And what I got in return was him keeping a young, pretty girlfriend on the side, showering her with jewelry every few months.

Robert watched me say nothing. He grabbed a change of clothes from the closet and went into the bathroom.

When the water started running, I stood up and walked to the shoe cabinet by the door.

His briefcase was sitting there. Black leather, corners worn white.

All this time, I'd believed he carried that bag onto the subway every morning, heading to his little office job at some company called “Houda Tech.”

There were two phones inside.

One was his everyday phone. The lock screen was our wedding photo, and the passcode was my birthday.

The other was black, thinner, screen-down at the bottom of the bag.

I picked it up and pressed the power button.

The screen lit up. Password required.

I tried his birthday first. Wrong.

Then our anniversary. Wrong again.

I paused. Valerie's face flashed through my mind, then her Instagram bio.

Her profile listed her birthday：March 12th.

I typed it in.

.

The screen unlocked.

My hands started shaking. Not from the cold. Because that passcode told me something more bluntly than anything else could.

The most important place in his life had been given to someone else a long time ago.

The messaging app had a red notification bubble. I tapped it. The first pinned conversation was labeled “Val.”

I opened it.

“Babe, I accidentally clipped some lady on an electric scooter today. Poor thing looked rough.”

“She okay?”

“Yeah, just a scrape. I told her to come by your office tomorrow to pick up some cash. Just give her ten, fifteen grand, whatever.”

“Fine. Handle it however you want.”

“Babe, do you think I'll end up like that someday? All dull and washed out, can't even bother with lipstick, looking ten years older than she actually is. I'm so scared of turning into one of those women.”

“Stop overthinking it. I'll wire you $150,000 later. Spend it on whatever you want. Spa, shopping, all of it.”

The ache hit me again. In seven years of marriage, I'd barely touched a single piece of makeup.

Last month my face was so dry it was cracking, and I'd begged Robert to buy me some sheet masks.

He'd grudgingly ordered some off a bargain site. The cheapest ones they had, less than fifty cents each.

And told me to use them sparingly. Said they were too expensive.

I scrolled further up. More records flooded the screen.

Last Valentine's Day, he'd wired her $75,000. The memo read “Happy Valentine's Day.”

That same day, he told me the company was doing poorly, bonuses had been cut, and asked if I could get by on $500 less for the month.

Last New Year's, he took her to Miami. They stayed in an $11,000-a-night oceanview suite.

He'd told me the company needed him to work the holiday shift. Told me to go spend it at my parents' place.

The year before that, for her birthday, he bought her a BMW. Over $130,000 after tax and registration.

That day he told me his father's illness had flared up again and he needed another $50,000.

So I handed over every cent I'd saved for the better part of a year.

Message after message. Each one a blade, sinking deeper.

What gutted me wasn't the affair. It was that while he was cheating, he was also bleeding me dry.

The water stopped.

I put the briefcase back exactly where it was, sat down on the couch, and slipped the phone into my pocket.

The bathroom door opened. Robert walked out in those faded old shorts, toweling his hair. He glanced at me.

“You're not in bed yet?”

“Going now.”

He grunted, draped the towel over the back of a chair, walked to the bed, pulled the covers back, and lay down.

Within two minutes, he was snoring.

He really was tired.

But not from business trips. He was exhausted from spending himself on another woman.

I sat in the dark for a long time. Once I was sure he was fully asleep, I stood up quietly, walked to the shoe cabinet, and took out the black phone again.

This time I went through it more carefully.

The chat history with Valerie was only the tip of the iceberg.

There were also conversations with his assistant, group chats with company executives, and bank transfer records.

“Mr. Gilbert, your flight and hotel for the trip to Chicago next week are booked. Same arrangement as usual, separate reservations from Miss Henson's.”

“Also, this month's allowance for your wife has been sent. $150.”

A hundred and fifty dollars.

He wired Valerie $150,000 without batting an eye.

My monthly allowance was $150.

That money had to cover utilities, groceries, and the occasional “family emergency” he invented whenever he needed cash.

The last time I bought myself clothes was last winter, an $8 puffer jacket from an outlet store.

The last time I ate out was two months ago, a bowl of beef noodle soup at a food cart.

Nine dollars. I'd stood there debating whether to add an egg.

I screenshotted every chat log and every transfer, one by one.

Over a hundred photos. My phone nearly ran out of storage.

It was past two in the morning by the time I finished. I slipped the phone back into his briefcase and crept into the bedroom.

The next morning, Robert was up early.

He stood in front of the mirror shaving, then pulled on that same dull gray jacket. He glanced at me as I sat up in bed, his tone identical to every other morning.

“I'll grab breakfast on the way. Fix yourself something.”

“Might be late tonight. Don't wait up.”

He picked up his briefcase, opened the door, and left.

I sat there for a while, then picked up my phone and texted my boss that I wasn't feeling well and needed the day off.

After washing my face, I caught my reflection by the door. My hair was a mess, my complexion sallow, the fine lines at the corners of my eyes impossible to miss.

Valerie was right. I didn't look thirty-one. I looked worse.

The bus rattled for forty minutes before I got off across the street from the Grandview Group tower.

The building was massive, flanked by a pair of stone lions at the entrance. Everything about it screamed money.

I crossed the street and headed for the front doors.

Security stopped me.

“Good morning. Who are you here to see?”

“Robert Gilbert.”

The guard looked me up and down, his expression saying everything his mouth didn't.

You? Here to see our CEO?

“Do you have an appointment?”

“If not, I can't let you in.”

None of this surprised me.

I stepped back outside, took out my phone, and called Valerie.

It rang several times before she picked up.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Her voice was lazy, like she hadn't gotten out of bed yet.

I told her the guards wouldn't let me in. She sounded annoyed but agreed to come down.

“God, what a pain. Wait there.”

I stood outside for close to half an hour before Valerie finally showed up.

The moment the guards saw her, their faces split into grins：“Good morning, Miss Henson.”

Valerie walked in with her chin high, and I followed behind her.

From the lobby to the elevator, every employee we passed stopped to greet her, men and women alike.

“Good morning, Miss Henson.”

“Morning, Mrs. Gilbert.”

“Hey, Val!”

She acknowledged each one, chin lifted, her heels clicking sharply against the marble.

In the elevator it was just the two of us. She leaned against the wall, slid her sunglasses off, and gave me a sidelong look.

“Sweetie, that outfit is a whole situation.”

“Let me tell you, if a woman can't even bother to dress herself up, she's got no right to complain when her man stops looking.”

The elevator reached the top floor and the doors opened.

Valerie stepped out first, her heels clicking across the polished marble.

She walked straight to the dark wooden door, didn't bother knocking, and pushed it open.

“Babe!”

She dragged out the word, her voice syrupy and coy.

The CEO's office was enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city skyline beyond.

Robert sat in the black leather executive chair, pen in hand, signing documents.

He heard her voice and looked up.

Then he saw me.

The pen froze mid-air.

“Honey?!”

“You……what are you doing here?”