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.