My water broke, and pain seized my entire body. Gasping, I dialed my husband, Rhys Abbott. He answered, but his voice lacked any urgency.

He was too busy helping our beautiful neighbor, Emily Fox, move her car.

"Babe, it's snowing heavily out here," Rhys said, his tone casual. "Parking is a nightmare. Just hang tight a little longer. As soon as I get this parked, I'll race back to you. I promise."

I froze, clutching my stomach. Wait? I didn't expect his first reaction to be a command to hold on.

A wave of fury momentarily eclipsed the pain.

"Rhys Abbott, do you have any idea what the priority is right now?" I snapped, my voice trembling. "My water broke! I'm going into labor. Why are you wasting time parking a car? Get back here and take me to the hospital!"

"Okay, okay," he muttered, sounding annoyed.

But he didn't come back.

Minutes dragged by, each one agonizingly slow. A knot of unease tightened in my chest. Forcing myself through a contraction that nearly doubled me over, I crawled to the window and looked down into the courtyard.

My blood ran cold.

The car was already parked. Rhys wasn't rushing toward the building. He was standing by the vehicle with Emily, chatting idly. Their smiles were ambiguous, intimate.

I dialed him again. He picked up, but before he spoke, Emily's voice filtered through the speaker—sickly sweet, dripping with feigned innocence.

"Rhys, you're the best. Thanks for helping me park—and for offering to cook my birthday dinner personally. But... didn't your wife say her water broke? Is it really okay for you to be here?"

Rhys scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain.

"Ignore her. She's been crying wolf for three days, claiming she's in labor. I'm exhausted dealing with her drama."

He paused, and I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Besides, she's an adult. If she's really giving birth, she can call an ambulance. Why does she need me to hold her hand? If she can't handle a little thing like childbirth, she's not fit to be a mother."

His voice softened for Emily. "But you—you're just a young girl, new to the city and all alone on your twenty-second birthday. I help you park, I cook you a meal, and she throws a tantrum? It's just petty jealousy. Completely unreasonable."

Unreasonable.

A bitter, dry laugh escaped my lips. With shaking fingers, I compiled the audio recording and the video I'd taken from the window. Without hesitation, I sent the files to a group chat containing my three brothers: my eldest brother, a business tycoon; my second brother, a partner at a top-tier law firm; and my third brother, who owned a renowned martial arts gym.

That night, the Abbott family would implode.

And Rhys Abbott—the man currently calling me unreasonable—would be on his knees, slapping his own face until it bruised, begging me not to divorce him.

——

The moment the message was sent, my eldest brother's reply popped up instantly.

"Scarlett, don't panic. Forget that bastard Rhys for now—you and the child come first!"

"My friend lives directly below you; he's a doctor. I've already alerted him. He's coming up to take you to the hospital."

Seconds later, a sharp knock echoed on the door.

Through the peephole, I saw a tall man in a heavy down jacket. I opened the door, leaning heavily against the frame. He wasted no time.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice steady and professional.

He quickly assessed my condition, seeing that I was lucid despite the pain. He grabbed my hospital bag with one hand and supported me firmly with the other, guiding me toward the elevator.

As we moved toward the underground garage, he remotely started his car to warm it up. Every few steps, he checked on me, instructing me to tell him immediately if the pain worsened.

He treated me with the care and attentiveness of a devoted husband.

But until five minutes ago, he was a complete stranger.

Meanwhile, my actual husband was busy playing hero for another woman, ignoring the wife who had carried his child for ten months and was currently in labor.

The injustice hit me like a physical blow. I couldn't hold back any longer. A loud, racking sob tore from my chest.

The man beside me immediately handed me a tissue.

"Let it out," he said softly. "Holding it in will only hurt you."

I thanked him, wiping my eyes, but my heart turned to ice.

As his car drove out of the underground garage, fate twisted the knife one last time. We rolled right past them.

Rhys and Emily were walking side by side, carrying grocery bags and a cake box. Talking and laughing. Rhys was beaming—a grin so wide you'd think he'd won the lottery.

Fueled by fresh rage, I deliberately dialed his number one last time.

Through the window, I watched him. He felt the vibration, glanced at the screen, frowned, and immediately silenced the call before shoving the phone deep into his pocket.

Beside him, Emily shivered in the cold wind, shrinking into her coat.

Without missing a beat, Rhys unwound his scarf and gently draped it around her neck, adjusting it with sickening care.

My vision blurred with fresh tears.

That scarf.

Grey wool. Last month, he had begged me to knit it for him. He'd told me his colleagues were showing off their gifts, and he wanted to wear a symbol of his wife's love.

Now, that symbol was keeping another woman warm while I went to deliver his child alone.

It took me three days just to choose the color. Half a month to knit that intricate pattern. My fingers were raw, pricked a dozen times, but I hadn't minded.

It had all seemed worth it—imagining him holding it, shouting his excitement, vowing no one else would ever touch it.

But now, Rhys had tossed those vows aside. He was using my labor of love to impress Emily Fox.

How dare he.

Emily recoiled slightly, offering a polite, apologetic smile.

"I'm so sorry, Rhys. My skin is terribly sensitive. If it isn't pure wool from a designer brand, I break out in a rash. Especially with... synthetic blends like that."

Rhys froze, hand still outstretched. He didn't find her rejection rude. Instead, he apologized profusely.

"No, no, I wasn't thinking. A girl like you deserves designer brands, not... cheap, inferior goods."

My heart clenched. Inferior goods.

"I won't let this trash offend your eyes," he continued eagerly. "When your birthday comes, I'll get you something worthy."

With a smile, he tossed the gray scarf onto the ground without a second thought, like garbage.

As our car drove past, the tires rolled over it. The gray wool caught, twisted, ground into the dirty slush.

Just like my love—crushed completely clean.

Rhys sensed a gaze burning into him. He turned.

Through the tinted window, our eyes locked. I sat clutching my pregnant belly, my stare colder than the winter air.

Rhys stiffened. Guilt and shock flashed across his face.

But as my car drove further away, he blinked and shook his head.

"Must be an illusion," he muttered. "Why would my wife be in a luxury car like that?"

Still, unease lingered. A prick of conscience about leaving me home alone. He pulled out his phone, turned it back on, and dialed my number.

My phone lit up. The contact name—Hubby—felt like a cruel joke.

I stared at it, finding the irony unbearable. I didn't answer. One tap. Blocked. Then I blocked him on every platform we shared.

Now he knows how to be anxious? What was he doing five minutes ago?

As the car moved through the city, my mind spiraled back. When did Rhys start looking at Emily like that?

Was it the day she moved in? She'd knocked on our door to borrow tools. Rhys had stared at her face, completely entranced, only snapping out of it when I nudged him. He'd smiled awkwardly and scratched the back of his head.

Was it the mornings he took out the trash? I realized now he'd started taking Emily's too.

Or when he cooked dinner? He would "coincidentally" run into Emily coming home and insist on bringing her a portion.

Or perhaps it was the way he constantly whispered in my ear that Emily had a hard life, praising her for being so strong and independent...

Looking back, I'd been so stupid.

His little betrayals had happened right under my nose. I'd mistaken his lust for Emily as the same neighborly kindness he showed everyone.

But why?

We were each other's first love. Dated for five years, married for three. For eight years, Rhys had always put me first. He handed over his entire salary. He cooked. He cleaned.

He always said he felt guilty he couldn't afford a proper ring or a wedding house. He claimed he wanted to spend his life making it up to me, treating me like a queen.

The year before last, when my grandpa fell ill, Rhys took a month of leave to care for him day and night, staying by his side until he passed peacefully.

Even my parents and three protective older brothers, who'd fiercely opposed our marriage, had eventually softened. They finally admitted I'd married a good man.

How did the man who loved me that much change after Emily moved in for just two months?

I couldn't figure it out. And I didn't want to waste another second trying.

I wiped the tears from my face and hardened my heart. I opened the family group chat and tagged Miles, the senior partner at a top law firm.

[Scarlett: Miles, I can't accept Rhys's betrayal. I want a divorce. Help me.]

Miles replied instantly.

[Miles: Done. The papers are already drafted.]

A second later, he sent a photo of an airport departure gate.

[Miles: I booked the next flight. Wait for me. I'm coming.]

As soon as his message landed, notifications from my eldest brother and Jack flooded the screen.

My phone buzzed with a flurry of notifications. The family group chat was blowing up.

Jordan, my eldest brother, didn't waste words. "Lettie, I've got this handled. If Rhys refuses to sign the papers, I'll pull every contract we have with his company. I'll bankrupt him before the ink dries."

Then came Jack. I could practically hear him cracking his knuckles through the screen. "Damn right. Say the word, Lettie, and I'll send a few guys over to break his legs. Teach him a lesson he won't forget."

Mom and my sisters-in-law flooded the chat with warmth, promising they were already at the hospital and urging me to focus only on the baby.

The knot in my chest loosened. The cold sting of betrayal gave way to steady warmth. I might have lost a husband, but I still had an army.

I placed a hand on my belly, breathing steady. We're going to be okay, I told the little one.

Just as I pulled up to the hospital entrance, my phone rang. Unknown number. Distracted, I answered automatically.

"Honey!" Rhys's voice came through, breathless and frantic. "I fell running back to the house. You weren't there. I've been calling and calling—where are you? Let me come get you. Please, think of the baby."

Impressive performance. But before I could respond, the phone was wrestled away. A new voice came on—sickly sweet and trembling.

"Scarlett? It's Emily. Please don't be mad at Rhys anymore."

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

"I forced him to help me park," she continued, her voice pitching into a whine. "It has nothing to do with him. He's been running in circles trying to find you. He hasn't even eaten because he's so worried you'll take the baby and do something rash."

A dramatic sniffle. "If you're still angry, I'll come apologize right now. You can hit me, scold me, whatever you want. Just... please tell us where you are. I don't want to be the reason you two fight."

Her voice was thick with tears, painting herself as the aggrieved, self-sacrificing victim. A masterclass in manipulation. To a man, she sounded like a fragile flower being crushed. To me, the malice dripping from every word was unmistakable.

I let out a cold laugh. "You want to apologize?"

"Yes, anything," she sobbed.

"Fine. Slap yourself. Right now."

Silence—then a sharp, crisp crack.

Emily let out a suppressed whimper. "Scarlett... I did it. Can you forgive Rhys now?"

Before I could answer, Rhys roared into the phone.

"Scarlett Taylor, are you insane?"

His voice was laced with venom. "Emily is just a kid! She just graduated! I helped her with a parking spot, and you force her to slap herself? Is this how petty you've become? You're acting like a shrew!"

First time in eight years he'd ever raised his voice at me like that. And he did it for her.

Emily coughed lightly in the background, playing the martyr. "Rhys, stop... She's pregnant. Don't yell at her because of me. I'll feel guilty."

Her act worked perfectly. Rhys's tone softened instantly. "Em, you're too kind. People walk all over you because you let them. But I won't let you be bullied. I'm getting justice for you."

Then his rage turned back to me.

"Listen carefully, Scarlett. If you want to keep me as your husband—if you want that child to have a father—you will apologize to Emily. Immediately."

He paused, letting the threat hang. "Or we divorce."

Even though I'd already made up my mind, the ultimatum struck a nerve. He was willing to throw away eight years and his unborn child for a neighbor he'd known two months.

People really do change, I thought. Or maybe he was always this way, and I was just too blind to see it.

"Is that a promise?" I asked, my voice steady.

Rhys faltered. "What?"

"Fine. As you wish." I cut through his confusion. "We divorce."

His breathing hitched. He clearly hadn't expected me to call his bluff. But the words were out, and with Emily standing right there, his ego wouldn't let him back down.

"Fine!" he snapped. "Divorce it is. Don't come crawling back when you realize what you've lost!"