I stared at him blankly, my face devoid of emotion.

After all these years together.

Every time he cried, something in me softened—my anger, my resolve, everything.

Whatever he wanted, I gave in.

When he asked to convert a room into a private studio, I agreed without hesitation.

Even when he put up a sign on the door that read: “Nicole and dogs, keep out,” I didn’t say a word.

I didn’t care—until now.

But something had changed.

Something had snapped.

“There’s nothing left to talk about, Jason. I don’t love you anymore.”

His eyelashes trembled violently, as if I’d struck him with a knife.

“What… what did you just say?”

“Nicole, we have a child now. How can you say something like that so casually? Don’t you feel even a shred of guilt?”

He looked completely broken, chest rising and falling rapidly, unable to process my words.

Seeing how far things had escalated, his father let out an angry snort.

“Nicole, wasn’t it you who wanted this in the first place?”

“If you go through with the divorce, you’ll leave with nothing. You’ll be kicked out of the house and have no place to go!”

I closed my eyes and didn’t respond.

My silence only made them more furious.

Curses and insults followed like a flood.

They picked up Jason, who was nearly collapsing in tears, and prepared to leave.

“Get up! You’re rich, talented—you could marry any woman you want. What’s the use of crying over someone like her? Let’s go!”

But their anger couldn’t mask their confusion.

They couldn’t understand how what they believed to be a perfect marriage had fallen apart so quickly, so irreparably.

Shortly after, my best friend Cindy Lang came rushing to the hospital as soon as she heard I’d been injured.

“Nicole! You’ve never been this cruel before. What happened to you?”

She had also heard about the divorce—and everything else.

The night my husband shattered a porcelain vase over my head during a family dinner to protect his childhood sweetheart had become the talk of the town.

Locally, I’d become a punchline, a walking joke on social media.

She glanced at my stitched-up forehead and bruises, then exhaled deeply, trying to stay calm.

“Weren’t you and Jason known as one of the most loving couples around? How did it all unravel like this?”

I remained quiet for a long while.

Then finally, I asked her softly, “Have you ever seen a sculpture of a half-naked goddess?”

She blinked. “What? You mean like a European classical piece? Nude, artistic, that sort of thing?”

“Yes.”

Cindy frowned, unsure where I was going with this.

“There’s one just like that in Jason’s studio,” I said, voice flat.

She stared at me, then suddenly burst into laughter.

“What? That’s impossible! It’s got to be a replica or something—there’s no way it’s real…”

I nodded.

“You’re right. It’s a fake.”

Then I added quietly, “And it moves.”

Cindy froze, her laughter dying instantly.

She didn’t finish her sentence, but her widening eyes told me she’d already put the pieces together.

Her smile vanished.

Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye.

After I was discharged, Jason welcomed me home dressed in thin, stylish pajamas. He had clearly taken the time to spray himself with cologne. His appearance was casual, yet carefully curated.

“Nicole,” he said softly, stepping close to me, “I know I’ve been ignoring you recently. It’s just—after childbirth, the doctor said we had to abstain, so I spent time in the studio. I see now that I was wrong. Tell me what you need, and I’ll change. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”

His voice was low and seductive.

He moved behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

After so many years of marriage, I knew what this was.

He was trying to win me back.

This was his way of showing remorse.

And I used to love it.

But now, the very thought of that studio—the one he always kept me away from—filled me with disgust.

“Nicole…”

He whispered again, holding me tighter, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck.

“I’ll slowly make up for everything… for the times I failed you…”

Then suddenly—

“Ah! Nicole, what are you doing?!”

Before he could finish, I shoved him away.

He stumbled and hit the floor hard.

The look in his eyes—shock and disbelief—mirrored exactly how I felt when I first learned the truth.

Seeing my coldness… seeing how rough and indifferent I’d become… he finally began to understand.

Jason’s patience finally snapped.

“Stop being so shameless.”

“Nicole, I’ve already apologized. I’ve tried to comfort you, tried to fix this—what more do you want?”

I looked at his flushed, almost feverish face. I couldn’t tell if his frustration was directed at me, or if it came from someone else’s consolation.

“I’m not causing a scene,” I said lazily. “I told you—I just want a divorce.”

My voice was calm, detached, as if I were simply talking about the weather.

Jason froze for a second, stunned by how indifferent I sounded. But he quickly recovered and resumed his pleading, clinging to the last scraps of our crumbling marriage.

“Nicole, have you forgotten the vows we made on our wedding day?”

“You said you’d stand by me through everything. It hasn’t even been that long… just a few years.”

“Our daughter is still a baby—barely a few months old. How can you be so heartless? How can you divorce me and leave her without a father?”

His eyes were red, filled with desperation and blame.

“If you leave, what do you want me to do? What about our daughter—what will happen to her?” he cried.

I stared at him, face expressionless, voice sharp as ice.

“I don’t care what you do.”

Jason looked at me like I had just torn his soul in half.

“That’s your own daughter. How can you say something like that?”

His voice cracked under the weight of his disappointment, his eyes brimming with disbelief.

Then, through gritted teeth, he muttered, “Fine. If you’re that heartless…”

“I might as well take our daughter and die.”

Without warning, he picked up our swaddled infant and stormed toward the balcony. The gesture was meant to shock, to terrify me into backing down.

But I didn’t even flinch.

I knew he wouldn’t jump. He was bluffing—again.

I’d overheard him once, telling someone in a hushed voice that he and his daughter couldn’t live without another woman. That woman was never me.

As I expected, Jason froze when he reached the balcony, awkwardly clutching our baby, drenched in drama but doing nothing.

“Nicole, you’re heartless!”

“Didn’t you want a divorce?” He shouted over the rain. “Fine! Let’s get a divorce!”

He stomped back inside, still carrying our child, dripping wet from the storm.

Moments later, the front door burst open.

His beloved childhood sweetheart, Julia, charged in like a storm of her own—spitting venom.

“Nicole, you’re the worst kind of woman!”

“Have you forgotten that car accident? The one where the doctors said you might never wake up? It was Jason who stayed by your side day and night, taking care of you nonstop!”

“And now you want a divorce? You really have no conscience at all!”

She knew the public saw me as fiercely loyal, someone who stood by her husband through anything.

Seeing my silence, she must’ve thought I was softening, maybe even ashamed.

But I looked at her with the same cold indifference.

“If he had gotten into a car crash and ended up a vegetable,” I said plainly, “I would’ve taken care of him, too.”

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t divorce him.”

Three days later, Jason finally signed the divorce agreement—in a rage.

But he had one final condition: I was to leave the house empty-handed.

I scoffed.

“Why should I be the one to leave with nothing?”

“You’re the one at fault here. If anyone should walk out with nothing, it’s you.”

My mother-in-law’s chest rose and fell violently. She rolled up her sleeves and stormed toward me, finger jabbing at my face.

“You shameless woman! You dare to say that out loud?”

“My son was just painting—what did he do wrong? You greedy little thing! You planned this all along, didn’t you? Have his child, take his property, and now you want to kick him out?”

“I’m going to sue you for marriage fraud!”

Her voice was shrill with rage, like nails scraping glass.

My father-in-law wasn’t far behind.

“You ungrateful wretch! Have you forgotten who gave you everything you have today?”

“Back then, you were just a poor girl with absolutely nothing. My family took you in, fed you, clothed you, raised you!”

“And now you dare spit in our faces—eating from our bowl while cursing us behind our backs. You’ve turned on us the moment you got comfortable!”

“Now that you’re living well, you go looking for a lover, throwing out my son like trash. And now you want to take the house too?”

He turned toward the door and shouted at no one in particular:

“I want the media to see this—let the whole world see if something this disgraceful has ever happened before!”

My best friend, Cindy, suddenly spoke up behind me.

“You're all mistaken. Nicole isn’t that kind of person. There has to be more to the story.”

But I didn’t bother explaining.

“Jason must leave the house. If you disagree, I’ll see you all in court.”

As I turned to walk away, the nanny tried to stop me, holding out my daughter.

“Ms. Grant, no matter what they say, she’s still your own flesh and blood. How could you be so heartless? It’s one thing not to pay child support, but must you go as far as to ruin their lives?”

I walked past her without a word. Hoping to soften my resolve, Jason stood in the middle of the road, clutching our daughter tightly in his arms, blocking my path.

Julia, flustered, pushed me forward.

“What are you spacing out for? Your husband and child are standing right in the road! What if they get hit? Are you trying to kill them?”

I scoffed coldly.

“If anything happens, it’s none of my concern.”

Suddenly, a drunk driver, speeding and completely out of control, ran a red light and barreled toward them.

The car slammed into Jason, who was still holding our daughter.

Our daughter sustained critical injuries and was rushed to the hospital. The doctors said she urgently needed a blood transfusion.

Desperate, Jason dropped to his knees in front of everyone.

“Nicole, I’m begging you, please... donate blood to save our daughter!”

But I remained calm and indifferent.

“Why are you begging me? Why not ask that goddess statue of yours? She’s probably more willing to bleed for your daughter than I am.”

Jason stood frozen, completely stunned.

The crowd erupted in condemnation, scolding me for being heartless and devoid of humanity.

“How could someone like her even exist? Her own child’s life is on the line, and she’s still jealous of a statue? What a monster.”

“A woman like that doesn’t deserve a family. She’s poison to a husband and a curse to a child!”

“A controlling and bitter woman like her is no different from a demon.”

Jason’s face was soaked with tears. He looked at me, deeply wounded.

“Nicole, I finally see who you really are. Divorce? Fine, let’s divorce! But don’t you ever come crying back to me again!”

In the end, it was Julia who donated her blood.

A bystander had recorded everything—my cold expression, my refusal, the chaos—and posted the footage online.

The entire internet turned against me.

“My God, how can a mother be this cruel? If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was the stepmother, not the biological one!”

“A woman like her is a curse. Men should be careful—never marry someone like her!”

Cindy looked at me, clearly troubled. “Nicole, you’re trending for all the wrong reasons. The internet’s tearing you apart. Don’t you want to clear things up?”

I shook my head, face blank.

“There’s nothing to explain. Let’s just wait for tomorrow’s court hearing.”

I lifted my eyes, calm but sharp.

“Jason lied to me for years. Now, it’s time he pays the price.”

The following day.

Jason arrived at the courtroom early, flanked by his parents and the ever-glamorous Julia.

She sneered arrogantly as she brushed past me.

“Nicole, no judge will side with a spiteful woman like you.”

“If you know what’s good for you, just admit you were wrong. You might be lucky enough to get 1% of the assets.”

I ignored her and sat quietly in the plaintiff’s seat, my expression unreadable.

After Jason presented his so-called “evidence,” the judge turned to me.

“Ms. Grant, the defendant says he was simply sculpting a goddess in his studio. That in itself doesn’t justify forcing him out of the marital home.”

Their smug faces waited eagerly for my reaction.

I stood up slowly, scanning the courtroom.

“There’s more to it than just that,” I said, my voice calm and steady.

"Next, let me reveal the real reason behind our divorce—"