After a fight with my husband of three years, we’d been giving each other the cold shoulder. When I left on a business trip, I didn’t bother telling him.

Sitting in my seat with a mask on, I saw a girl approach, asking to switch seats with me. She pointed at the man standing beside her, explaining she wanted to sit next to her boyfriend.

I looked up—and what a coincidence. Her “boyfriend” was my husband.

The girl clung to my husband’s arm, a smug, taunting smile on her face, while he glared at me with open disdain.

Without a word, I rose, delivered a sharp slap across his face, then turned and walked off the high-speed train—leaving both my seat and my husband behind for her to enjoy.

Part 1

"Hi, could you switch seats with me? We're a couple and I'd like to sit with my boyfriend."

As soon as I heard that familiar voice in my ear, I almost thought I was imagining things.

I looked up to see Amicia Bright's face brimming with a smile and a strange feeling crept over me as I turned to glance at the man beside her.

Greg Portman. My husband of three years.

I took off my mask and stood up, catching the surprised, evasive look in Greg’s eyes.

Amicia clutched his arm a little tighter, deliberately raising her voice.

"Oh wow, Wendy, I didn’t even recognize you without makeup! What a coincidence! Greg’s taking me to a concert—want to come with us?"

I looked straight at her, meeting the curious stares gathering around and replied with a half-smile,

"No thanks. I’m not interested in joining my husband and his mistress on their date. Have fun, you two."

The murmurs around us grew louder. Amicia’s face flushed bright red, her eyes filling with tears as she clung to Greg's sleeve.

Greg’s panic vanished instantly, replaced by a look of pure disdain as he glared at me.

“Wen, don’t spread lies in public.”

I slapped him hard across the face, enunciating each word clearly, “Let’s get a divorce. I don’t need this seat or this pile of trash.”

With that, I walked out of the train car, giving a slight nod to the staff member gesturing toward me.

With my back to the closing train doors, my tingling hand still shook slightly. The wind from the departing train dried the tears I hadn’t meant to shed. I took out my phone and dialed the number.

“Leon?” He was a lawyer I knew from way back, “Is now a good time to discuss my divorce?”

After hanging up, I smoothed my windblown hair and glanced at the messages flooding my phone. They were all from Amicia: photos of her and Greg together. I opened each one, saving them one by one.

As I settled into a taxi, a new message from Greg appeared:

[Wen, you’d better think about how you’re going to apologize to me. Don’t force my hand into making our divorce a reality.]

I smirked and locked the screen, gazing out the window at the scenery rushing past, my mind drifting back to when we had just gotten married.

Greg was a professor at Gale University and we met at an academic seminar. I was there representing a high-end laboratory equipment supplier.

Even in a sea of disheveled professors, Greg caught my eye instantly—his refined, rimless glasses and spotless lab coat seemed to glow.

Through work, I gradually found ways to start conversations with Greg, listening as he spoke passionately about his field. The dry data of experiments seemed to come alive with a new allure.

I started making excuses to visit Gale University, subtly gathering bits and pieces about Greg whenever I could.

At first, he turned me down firmly, but I persisted, using every resource I had to offer him favors and conveniences.

To repay these favors, we began interacting more frequently. That refined, scholarly aura of his drew me in even more.

I grew bolder in expressing my feelings for him, doing my best to win over everyone around him.

Every time I visited Gale University, his colleagues would jokingly say that Greg’s lab was about to become the most luxurious in all of Gale City.

Finally, I achieved my dream of marrying him. I stepped back from family business and connections, focusing entirely on building the little home I had worked so hard to secure.

But as time passed—over a year, in fact—I still hadn’t gotten pregnant.

The psychological pressure weighed heavily on me, so I finally mustered the courage to go to the hospital for a check-up. It turned out to be my fault; I had a body that made it difficult to conceive.

When I shared the results with Greg, he comforted me with such care, easing my mental burden, which only made me feel more guilty.

I wanted to present him with the best of everything, but then Amicia came into the picture.

Part 2

Amicia was the daughter of Greg’s godmother and also a new student of his that year.

Greg arranged for her to rent an apartment in our neighborhood, claiming it was for convenience and to help take care of her.

At first, I welcomed her warmly, often inviting her over for dinner and even preparing her lunch to take to school with them.

But one day, I made some soup and decided to deliver it to them. When I arrived at Greg's lab, I found no sign of either of them.

I asked one of the students still in the lab and they pointed me in a direction, their expressions oddly knowing as they looked at me.

When I finally caught sight of the scene in the last break room, everything clicked and I understood the strange expressions on their faces.

Greg and Amicia had two of my prepared lunches in front of them. Amicia was holding a spoon, leaning in to feed Greg, who opened his mouth to accept it, even turning to smile at her. In that moment, the soup I was holding felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

My voice trembled as I managed to speak, “What are you doing?!”

The hallway was quiet during lunch break, so my voice echoed, drawing the attention of several people who poked their heads out from behind doors.

Greg jumped up at the sight of me and reached out to pull me closer, but I caught a glimpse of Amicia’s triumphant smile.

Blood rushed to my head. I yanked my arm away from Greg and hurled the soup can to the floor.

The stainless steel can clattered loudly, drawing even more onlookers.

Greg’s face turned pale as he pulled me inside, slamming the door shut to block everyone’s view.

“Wen, are you out of your mind? What are you doing here making a scene?”

I glared at him, my eyes burning with anger and insisted, “What were you two just doing?”

Amicia chimed in, her tone feigning sweetness.

“Wendy, you’re overreacting. We were just having a little fun. With the door wide open, what did you expect us to do?”

I ignored Amicia and locked eyes with Greg, who slowly began to show a flicker of guilt under my gaze.

Yet, he still frowned and said impatiently, “Amicia was just having a bit of fun with me. You really shouldn’t come here anymore; it’s so embarrassing.”

I couldn’t recall how I managed to leave that room that day, but from that moment on, it was crystal clear: Amicia was determined to take my place.

Part 3

I soon arrived at Leon’s law firm and took a seat across from him. Without any dramatic buildup, I stated my demands plainly.

“My husband is cheating on me with one of his students and flaunting it in front of me every day.

"We don’t have any children, so I want him to leave with nothing. Ideally, I want him to be publicly humiliated as well.”

Leon adjusted his glasses and began explaining some aspects of marriage law to me.

Greg hadn’t come home for three days and neither of us reached out to each other.

Meanwhile, Amicia’s messages arrived like clockwork, appearing on my phone every single day at the same time. Now, I could open each one with a smile on my face.

It was a stark contrast to my last birthday when I was filled with joy, cooking a feast at home, eagerly waiting for Greg to come back and surprise me.

As night fell and the food grew cold, however, he still hadn’t returned and I couldn’t reach him.

I started to feel anxious, fearing something might have happened to him. Then, unexpectedly, the surprise I had been waiting for finally came.

Amicia’s message hit me like a hard slap, leaving me dizzy. It was a sweet photo that, if not for the fact that the man in it was my husband, might have made me smile.

In the picture, Amicia was hugging Greg from behind and he was wearing a pastel pink apron, his head bent as he chopped something.

That day, Greg hadn’t come home, so I sat on the couch waiting for him, watching the night stretch into dawn, sunlight spilling over the food I had prepared the night before.

When Greg finally opened the door, he was startled to see me sitting there. He looked at me with a hint of reproach and asked,

“What are you doing here?”

At that moment, my eyes felt frozen and I struggled to turn my gaze toward Greg.

“Where were you last night? Why couldn’t I reach you?”

Greg looked down and I couldn’t see his expression.

He mumbled, “There was a problem with the lab data. I had to work late into the night. I’m exhausted…”

In that instant, all my pent-up emotions exploded. I rushed up to Greg and threw my phone at him, nearly screaming,

“In the lab? Greg, you spent the whole night with Amicia! Yesterday was my birthday!”

Greg glanced at the photo on my phone and a flicker of panic crossed his face. My fingers tightened around the fabric of his shirt.

My eyes stung from the tears and an overwhelming sense of crisis enveloped me. I had no idea where to find any sense of security.

Before long, Greg grew impatient. He forcefully pulled my hands away and tried to walk past me.

“Amicia wasn’t feeling well yesterday, so I went to take care of her. She’s just a little dependent on me—don’t let your imagination run wild.”

When I shakily turned around, all I saw was the closed door to the bedroom.

I remember feeling terrified of losing Greg at that time, so I was always the one who compromised.

After that incident, Amicia essentially declared war on me. Every day, the last thing I wanted was to receive more of her photos.

Whenever I confronted Greg with the photos, he would always give me vague excuses, his indifference making my desperate pleas seem insane.

I called my family to tell them I was getting a divorce. After a long silence, my parents asked me to come home to discuss it.

I packed a few personal belongings and, before leaving, turned back to take one last look at this place that no longer felt like home. I closed the door behind me and walked away.

Part 4

When I got home and saw my mother’s worried expression, I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of injustice. The person I had loved so deeply should have cared for me just a little; if not, he wouldn’t have done so many things to hurt me.

I held back the tears stinging my eyes as I sat across from my mother, trying my best to keep my tone steady while recounting everything that had happened over the past few weeks.