"All I want in this life is to drift through the clouds with you, never apart, morning or night."

"Adela, the woman who shares my bed isn't the one in my heart. Only in my dreams, late at night, can I still see your face—so pure it makes my heart ache."

Kevin's composure finally cracked. He lost control and shouted, "Shut up! Roberta, I made one mistake! Haven't I paid enough for it this past year?"

"It's over and done with—why do you keep dragging it up?"

I laughed coldly, grabbed the women's lotus-print panties, and flung them at his face.

"I'm the one dragging it up? Oh, your love letters to her were so touching, I just had to keep them. To remind you that you've got a pure, beautiful Adela Fox tucked away in your heart!"

"And you call that paying for it? Poppy Abbott isn't just my daughter. Taking care of her is your responsibility—nothing more!"

Kevin had always been the romantic type. When he loved someone, he'd pull out all these sappy gestures.

I used to roll my eyes at them while secretly feeling giddy inside.

I thought I'd be the only woman he'd ever love.

Until one day, bored and cleaning, I found a box hidden at the bottom of his bookshelf.

Inside was a stack of papers.

Over two years, he'd written her five hundred and twenty-one love letters.

The lotus-embroidered panties Adela gave him were her answer to his devotion.

It was like I'd opened Pandora's box. The demons inside devoured my soul in an instant.

That day, the shock sent me into early labor.

Kevin didn't know I'd found their filthy secret. He kept playing the star-crossed lover with Adela—until I exposed them both.

I'd barely finished my postpartum recovery when I stuffed that thick stack of letters into my bag and stormed to his company, ready to unmask them in front of everyone.

But the receptionist said Kevin had taken Adela on a supply run.

A female coworker noticed how pale I looked. Thinking I was just there to drop off documents for my husband, she took pity on me. "I heard Mr. Swanson tell Adela this morning he was taking her to Mariposa Pavilion."

My last shred of hope died.

I stopped thinking.

When I got to the hotel, the staff assumed I was there to cause trouble. I had no choice but to call the police.

With their help, I finally found them in a suite—my husband, panicked, shielding his mistress like she was something precious.

I lost my mind. I clawed at them, screamed every vile curse I knew, took photos, exposed everything.

The whole thing went smoothly. It wasn't even hard.

But it drained every ounce of strength I had.

Kevin rubbed his temples, irritated. "Was all that really necessary? Fine, the hotel—I lost my head. But that was the only time we were intimate. You barged in and ruined it before anything more could happen."

I shot back, "Don't you dare act righteous about cheating!"

"Kevin, you're despicable!"

He smirked, his voice calm and cruel. "You know what, Roberta? The more you throw these tantrums, the more beautiful Adela looks in my mind."

"You'll never compare to her. Let's see how long you can keep this up."

My breath came fast and shallow. I stared at him, unblinking.

His mask had finally slipped—but instead of satisfaction, I felt a boulder crushing my chest.

The man who once looked at me like I was his whole world now wore a face I couldn't stand.

I'd thought about letting it go.

He'd apologized, come back to the family. We had an infant daughter who needed us both.

But this past year, every time he climbed into bed with me, every time he reached for me as a husband—all I could see was him tangled up with Adela.

I felt sick to my stomach.

I couldn't pretend nothing had happened.

All the hurt and rage I'd been burying came roaring to the surface.

"Then divorce me and marry her!" I screamed. "Kevin, you don't have to keep acting like you're the one making sacrifices here. It makes me want to puke!"

I snatched up that pair of panties and ripped them to shreds.

"Slut! You're both disgusting!"

Kevin watched my meltdown with what looked like satisfaction. He reached out and wiped the tears from the corner of my eye.

"See what you've done to yourself? Getting this worked up just to get a rise out of me—was it worth it?"

"Roberta, that's in the past. Why can't you just move on?"

"We have a daughter now. Stop talking about divorce."

I slapped his hand away and said nothing.

Our daughter had woken up from all the noise and wouldn't stop crying. I went to the bed and picked her up, rocking her gently.

Kevin watched for a moment, then left and closed the door behind him.

Once I got her settled, I went to the living room to get water for her formula. That's when the sharp smell of alcohol hit me.

I looked over at Kevin.

He was sitting on the floor, eyes glazed, several empty bottles scattered around his feet.

He looked half-dead.

Drowning his sorrows because his precious Adela is about to marry someone else?

His phone rang.

He glanced at it. Something flickered across his face. His hand trembled as he answered.

"Adela. I'm here."

The voice on the other end was soft and breathy. "Kevin, she won't let you come see me, will she?"

His expression darkened. "Adela, she's my wife. We have a daughter together. I have responsibilities."

"I know. You're a good man, Kevin. Dependable. Responsible. I always knew I had good taste."

Adela's voice was feather-light, like it might break at any moment.

Kevin gripped the phone tighter, his tone gentle. "We shouldn't see each other anymore. Adela, I hope you and him have a happy marriage. Grow old together."

Just as he was about to hang up, she pleaded:

"Kevin, can I say a few words to her?"

Kevin hesitated, then held the phone out to me. "Adela wants to talk to you. Try to control your temper—don't scare her."

I didn't take it. But Adela seemed to know I was right there.

"Roberta, since he's chosen to stay with his family, I'm begging you—please treat him well. He works so hard out there, dealing with so much stress. It's not any easier for him than it is for you."

"He doesn't like spicy food. He loves sweet drinks, especially mango pomelo sago. Don't let him have too much cold stuff in the summer—his stomach can't handle it."

"Oh, and I bought him a massage pillow. His neck and shoulders bother him. Remember to use it on him when you have time. Also, he's at a critical point in his career right now, and you just had the baby not too long ago. If you two are going to be intimate, be careful—don't get pregnant again and distract him. Make sure he uses protection..."

I let out a cold laugh. "Are you done?"

"God, you really have no shame, do you? Sticking your nose in from a thousand miles away! Since you can't let him go, how about I gift-wrap him and deliver him to your bed tomorrow? Perfect timing—you can swap out your groom!"

"After all, a shameless homewrecker like you doesn't care what people think, right? Why don't we let everyone see what you really—"

Kevin snatched the phone away. "Shut up! What the hell is wrong with you?"

I glared at him with pure hatred. "She can do it, so I can say it. You two are pathetic—a cheating bastard and his whore. And you have the nerve to coo at each other right in front of me."

Through the phone came Adela's soft, trembling sobs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset your wife."

Kevin's face darkened. "Roberta. Apologize."

Every last shred of reason I had left went up in flames.

I was right back in that hotel room, catching them in the act. I lunged at him, fists pounding his chest, nails raking his face. "Go to hell! Kevin, are you even human? You and that whore deserve to rot! Both of you!"

Kevin shielded his face and shoved me back, seething. "Roberta, are you deaf? Didn't you hear me say goodbye to her just now? Keep acting crazy and I swear I'll fly to Harbor City tonight!"

By the time he spat out that last sentence, I saw it—a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. He wanted to go to Adela.

But he still had to play the martyr. The reasonable man making sacrifices.

Which made me the villain. The psycho who'd driven him to this.

I laughed, cold and hollow. I stormed into the bedroom, grabbed the clothes he'd just packed, shoved them into his suitcase, and hurled it at his feet. "Get out!"

"Kevin, just looking at you makes me sick."

"Fine, Roberta. You asked for this." A thin, cruel smile curved his lips. "Let's see how you manage raising a daughter alone."

He picked up the suitcase and walked out.

The apartment went silent. My legs gave out and I crumpled to the floor, arms wrapped around myself, tears streaming down without a sound.

I didn't move until my daughter started crying again. Somehow I dragged myself up, finished mixing the formula I'd abandoned halfway, and carried it back to her room.

I held her small, warm body against mine. I didn't sleep all night.

I was the one being pushed to the edge.

By him. By Adela.

On the surface, this past year since Kevin "recommitted" to our family had seemed almost normal.

But I was falling apart.

Every night, the same nightmare—that hotel bed, those two pale bodies tangled together.

I started crying for no reason. Shaking uncontrollably. Screaming. Throwing things. Dragging a knife across my own wrists.

If Kevin came home even slightly late, I'd pick a fight over nothing.

I questioned everything. Was he seeing someone else again?

At first, he'd explain himself patiently. Eventually, he just moved to the guest room.

The distance between us froze solid.

Then one day, I found myself standing on our balcony—eighteen floors up—holding my daughter, ready to jump.

That's when it hit me.

I had nearly died.

I'd become exactly what Kevin called those "dramatic" and "hysterical" new mothers. I was depressed. Clinically.

Standing on that rooftop, the cold wind slapped me awake.

I started fighting back. Doctor after doctor. Pill after pill.

But today, the man who did this to me had shoved me right back to the edge.

This rotten, suffocating excuse for a marriage—it ends here.

I lay awake until dawn. Kevin never came home.

His parents showed up instead.

Darrell Swanson looked me up and down, then started in. "Fighting with Kevin again? Roberta, if our son really wanted that Adela girl, you think he'd have married you?"

"I'm not trying to be harsh, but you've always been petty. No vision. If you'd just kept your mouth shut back then, Kevin wouldn't have lost his job. He'd still be collecting dividends every month instead of working himself to the bone."

Jemima Swanson pulled out her phone with a theatrical sigh. "Roberta, a man as successful as Kevin is bound to attract attention. That's just how it is. You need to give him a son—lock down his heart. Otherwise, you'll really have something to cry about."

She shoved the screen in my face.

Kevin had posted on social media last night, after he left.

In the photo, he had his arm wrapped tight around Adela, wiping her tears, his face soft with tenderness.