Craig's POV

At the gym, my fitness app sent me a new update from the electronic scale.

[Great job! Your body fat today is 18%. Current weight: 125 kilograms.]

I let out a bitter laugh and lowered my head, staring at the man I’d become, panting on the treadmill, forcing myself to lose weight because my wife found me disgusting.

When I finished working out, I stopped by the café downstairs from my wife’s office and ordered a cappuccino.

A young male intern brought the cup over. As he leaned down to place it on the table, a little plush keychain hanging from his phone swayed in front of me.

My wife, Willette Crawford, had one just like it. I’d even teased her once, asking since when she’d gotten into such girlish things. She just brushed me off, saying it was just a prize from some raffle and it would be too wasteful to throw away.

And in that instant, I decided I wanted a divorce.

——

“Hey, that’s a cute keychain,” I told the boy. “My wife has the exact same one.”

His face turned white. He froze for a second, then spun on his heel and hurried away.

For seven years, Willette had played the part of the perfect wife. Always home on time, never out all night, hardly any social gatherings. So I had never once thought to doubt her.

But now I knew the truth. She had hidden her boy toy right under my nose, just downstairs from her office.

I got up to leave, but just as I got in my car, I saw her rushing down the stairs.

The intern had already changed out of his café uniform. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, he looked young, almost boyish.

And without hesitation, Willette slipped her hand into his, their fingers lacing together so naturally that it made my stomach turn.

“Willette, your husband was just here,” the boy whispered, pressing close to her. “He said my keychain matches yours. Do you think he knows about us?”

Willette shook her head. “No. Don’t overthink it. He’s not that sharp. All he knows is how to cook, clean, and take care of our kid.”

The boy nodded and pulled her into his arms.

“Your husband’s a real creep, following you all the way to work like that.”

She rose on her toes to kiss him lightly.

“Jenson, I’m sorry you have to put up with this. If he weren’t so controlling, I wouldn’t need to make you work as a café boy just so we could see each other.”

With that, she tugged him toward the quick-stop hotel beside the café.

My hands gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

Two whole hours later, I finally saw them emerge.

Willette leaned against Jenson Henry’s chest, her cheeks still flushed. He kissed her forehead with such tender affection that it made me sick.

So this was her so-called “routine”? Keeping her boy toy stationed right below her office, ready to meet her any time she wanted?

You were so clever, Willette.

You’d been lying to me all this time.

Once they left, I walked into the hotel and checked the security records.

Their names had been showing up there for a year.

The first booking dated back to March 15 last year.

The very same day, Willette returned to the workforce.

And the same day, I quit my job to stay home and take care of our child for her.

I drew in a deep breath, pocketed my phone, and drove home.

When I opened the door, there she was in the kitchen, wearing an apron, which was a rare sight. She poked her head out the moment she heard me.

“You’re back late,” she said with that same gentle smile she always wore. “Come sit down. I made your favorite pork ribs stew. After dinner, we can head to Mom’s to pick up Tad.”

Before I could answer, my phone rang.

It was my mother. Her voice was urgent as she urged, “Craig, your child’s running a high fever. His temperature is thirty-nine degrees! You need to come right away!”

I immediately looked at Willette. “Tad’s burning up. We need to get to Mom’s and take him to the hospital.”

We rushed out of the house and jumped into the car. But something unexpectedly happened halfway down the road.

Craig's POV

Suddenly, her phone buzzed with a WhatsApp notification.

Willette glanced at the screen, and her face changed instantly.

Without warning, she jerked the steering wheel and made a U-turn, driving in the opposite direction.

I grabbed my seatbelt, startled. “Where are you going?”

“Something urgent came up at work. I have to head back to the office,” she said flatly, without even looking at me.

“Can’t it wait? Our child’s running a high fever.”

She frowned, clearly torn. “Honey, I’m doing all this for our child’s future. Please understand.”

“Here, I’ll drop you off on the side of the road. You can catch a cab to your mom’s place,” she added.

Before I could say another word, she pulled over and shoved me out of the car.

By the time I got to my mother’s house, my child’s face was flushed red from the fever. His cries had grown faint, weaker than I’d ever heard before.

“Why are you the only one here? Where’s Willette?” my mom asked as she held Tad tightly.

“She had something to do.”

Quickly, we rushed to the hospital. After checking him over, the doctor’s expression turned grave.

“The fever’s been going on too long. We’ll need to transfer him to the ICU for observation.”

My mom’s eyes welled with anger. “What on earth could be more important than her own child? She always seemed like such a good wife and mother, but now—”

“Mom.” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “She’s cheating.”

She froze, her mouth opening but no words coming out.

Right then, my phone buzzed again.

It was a text from an unknown number, with a picture attached.

[Burned my hand a little while cooking. But she was already so worried that she rushed over right away to take care of me.]

The photo showed a tiny red spot on a man’s hand, barely the size of a sesame seed. And next to him was Willette, carefully applying ointment, her face full of concern.

I stared at it, and suddenly, I almost laughed.

How ridiculous. To her, even a scratch on his hand mattered more than me and our sick child combined.

Cautious, my mom spoke softly, “Son, what are you going to do?”

“I'm gonna divorce her.”

The next morning, sometime after ten, Willette finally showed up at the hospital room.

She strolled in, yawning, and plopped down in the chair across from me.

“I worked late last night to clear my schedule. Today I can finally focus on staying with our son,” she said, reaching out to touch Tad’s flushed cheek.

“Alright,” I replied flatly.

“You must be exhausted, too. Why don’t you go home and rest? I’ll stay here and watch him,” she offered, her voice soft and caring.

I nodded. “Fine. I’ll head home for a bit.”

But I had barely been back for half an hour when my phone rang.

It was the hospital.

“Where are you, family members?” the nurse snapped, clearly frustrated. “The child’s been awake and crying nonstop, and there’s not a single adult in the room with him!”

My heart sank, and I rushed back to the hospital.

When I got there, the room was empty. Willette was gone.

I called her phone again and again, but she wasn't answering.

As I was pacing in panic, a live-stream notification popped up on my screen.

I tapped it without thinking.

And there he was, the café intern, smiling sweetly into the camera.

“Hey, babies! I’m on vacation today!” he said cheerfully. “My love even took the day off to come with me to Disneyland. Isn’t she the sweetest?”

The camera then shifted, and there she was, wearing the white dress I’d bought her and laughing as she handed him a cotton candy.

I remembered so clearly. She always told me she hated amusement parks as they were childish and only a waste of time. She even added that adults should focus on work, not silly games.

But now, here she was, skipping out on our feverish, hospitalized child, just to play at an amusement park with another man.

Craig's POV

“Next up, we’re going on the Drop Tower!” Jenson pointed excitedly at the towering ride in the distance. “Come on, Love, let’s feel that rush of adrenaline together!”

I knew Willette had a fear of heights. She never even dared to ride a Ferris wheel.

But now, she was standing there, her fingers tightly intertwined with another man’s.

“As long as you're by my side, I’ll go,” she told him softly.

My hands started to shake as I watched.

I immediately screen-recorded the livestream, saving every second.

This was going to be my proof.

I still couldn't believe that our seven years of marriage were undone just like that.

With trembling fingers, I typed into the comment section.

[Your “love” looks a lot like my wife.]

Then I uploaded a photo of Willette.

The comment section exploded instantly.

[Holy crap, what’s going on here?]

[Wait. He’s stealing someone’s wife and calling her ‘Love’?!]

[Disgusting! And they’re still pretending to be innocent?]

[Report them now!]

Jenson’s face went pale as soon as he saw the comments, and he looked at Willette in panic.

And right then, my phone buzzed. It was her calling.

“Are you insane?” she hissed, her voice low but brimming with fury. “Delete it! Clarify it right now! What are you trying to do, embarrass me even more? Haven’t I given you enough already? Don’t bite the hands that feed you! Do you want to ruin me completely?”

Yet, I ignored her and hung up.

But almost immediately, a text came through.

[Don’t regret this.]

Back on the livestream, Jenson faced the camera again, tears welling in his eyes.

“The real homewrecker is the one who isn’t loved!” he cried. “She hasn’t loved her husband for years! If it weren’t for their kid, Love and I would’ve gone public a long time ago!”

He then pulled Willette into his arms, his eyes red as he pressed her forward toward the camera.

“Love, tell everyone who you really love?”

Pushed into the spotlight, Willette hesitated for a few seconds before speaking. Her words cut like knives as they echoed in my ears.

“Jenson didn’t ruin my marriage. My husband and I divorced long ago.”

Her voice was calm, steady as she added, “I just didn’t want to hurt him or our child, so I kept it quiet. But now that Jenson is being slandered, I have to make it clear.”

The phone slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

It felt like someone was squeezing my heart in a vice, crushing the air out of my lungs.

With trembling hands, I dialed the county clerk's office.

“Hello, what service do you need?”

“I… I want to check whether Willette Pearce-Crawford and I, Craig Crawford, filed for divorce.”

“Please hold,” the clerk replied, and after a beat, she continued, “Yes, according to our records, you and Ms. Willette Pearce-Crawford officially registered your divorce eight months ago.”

The voice on the other end kept talking, but my mind had gone blank.

Eight months ago?

Then it hit me.

Back then, she said she wanted to buy insurance for the family. She told me it was her promise, her way of protecting me and the child.

But in reality, she had already been plotting against me.

Too bad she miscalculated one thing.

That day, I had been busy, so she had signed the documents in my place.

Which meant this so-called divorce was invalid.

Suddenly, the livestream screen jolted.

Uniformed officers stepped into the frame.