At a friends' gathering, someone clapped my wife Angela Pruitt on the shoulder and asked：

“Angela, a woman as gorgeous as you must've had some secret crush back in school, right?”

Angela smiled and reached over to straighten my shirt collar.

“Nope. I only love my husband.”

The words barely left her mouth before Carter Simmons, her so-called male best friend sitting right beside her, let out a laugh.

“Secret crush? No.”

“Dirty little secret, though? That's another story.”

He propped his chin on one hand and looked at me, eyes glinting with amusement as he winked.

“Relax, bro. I'm talking about back in the day.”

“This princess right here dragged me everywhere to try it all. Wore me out completely.”

Someone blurted “Holy shit” and the private room erupted in laughter.

But Carter wasn't done. He leaned back, twisting the knife nice and slow：

“What she and I had, how do I put it? Not a secret crush. More like a dirty secret.”

“Some things never see the light of day, but they're the hardest to forget.”

He raised his glass and curved his lips into a smile aimed right at me：

“No hard feelings, right? Just guys messing around. It's all ancient history.”

“If anything were still going on between us, we wouldn't pick the day you two announce you're having a kid to bring it up, would we?”

——

The air went stiff for a beat.

Then someone recovered first, raising a glass to smooth things over.

“Come on, who didn't do something stupid when they were young?”

“Water under the bridge. Let it go.”

“Besides, Angela treats her husband so well. No matter how busy work gets, she's always home. Lets him use her cards, has a car pick him up, drop him off. Now with the baby on the way, she's got the whole household running like clockwork.”

Another voice chimed in：

“Exactly. A woman like Angela is one in a million.”

“Carter just runs his mouth. Don't take it to heart.”

The private room filled back up with noise, laughter and clinking glasses blurring together.

As if what just happened really was nothing more than a harmless joke.

I smiled too. But the tips of my fingers were going cold, one degree at a time.

They weren't wrong.

Angela was good to me. Considerate, proper, impossible to fault.

A watch for our anniversary. A doctor called when I was sick. Gifts and clothes always on time, never missed.

But in bed, Angela was always calm. Controlled. Like she was checking something off a list.

Always the same rhythm. The same position. The same silence.

No kissing. No teasing. She never looked at me.

Start to finish, she barely made a sound. Even her breathing was so measured it could've passed for a board meeting.

Afterward she'd get up and shower, her back already turned, brisk and efficient. Not a single word about how it was.

At first I told myself she was just reserved by nature.

Later I told myself I wasn't good enough.

I tried so many times.

I wore shirts I thought she might like. I studied clumsy, eager moves from videos online. On nights she came home late from work, I'd hold her, face burning.

She just frowned and peeled my hands away.

“Stop. I'm exhausted today.”

“Behave.”

One time I worked up the nerve. New cologne. The suit she'd once complimented.

She didn't even glance at me. Just draped her coat over the couch, voice flat.

“Don't wear that again. It doesn't suit you.”

Doesn't suit me.

That night, alone in the bathroom, I washed the gel out of my hair bit by bit. And the man staring back from the mirror looked like a pathetic clown.

Now here was Carter Simmons, leaning against her side, laughing about the thrill of what they'd had.

Angela told him “That's enough”, but she didn't deny a single word.

I finally understood. She wasn't cold by nature.

She'd given all her fire to someone else and saved the politeness for me.

“Honey?”

Angela called to me, holding out a glass of warm water.

“You don't look so good. Don't overthink it. He was drunk and running his mouth.”

I took the glass from her. My fingertips pressed against the warmth of the cup.

Warm.

But it couldn't reach anywhere inside me.

I looked up at her and asked quietly：

“Angela, did you ever actually love me?”

Her expression froze. She was about to speak.

But Carter got there first, laughing, swirling his glass lazily：

“Bro, that's a real mood-killer of a question.”

“She married you. She's having your kid. Isn't that enough?”

“After all, this princess slept in my arms for years, and she never gave me that much.”

I looked at him. And then, somehow, I smiled too.

“You're right.”

“The title. That should be enough.”

Except from this moment on,

I didn't want it anymore.

On the drive home, the only sound in the car was the windshield wipers.

Angela gripped the steering wheel. A long time passed before she spoke.

“Don't take what Carter said seriously.”

“We were young and stupid. He never knew when to shut up.”

She paused, her tone the kind you'd use to calm someone being unreasonable.

“I married you. The baby is ours. Isn't that enough?”

I watched the neon signs slide backward past the window. My nails dug into my palm, slowly, deeper.

“So you think I should be grateful?”

Angela frowned.

“You're too emotional tonight. Let's just go home and get some rest.”

Back at the house, she took off her coat and went through her usual routine. Poured water. Washed her hands. Checked her phone.

Calm. As if the humiliation in that private room had never happened.

I stood in the bedroom doorway, my throat tight.

In that moment, I needed to know.

Was it that she felt nothing for me, or that she simply didn't want me at all?

I clenched my jaw, loosened my collar, and walked up to her.

My fingers were shaking, but I still reached out and pulled her into my arms.

“Angela……”

“Look at me.”

Her body stiffened for a second, then she pushed me away.

No desire. No warmth. Just exhaustion and irritation.

She picked up the coat beside her and draped it back over my shoulders, her voice flat：

“Stop it.”

My eyes burned red instantly.

“You're three months along. The doctor said once you're in the stable period, we can……”

“I'm not messing around. I just want to know if you still want me.”

Angela looked at me, her expression darkening inch by inch.

“Lucius, are you really that desperate?”

The words hit like a slap across the face.

I stood frozen. Even my breathing shook.

She had already turned away, grabbed her car keys, and walked out.

The door slammed “shut”.

The whole house was empty now. Just me, and the wreckage of my dignity.

I sat on the edge of the bed. Tears hit the backs of my hands, one by one.

Half an hour later, my phone lit up.

Carter had posted on social media.

The photo showed a woman's wrist on the driver's seat. The bracelet was the one I'd given Angela.

The caption was a single line：

【Someone blamed me for talking too much when I'm drunk.

But she still showed up in the middle of the night.】

Below it, he'd added another post：

【Back when we were broke college kids, we tried every place imaginable. Except this one.】

【Looks like tonight we unlock a new spot.】

I stared at those two lines, and I laughed.

Kept laughing, and the tears came harder.

So when she told me not to overthink it,

she meant for me to stay home and keep up appearances.

While she went to him, where she could let herself be real.

I wiped my eyes, opened the family group chat, and typed a message.

“Dad, Mom, I need you to set me up with a lawyer.”

“I don't want the baby. And I want a divorce.”

The message had barely sent before my father's call came through.

His voice was low and cold.

“Finally come to your senses?”

“Your mother and I never thought Angela was right for you.”

“The Pruitt name carries weight, sure, but that girl was put on a pedestal her whole life, and she's kept Carter Simmons attached to her hip the entire time. A so-called 'best friend' with no boundaries.”

“A woman like that is too restless. She was never going to hold a marriage together.”

“We only stepped back because you loved her.”

“Now that you've woken up, it's not too late.”

My mother took the phone, her tone aching but resolute：

“I'm sending someone to pick you up first thing tomorrow morning.”

“The divorce attorney is already on his way.”

“As for the baby, I know you can't let go easily.”

“But once that child is born, you and Angela will be tangled together for life.”

“A marriage like this, the sooner you cut it, the better off you'll be.”

The next morning, I woke to the sound of the front door unlocking.

Angela walked in carrying a paper bag, her expression unusually soft.

“You're up? I got you a little cake.”

She pushed the box toward me, her voice sweet like she was coaxing a child.

“Isn't this place your favorite?”

I looked down. Mango mousse.

My stomach turned instantly.

I'm allergic to mango. Bad reactions. The kind where my throat closes up.

I stared at that slice of mango mousse, and a flood of small, razor-sharp memories surfaced.

Carter doesn't eat green onions. She remembered that.

Every time they ordered food, she'd say it before anything else：“No green onions in his.”

Iced Americanos give Carter stomach cramps. She remembered that too.

On rainy days, she'd order him a hot latte ahead of time, with a note for less sugar.

Carter's red-eye flight lands at 1 AM. She remembered that.

I'd seen the reminders on her phone more than once.

【Carter 01：20 landing. Temperature drop. Remind him to bring a jacket.】

Down to the minute.

Meanwhile, the fact that mango could kill me? Three years in, and she still forgot.

She must have seen my face, because her hand froze mid-motion and a flicker of embarrassment crossed her expression.

“I……grabbed the wrong one.”

She quickly dug another box out of her bag, rushing to recover.

“Here, look at this instead. I passed by the store and picked it up for you.”

“You said you liked this watch, remember?”

She opened the box. A beautiful wristwatch.

It was the exact one I'd wanted for a long time.

A few months ago, I would have forgiven her on the spot, eyes stinging with gratitude.

Now, all I felt was tired.

I pushed the box back toward her.

“Just leave it.”

Angela frowned：“You're still doing this?”

I didn't answer. I picked up my phone.

The screen lit up and the group chat notifications hit me immediately.

The same familiar group name, “The Crew”. Caspar Matthews had posted a photo grid.

A man's dress shirt, a woman's skirt, black lace underwear, all scattered across the floor.

The chat blew up instantly.

“Holy shit, who was Carter with last night?”

“Looks like it got intense?”

“Details, details. How many rounds?”

Carter replied, slow and smug：

“Obviously.”

“Nearly killed me.”

“Someone acts all classy and intellectual in public. Behind closed doors? Whole different story.”

A wall of smirking emojis followed.

Then he sent one more message：

“@Angela Pruitt You make it home okay?”

“Did your hubby like the watch you picked out for him?”

I stared at those words. The cold crept into my fingers one joint at a time.

So even the apology gift was Carter's idea.

Beside me, Angela's phone buzzed at almost the same moment.

She glanced down, and the color drained from her face. She lunged for my phone.