On my 30th birthday, my husband said he had a surprise for me.

But while shopping at the mall, I saw him standing at the Louis Vuitton counter with another woman.

They were laughing and chatting, acting far too intimate.

Watching them hug and touch each other, I felt my world collapse.

I had never imagined that my husband would cheat on me.

When he saw me, he froze for a moment.

I thought he would come over to explain, but instead, he pretended not to see me.

After a long while, he reluctantly walked over.

“Claire, don’t overthink this. She’s just my sister. I asked her to help me pick out a gift.”

A sister? Would a sister look at him with love in her eyes? Would a sister hug him that way?

I ignored him and turned to leave.

Before my birthday, David Miller had promised me a big surprise.

Well, this surprise was indeed big—so big it turned into a shock.

If I hadn’t gone out shopping today, I might never have discovered that he had another woman.

After all, David was very good at pretending.

I wasn’t as fragile as I had imagined. In fact, I was surprisingly calm.

As for his explanation, I wasn’t going to believe a single word.

So I turned around and left without looking back.

Seeing my firm attitude, David finally showed a trace of panic.

“Claire, don’t go. Please listen to my explanation.”

I stopped and looked at him.

Out of nowhere, Anna Parker stormed over and shouted, “You shameless woman, seducing my man in public!”

Her yelling immediately drew the attention of the crowd.

I was stunned, but she arrogantly continued, “David and I have been together since college. And you? You’re just a mistress—no looks, no body, nothing!”

People despise mistresses. They’re like rats crossing the street—everyone wants to beat them down.

The onlookers, not knowing the truth, began pointing fingers at me.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“When it comes to looks, I’m taller, fuller, and far more elegant than you.”

“As for appearance, you’re just a country bumpkin. Do you really think you can compare to me?”

That word—“bumpkin”—drove Anna mad.

She gritted her teeth and snapped, “You barren woman who can’t even have kids—where do you get the courage to act arrogant in front of me?”

The mention of children made my chest ache.

Seven years of marriage, and David and I still had no children.

It wasn’t because we didn’t want them. A hospital checkup had revealed that I had fertility issues.

I tried everything—medicine, treatments—but still, no pregnancy.

Seeing my silence, Anna seized the chance to strike harder.

In front of everyone, she mocked, “Claire Thompson, what can I even say about you?”

“You spend my man’s money, sleep with him, and still have the nerve to humiliate me?”

“Tell me, everyone—shouldn’t such a shameless woman just die?”

Immediately, people chimed in:

“She’s right! Women like her deserve it!”

“Immoral, shameless—you should be locked up!”

“If her parents knew their daughter was a mistress, they’d die of shame.”

Listening to their curses, I almost laughed at the absurdity.

Who was the real victim here?

I was the wife, yet the mistress accused me to my face.

And she incited the crowd to curse me as well.

I looked at David, wanting to know what he thought.

But he just stood there, silent, not even offering a word in my defense.

I was disappointed—but reality had become painfully clear.

The more silent David remained, the bolder Anna became.

If my own husband wouldn’t defend me, what else could I expect?

I asked David, “So this is how you’re celebrating my birthday?”

“It’s not like that, I—”

Before he could finish, Anna cut in, “Funny, my birthday’s in two days too.”

“I should’ve checked the calendar before going out today. Running into trash like you—it’s bad luck!”

“Anna, don’t you like that limited edition Chanel bag? Let’s go buy it.”

Anna’s eyes lit up. “Really? You’re the best, honey!”

That was David’s way of dealing with things—taking her hand and walking away to end the scene.

He left me standing there alone, a public joke.

As they went up the escalator together, he didn’t even turn back once.

He only sent me a text: Go home first. We’ll talk later.

I scoffed. Did he really think there was anything left to explain?

Seven years of marriage, destined to end in misery.

Just as I was about to leave, someone suddenly hit me from behind with a baseball bat.

It was a woman, striking me repeatedly—first on my back, then aiming at my head.

I tried to dodge, but she was relentless, chasing me down.

The crowd just watched, some even cheering her on.

“She deserves it! Mistresses like her should be beaten!”

Soon, I had no strength left to resist. The bat kept landing on me, blow after blow.

My gaze lifted to the second floor, meeting David’s eyes.

He hesitated for only a few seconds—then turned away when Anna called him to go buy her a bag.

In that moment, I made my decision: I would never look back.

By the time I arrived at the hospital, more than three hours had passed since the attack.

I had fainted from the beating, unconscious.

When I woke up, my body was covered in bruises.

My head spun, nausea churning in my stomach.

The doctor explained a few things and left.

Outside, nurses whispered about me, their looks full of disdain.

I knew explanations would be useless. I just stared at the TV on the wall.

At 2 p.m., David finally rushed in.

He was emotional as he said, “Claire, I didn’t know you’d be beaten like this. If I had known, I would have stopped it!”

“Really? You dare say you didn’t see me being attacked?”

Our eyes had locked while I was being beaten.

Now he came running, pretending to care—who was he fooling?

“I did see it, but Anna told me it was just to scare you. She didn’t say they’d actually hurt you!”

“To scare me? So you planned this together?”

I stared at him in disbelief.

Had they set me up from the very moment I walked into that mall?

Realizing he’d said too much, David tried to cover his tracks.

“She’s still outside. Anna wanted to come see you. She’s not as bad as you think.”

“And? You came here just to tell me that?”

On the surface, I looked calm, but inside, I was shaken.

Did he even understand what he was saying?

David pressed on. “Of course not. What I want to say is—can’t you and Anna just coexist peacefully?”

“Anna is easy to please. Just buy her something she likes, and she’s happy.”

My face hardened as I asked, word by word, “What exactly are you trying to say?”

The man I had shared my bed with suddenly felt like a stranger.

It was as if, after seven years, I was meeting him for the first time.

“My point is—you’ll always be my wife. She’ll just be my girlfriend.

Since you can’t have children, once she gives birth, I’ll let the child call you Mom.”

I stared at David in utter disbelief.

Had I fallen into some nightmare?

I was his wife, Anna was his girlfriend—and he thought two women sharing a husband was acceptable?

If this ever went public, it would cause a storm of outrage.

Three years ago, after a checkup, the doctor told me I had fertility issues—so severe that I might never conceive.

My first thought back then was divorce.

I didn’t want to trap David in a childless marriage.

But he was the one who stopped me.

That day, leaving the hospital, he told me tenderly,

“As long as we try, God won’t abandon us.”

I asked, “And if I really can’t have children?”

He answered, “As long as we’re together, that’s enough. Children can’t be forced. You’re more important than anything.”

I believed him. I truly did.

And because I believed him, all this disaster followed.

Cheating. A mistress. A plan to let her give birth for him.

And now, he wanted me to coexist with her—

to raise her child as my own?

Every word he said suffocated me.

I refused firmly. “Forget it. I will never agree to this.”

“Why not? Anna already agreed. Why can’t you?”

“Because I can say no. That’s my right.”

“Then what would make you agree?” David’s voice grew louder, anxious.

To him, this was the perfect solution.

But to me, it was revolting.

“Don’t worry. I’ll never agree.”

“Claire!!”

David was about to explode when Anna knocked on the door.

Smiling sweetly, she said, “David, let me handle this. After all, we’re both women—we’ll talk better.”

“Fine. I’ll wait outside.”

As David left, he closed the door.

Anna locked it behind him and turned to me with a smirk.

“Claire, why don’t you tell me what you really think?”

I frowned. “What are you trying to do?”

Instinct told me she meant harm.

She came closer, pressing her fingers against one of my bruises—at first lightly, then suddenly harder.

She jabbed at the wound and sneered, “What pride do you have left?”

“You’re older, not as gentle as me, infertile—and you still have the face to refuse?”

“Be smart, accept it, and your life will be much easier.”

I clenched my teeth against the pain, still not understanding what game she was playing.

But share a husband with her?

Absolutely not.