On the seventh wedding anniversary, Michael and his lover made a high-profile declaration of love on Twitter.

"Our love was true and unchanging for life."

I asked him why it had to be tonight.

He took a moment to reply: [Because this day is important to you! If you get angry, she'll be even happier!]

I used my main account to like and share their post, wishing them eternal love. The post went viral and was quickly deleted.

Michael's scolding phone call came as expected.

"I was just trying to make her happy. Do you have to make such a big deal out of it? It's disgusting!"

The next moment, I received a photo of them sharing a French kiss from his lover.

In the past, I would have made a huge scene, causing chaos.

But this time, I chose to leave calmly.

——

Michael returned home in the early morning.

I was awakened by the noise he was making.

"Sofia, I was just out for one night. Are you going to make a big deal out of it?" Michael said.

I opened the door and looked at the mess on the dining table. I didn't say a word and went straight to wash up.

Michael had OCD. I knew he couldn't stand the mess left after my solo candlelight dinner.

In the past, I would have cleaned up and stubbornly waited for him, who wouldn't come home until dawn.

But last night, after seeing the French kiss photo Gianna sent, I suddenly felt relieved.

I had a bit of red wine and fell asleep peacefully. Not having to stay up waiting for Michael with the light on while sleeping on the couch felt really nice.

"I'm talking to you. Are you deaf?" Michael said.

I spat out the toothpaste and mumbled, "If you can't stand it, clean it up yourself."

Michael's face looked awful.

Surprisingly, he actually rolled up his sleeves and started cleaning up the mess I left behind.

He frowned when he noticed I had drunk ten bottles of red wine.

"Did you drink all of this by yourself?"

When we got married, we made ten bottles of wine together and agreed to open one every ten years to celebrate.

But yesterday, I drank a glass by myself.

I poured out the rest.

I didn't want to explain, so I casually nodded.

He was beyond shocked and then seemed to assume I was drowning my sorrows in alcohol.

"I couldn't get your favorite burger. But there's seafood spaghetti from the place next door. Have some for now, and I'll cook you some hangover soup!"

"Okay."

Hitting me with a stick and then offering me a sweet date was Michael's usual way of handling me.

I didn't call him out on it.

Ten minutes earlier, Gianna posted something on Twitter.

"Someone went to the dock before dawn to buy the freshest seafood just to make me a plate of spaghetti. I'm bursting with happiness."

In the photo, Michael wore a pink apron focused on preparing seafood.

I opened the lunchbox. The seafood spaghetti was already cold.

There were only a few slices of green onion and celery leaves inside, with no seafood at all.

As I threw it into the trash, Michael turned around.

"Sofia! I went out of my way to stand in line and buy that for you. Don't be ungrateful!" Michael said.

He thought that if he lied to be nice, I should just let it go.

I told him with no expression, "I can't eat seafood lately."

His hand paused while cutting ginger.

"Bit... you're so picky!"

I knew what he originally wanted to curse at me.

After cursing, he restrained his anger and focused on cooking the hangover soup for me.

But this focus couldn't compare to the attention he gave when preparing the seafood.

When a message came in on his phone, he signaled for me to hand it to him.

I glanced at it. It was from Gianna.

I read the message to him directly, "Michael, I'm the happiest woman in the world."

Michael didn't expect me to read it out in a mocking tone. He instantly flew into a rage and smashed the plate he was holding onto the ground.

"Will you die if you don't act like a bitch?"

The shards cut across the top of my foot, sending a sharp pain through me.

I stared at the blood gushing from my foot and mocked him, "Isn't that exactly how Gianna talks to you?"

Michael was squeamish about blood and immediately leaned on the stove. He cursed at me in a panic, "You're so stupid. Don't you know to step away? Don't think getting hurt on purpose will make me feel sorry for you!"

I ignored him and turned to find the first aid kit to stop the bleeding.

When I realized the bleeding wouldn't stop, I quickly bandaged the wound and was about to go to the hospital. But Michael insisted I drink the hangover soup before leaving.

I wasn't drunk at all, and I didn't want to drink anything he made.

In the scuffle, the hot hangover soup spilled all over Michael's hand, causing blisters to form immediately.

He hissed softly but didn't curse too harshly.

"You're deliberately making things difficult for me, aren't you? Fine, now we can go to the hospital together." Michael said.

When we got to the garage, he said he'd drive. My foot hurt, so I didn't refuse.

Seeing me sit in the back seat, he was irritated. He asked, "Is the front seat poisoned?"

I rolled down the window to air it out.

There wasn't any poison, just a strong scent of Gianna's perfume.

Under Michael's gloomy gaze, I casually said, "You get queasy at the sight of blood."

This explanation seemed to calm him down.

"I accidentally spilled some perfume yesterday. The scent might be a bit strong."

After explaining, he handed me the half-used bottle of perfume.

"I made this myself. It was supposed to be a seventh anniversary gift, but I spilled half of it. If you don't mind, you can have it."

I wouldn't eat someone's leftovers. I wouldn't use someone else's perfume, and wouldn't take someone else's man.

I didn't take it or question him. I just directly refused.

"The blood's about to spill in the car. Can we go to the hospital faster?"

He shut up, realizing he wasn't going to get anywhere.

But he kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, looking like he wanted to say something but held back.

When I closed my eyes, pretending to nap, he finally said, "My mom wants us to return today. Can you..."

He was afraid I'd reveal that Gianna had returned to the country.

I had already decided on a divorce. I didn't want to complicate things.

Especially since if his mom knew I was divorcing because of Gianna, it would only make the divorce harder.

After I nodded, Michael visibly relaxed.

The car was eerily quiet all the way to the hospital. For the first time, I didn't find the silence between us awkward. It was actually nice.

He squinted and dropped me off at the emergency room, then quickly rushed to the burn unit.

"I'll grab some medicine and come back to stay with you!

"Once it's done, we'll go back to see my mom together."

There was a car accident patient covered in blood in the emergency room. Michael got queasy and couldn't even open his eyes.

The doctor was busy with me for an hour.

But Michael never came to check on me.

Instead, his mom called to ask when I'd be arriving.

I pulled up Twitter and saw Gianna had posted a new status.

"I was overeating seafood and got a stomachache. Someone nearly freaked out, but the doctor said it's indigestion."

I glanced at the picture and saw that it was taken in the same hospital I was in.

Michael wouldn't be going back with me today.

I didn't want to face his mom's pressure to have kids alone, so I immediately made up an excuse not to go back.

When I left the hospital, my stomach was cramped since I hadn't had breakfast. I immediately felt nauseous.

I had to lean against the wall and dry heave. The cold sweat dripped from my forehead.

A doctor passed by and immediately helped me, asking, "Miss, are you alright?"

I shook my head and thanked her for her kindness, then asked where the restroom was and headed straight there.

And I met them just around the corner.

"You're an adult and still make people worry. You greedy thing, overate and now you feel awful!"

"Well, you made the seafood spaghetti so delicious. I almost wanted to eat the plate, too."

I saw Gianna looking at Michael like she wanted to devour him. I couldn't help but feel more nauseous.

Michael's lips curled into a doting smile.

"If you like my cooking, just call me anytime. But don't overeat again!"

Gianna looked up and saw me standing nearby. She smugly grabbed Michael's face and kissed him on the lips.

"Once stamped, no take-backs!"

Michael's hands, which I had pampered so carefully, had never cooked for me. Yet he was willing to be Gianna's personal chef anytime.

The power of a first love is truly destructive.

My stomach cramped painfully, and sweat trickled down my face.

I knew I looked utterly miserable at that moment.

I glanced at the restroom beside me, then at the couple gazing at each other. I chose to walk away.

But Gianna called out to stop me.

"Sofia? What are you doing here?"

Gianna glanced at the dermatology clinic next to me and ran towards me.

Michael immediately reached out to support her waist.

"Slow down. Be careful not to twist your ankle," he said.

As the two approached, Gianna looked at me with disdain.

"Why are you running? Are you afraid we'll find out you have some shameful disease?" Gianna said. Her tone was mocking.

The smile on Michael's face disappeared the moment he saw me.

"Didn't I tell you to wait for me? What's the point of stalking me every day? Can't you control yourself even with an injured leg?" Michael said. His voice was cold.

I looked up at Michael. He seemed to be waiting for me to thank him.

Thank him for trusting that I didn't have some dirty disease.

Thank him for not giving shame to me in front of Gianna.

His face showed no trace of the panic or embarrassment of being caught in a lie.

Instead, it was full of cold reprimand.

My cold sweat at that moment seemed insignificant.

I walked past them. I headed straight for the restroom behind them.

Gianna suddenly blocked my way. Instinctively, I didn't want her to touch me.

As a result, when I lightly shrugged her off, she ended up falling to the ground.

Michael quickly grabbed Gianna, pulling her into his arms. At the same time, he pushed me to the ground.

"Sofia!" Michael shouted.

"Haven't you had enough?" he said. The anger was in his voice.

He didn't use much force, but my foot had just been stitched up. Now, the anesthesia had worn off. The pain was unbearable. I couldn't handle his push.

That light push made my world spin.

The pain from my stomach and foot spread to my abdomen, causing a dull ache. My temples throbbed.

I just wanted to get up and make it to the restroom to vomit.

I managed to get up with difficulty. But Michael grabbed my wrist, refusing to let me go.

"Apologize to Gianna!" he demanded.

His eyes were cold as ice, completely ignoring the fact that the bandage on my foot was soaked in blood.

I was in pain.

I used all my strength just to stand steady.

Holding back tears, I asked Michael to let go of my hand.

He gripped my wrist tightly. His strength was overwhelming.

My fair wrist immediately showed red marks from his grip, but I refused to lower my head.

"It's not my fault you can't control your dog," I said steadily.

"If you don't let go, I won't hesitate to tell everyone at the residence what you've been up to!" I threatened.

Michael let go of my wrist, but his eyes were red as he slapped me across the face.

"You bitch! How dare you!" he shouted.

He seemed to be brewing more harsh words.

But in the next second, I vomited uncontrollably.

I had reached my limit.

Michael was standing close, and he ended up with a lot of my vomit on him.

Compared to my pale face covered in cold sweat, the stains on his white shirt were much more embarrassing.

This brought me a bit of satisfaction.

But the tears continued to fall, brought on by the pain.

Michael saw me silently crying. My face was swollen and red. Surprisingly, he didn't lose his temper over the mess.

He seemed to forget Gianna was there, and instinctively moved closer to pat my back.

"How dare you drink so much last night? You probably gave yourself gastritis! You just can't go a day without causing trouble!" he said. His tone was softening.

The disgusting smell on him made me pinch my nose and step back.

Michael's hand hung in the air, and the concern on his face quickly faded.

"Sofia! I've been way too nice to you, haven't I?"

I ignored him and limped to the restroom to clean myself up.

Michael finally seemed to remember that my foot was injured.

A flash of guilt crossed his face as he followed me to the restroom door, trying to coax me.

"Alright, stop crying! Aren't you embarrassed to be crying at your age?

"I shouldn't have hit you. Let me take you to see a gastroenterologist. Stop making a scene, okay?"

This was the first time he had spoken gently to me since Gianna returned, like he was soothing a child.

But the more he talked, the more nauseous I felt. I couldn't help but retch again.

Michael was in a rare moment of panic. He didn't care that it was the women's restroom and rushed in to pat my back.

"Get out! Don't touch me!" I shouted. He slapped his hand away hysterically.

I pushed his hand away. My voice was shaking with anger.

He froze.

His gaze was full of surprise. It was quickly replaced by rage.

"Aren't you too old to be acting like this?

"You're my wife. You should act like it. If you can't, then let's get divorced!" he declared.