that night, he went to shower and casually dropped his phone on the bedside table.

I stared at that phone. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my mouth.

In the end, I reached out and picked it up. The passcode was still my birthday.

The screen lit up, revealing a wallpaper of our beach trip. I leaned into Diego’s arms, laughing heartily. He looked down at me, his eyes melting with tenderness.

My fingers trembled as I opened WhatsApp and scrolled through the chat history. There were no flirtatious exchanges and no secrets. Every conversation was clean and innocent.

M-Banking, PayPal and even payment records were filled with purchases for me.

My doubts about him have almost disappeared.

Until I opened TikTok.

A chat box named ‘Don’t Eat Cilantro’ suddenly appeared in the message list.

Opening it revealed pages of densely packed messages.

[Honey, I miss you.]

[You’re so annoying. You were so rough last night, I’m still sore all over.]

The words on the screen stabbed into my eyes, one by one.

What shocked me even more was that Diego, who was always sparing with his words and cold as ice to outsiders, was patient and tender with her, unlike his usual self.

[Silly girl, are you still lazing in bed?]

[Be good, if you’re sore, don’t move around. Remember to apply the ointment.]

[I’ll make it up to you next time, okay? Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.]

Every word was saturated with affection, as tender as coaxing a little girl.

My fingers froze on the screen as suffocating pain churned in my chest.

I clicked back to the TikTok profile of the person who didn’t eat cilantro.

Her posts were all about daily life, yet every one carried trace of intimacy.

A blurry back view showed a man’s broad, familiar shoulders. The watch on his cuff was identical to Diego’s.

A late-night short video showed two sets of bowls and cutlery on the table, with the caption. [Thanks for the midnight snack, Honey.]

And the latest update featured a long, strong hand fastening a necklace around her neck.

The caption read: [The most excellent luck of my life is meeting you.]

My palms were drenched in cold sweat as I clutched the phone.

Diego, the man everyone hailed as “the perfect husband,” wore a mask of cold detachment in public yet showed me quiet consideration and restraint. However, he had shed all reserve with this woman, revealing nothing but unbridled passion and devotion.