After six years of marriage, Lester grew tired of me—his obedient, angelic “first love.” Instead, he became infatuated with the fiery tempered owner of a stir-fry stall in a food court.

“She’s passionate, vibrant, and full of life—qualities you lack,” he once told me.

They kissed passionately in the dim light of her tiny kitchen.

Later, Lester left the marriage with nothing, only to discover that the woman he had fallen for had three children—each with a different father. That revelation shattered him.

——

One day, while taking out the trash, I noticed a neatly packaged healthy meal sitting in the garbage can. It was in a container I’d personally chosen and decorated with a sticker that morning.

The beef inside? I had gotten up at 5 a.m. to prepare it because Lester claimed he couldn’t stand eating leftovers.

This was the third time this week I had found my meals untouched in the trash.

It was alright when it happened once but when a husband repeatedly avoided eating the meals his wife prepared, it didn’t take much to guess where he’d been eating instead.

Recently, Lester reeked of greasy stir-fry, his previously lean waistline now encircled by a layer of fat. My mind raced, piecing things together. His frequent smiles while looking at his phone, his uncharacteristic lightheartedness. It was obvious—he was infatuated.

About a month ago, he came home scowling, his expensive suit stained with sauce and smelled of braised ribs.

“There's a new stall in the food court near the office. The owner only sells stir-fry,” he grumbled. “I said I couldn’t stand the smell of grease, and she had the audacity to splash sauce on my clothes! How does someone with a temper like that even run a business?”

I smiled as I took the suit from him. “It’s okay, I’ll wash it for you. She’s probably just trying to make a living. Maybe don’t say things like that next time.”

The next evening, he returned in a noticeably better mood.

“She does know a thing or two about manners,” he remarked. “She invited me for a meal to apologize. Honestly, for someone so hot-tempered, I’m surprised she’s gotten this far in life. But her cooking? It’s incredible. Reminds me of the stir-fried dishes my mom used to make in a big wok.”

I reminded him, “Your triglyceride levels are high. Don’t eat too much.”

He didn’t seem to hear me. He was in such high spirits that he even hummed a tune.

For years, Lester’s health had been a concern. High blood pressure, high blood sugar, and especially high triglycerides—doctors had warned him time and time again to control his diet.

That was why I got up early every morning to make his healthy meals.

But now, I couldn’t ignore the evidence. Pulling the discarded meal container from the trash, I threw it directly at him. The leftover sauce splattered across his face.

“What the hell, Amelia?!” he shouted, wiping his face in disgust.

When he saw the container—the very one he’d thrown into the trash—his expression softened slightly.

“Amelia, I’m sorry. I had a business lunch with colleagues today. Please don’t be upset.”

The next day, I drove to the food court near his office.

I soon spotted her—the stall owner. She looked about thirty-five or thirty-six, with an alluring presence. Her glossy black curls framed her face, exuding the charm of a mature woman.

I ordered a coffee and sat at a distance, watching.

As the crowd began to pick up, Lester appeared, jogging over to her with a wide grin.

“Hey, I brought you some cakes. Didn’t you say you always pass by the bakery but can’t bring yourself to buy any? I got one of every flavor for you to try.”

She glanced at him with a playful smirk. Opening the box, she said, “I don’t like durian. Take that one back to your wife.”

Without missing a beat, Lester took the durian-flavored cake out and set it aside. He ordered food with practiced ease, chatting with the lady boss casually, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile.

Later that night, Lester placed the durian-flavored cake in front of me.

"Try this cake, Amelia," Lester said, sliding the box toward me. "I heard it's delicious."

I looked him straight in the eye and deadpanned, "I don’t like durian. I’ve told you before—it smells awful. When will you ever remember that?"

He slapped his forehead and chuckled awkwardly. "Work’s been hectic lately; I must’ve forgotten. You’re not mad at me, right? I just want to give you a better life."

Six years of dating and marriage, and he still couldn’t remember such a simple thing.

I grew up in a wealthy family, never wanting for anything. When I met Lester in college, he was poor, aloof, and carried a brokenness that I found irresistibly captivating.

My sister, Danica had warned me back then. "Amelia, if you’re just having fun, then it's fine. But don’t even think about marrying him."

After our parents passed away, the family business fell to Danica, six years my senior. She became the backbone of our family, and I had always followed her advice. Life had been smooth sailing because of her.

But at that time, I didn’t listen.

"Sis, it’s not his fault he’s poor. We can help him succeed, and then we will finally be a good match," I argued.

She looked at me with a mix of pity and exasperation. "Amelia, you’re a genius, but your hopelessly romantic brain will only wake up when it hits a wall."

That weekend, Danica came over for dinner. I prepared a full spread, and she abandoned her usual CEO composure to dig in with relish.

"God, this tastes like home," she said between bites. "I can never find food like this when I’m working. Lester, you’re lucky to have Danica. She’s a gem."

If I hadn’t married him, I would still be living with Danica, sharing meals and laughter.

Unlike her, I had no head for business. After graduating, I became an illustrator, working from home and managing household affairs with ease.

But instead of expressing gratitude, Lester sat at the table, his brows furrowed as he stared at his phone.

"Dinner’s ready," I called.

He suddenly stood up. "Amelia, Sis, there’s an urgent matter at work. I have to go."

"What urgent matter could a small company like yours possibly have?" Danica snapped, setting her cutlery down. "You don’t appreciate how hard Amelia works for you."

Lester quickly apologized, promising to take us out for a meal soon.

After he left, Danica raised an eyebrow. "Amelia, he’s up to something."

It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, pulling out my phone. A barrage of photos and videos awaited me from the student who ran the café across from the food court stall owned by Samantha, the woman involved with my husband.

"Sis, I’ve been keeping tabs on that scumbag and his mistress," I said.

Enzo, the café owner was a senior in college. When I offered to pay him to keep an eye on them, he refused. "I enjoy doing this, so I’d do it for free," he said enthusiastically. "Honestly, I’d pay you to let me do this."

Danica flipped through the photos, her expression cold and calculating. "Classic case of a middle-aged man chasing a thrill, teetering on the edge of an affair. All it needs is a spark. So, what’s your plan? Don’t tell me you’re considering reconciling with him."

I laughed bitterly. "He’s already tainted, Sis. I’m gathering evidence. I want to leave him and ensure these two lose everything in the process."

She nodded approvingly. "Good. Looks like hitting the wall knocked some sense into you."

My phone buzzed with more messages from Enzo.

[Boss, the scumbag’s back at it. Check this out—he’s wiping the mistress’s tears again!]

Another message followed.

[Her kid’s sick? Why not go to the hospital herself? Why drag someone else’s husband into this mess?]

I opened the video. In it, Samantha leaned into Lester’s arms, sobbing dramatically, while her feverish child stood nearby, crying loudly.

Lester picked up the little girl and held Samantha’s hand, leading them both out.

"Wow, so touching," Danica deadpanned. "Straight out of one of those trashy romance dramas where the domineering CEO falls for the underdog."

I felt numb. Memories from our college days surfaced. One night, I had a high fever that wouldn’t break. Lester, desperate to help, stood by the roadside trying to hail a cab. When none came, he carried me on his back all the way to the hospital.

I could’ve called Danica to send someone, but at that moment, his sincerity shone too brightly to ignore. That long walk in the quiet night was just the two of us.

“Don’t be scared, Amelia,” he said, his voice steady. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be by your side.”

His eyes sparkled with determination, his clothes soaked with sweat. I could hear his strong, steady heartbeat. His sturdy frame, the clean scent of detergent on his shirt—it all made me think. What a pure and wonderful man. How happy I’d be to spend my life with him.

But now I realized he could show that same care to someone else. I was no longer his “only one.”

Suddenly my phone buzzed and I received a message from Enzo.

[Boss, I can’t take it anymore! I’ve closed up my shop—I need to follow him and see what’s going on!]

I suspected he was just using this as an excuse to live out a soap opera, so I quickly replied.

[I’ll come too, but don’t do anything rash!]

Dragging Danica along, I arrived at the hospital. On the way, I picked up Lester’s latest health report from his checkup.

“Look at these triglyceride levels,” Danica quipped. “If we sautéed his liver, it’d come out crispy in seconds.”

I nodded. “Guess his unhealthy eating habits are finally paying off.”

Outside the pediatric clinic, we found him. Lester looked like a picture-perfect father, holding Samantha’s feverish little daughter in his arms, while his other hand gripped a slightly older boy’s. Samantha leaned on his shoulder, red-eyed and weary, her vulnerability on full display.

Enzo, who had been staking out the scene, rushed over and pulled me—disguised in sunglasses—into a corner.

“Boss, you missed it! That scumbag kissed the mistress on the forehead!” He thrust his phone at me. Sure enough, there it was on video.

“Ugh,” Danica rolled her eyes. “Men are trash. Money’s the only reliable thing.”

“Sis,” I said through gritted teeth, “they’re moving too slow. At this rate, when am I supposed to get my divorce? Let’s give them a little scare.”

With her approval, I strode over, head held high.

Feigning shock, I shouted, “Lester! What are you doing here?”

He visibly flinched. I raised my voice even louder. “And who’s this woman? Have you been sneaking around, fathering illegitimate children behind my back?”

His face turned beet red. Hastily, he shoved the little girl back into Samantha’s arms. “Amelia, it’s not what you think! It’s all a misunderstanding! This is a colleague’s child—she’s a single mom, and her kid has a fever. She doesn’t have a car, so I just helped them out.”

“No car? What about calling a taxi?” I shot back. “So this is what you meant by ‘urgent work matters’? You’ve even learned to lie to me now!”

My voice rose into a hysterical pitch. Seeing my fury, Lester panicked. “Amelia, let’s not make a scene. I’ll explain everything to you later, okay?”

“Fine! Then come with me now. I forbid you from staying with her!” I pointed accusingly at Samantha, whose face had turned pale.

Glaring at her, I snarled, “You homewrecking hag! Stop seducing my husband! As of tomorrow, you’re fired. Take your two ugly brats and get out of my sight!”

Samantha’s eyes filled with tears as she clutched her children, while Lester stepped between us, his expression icy. “Amelia, they’re just kids. Don’t make trouble for a single mother. Have some compassion!”

The two children burst into tears, their cries so piercing they grated on my ears. They looked at me with their puffy faces and yelled, “You’re a bad lady! Bad lady!”

Samantha, red-eyed, looked at me with a mix of bitterness and pleading. “We’re both women. Why can’t you give me a way to survive? Nothing happened between me and your husband!”

Even though I had expected this, seeing Lester side with her still stung deeply. My throat tightened, and for a moment, I felt utterly defeated.