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!"

"I'm returning those exact words to you. I hope you won't regret this."

I ended the call and turned to Jack, who was supporting my weight. His face was dark with suppressed rage.

"Jack," I said, my voice steady despite the pain radiating through me. "Pull the project you gave Rhys. Reassign it immediately. He doesn't deserve a scrap of your charity."

Jack nodded, jaw set. "Consider it done. I'm calling President Zhou right now."

He pulled out his phone, scoffing. "That ungrateful bastard. No car, no house, no savings. His father's practically a corpse kept alive by our money. If you hadn't been bankrolling him for years, he'd have been finished long ago. And he still has the audacity to bite the hand that feeds him?"

Jack wasn't exaggerating.

Two years into our relationship, Rhys's father had collapsed in the street—a stroke leaving him comatose. The Abbott family liquidated everything just to scrape together the surgery fees.

But surgery was only the down payment. ICU costs, imported nutritional fluids, endless rehabilitation—a financial black hole. Rhys hadn't even graduated; he was hauling bricks at construction sites just to earn pennies.

I couldn't watch him suffer. To protect his pride, I'd contacted the hospital as an "anonymous donor" and covered every bill since.

Without my money, would he have lived so comfortably? Would he have had the leisure to flirt with our neighbor while I carried his child?

A cold smile touched my lips.

"Jack, tell the hospital to cut the funding too. Jackson Abbott's medical bills are Rhys's problem now."

Moments after giving the order, contractions seized me. I was wheeled into the delivery room, the doors swinging shut on my old life.

An hour later, I emerged.

When I drifted back to consciousness, my family stood guard around the bed. My mother sat close, gripping my hand.

I looked at their concerned faces, then down at the bassinet. My daughter slept there—a tiny, perfect bundle.

For the first time in months, I smiled. Genuinely. The future finally looked bright.

Then the shouting started.

"Lettie! Open the door!" Rhys's voice, muffled but unmistakable. "I'm the father! You can't keep me from my child!"

Jack bristled, fists curling. "That son of a bitch. We already told him to get lost."

He stepped toward the door. "If he doesn't leave, I'm knocking his teeth out."

"Jack, wait." I stopped him. "Let him in. I want to settle the divorce now. I'm done dragging this out."

My mother frowned. "Lettie, you just gave birth. The stress—can't this wait?"

Madeline nodded. "She's right. If you get worked up now, you could end up with long-term issues."

I shook my head.

My second brother stepped forward. "Let her do it. Lettie knows her limits. If she gets uncomfortable, we stop." He glanced around. "Besides—do you really think we'd let Rhys bully her with all of us here? The sooner she cuts him loose, the better."

His logic won them over. Jack threw open the door.

Rhys didn't even make it through first. His mother, Josephine, barreled past him, voice screeching.

"Where is he? Where's my big, fat grandson?"

My mother stepped in front of the crib, blocking her path. Her expression was ice.

"There is no grandson. It's a granddaughter."

"Granddaughter?"

Josephine's face collapsed. She snatched her hands back as if the crib were contagious, excitement replaced by indignation.

"A girl doesn't count! Listen to me, Scarlett—this one's a write-off. Once your confinement month is up, you need to get pregnant again immediately! The Abbott family has had a single son for three generations. We will not let the line die because of your incompetence!"

In the past, whenever his mother went on these tirades, Rhys would rush to shield me, claiming he preferred daughters anyway.

But today?

Rhys stood behind her, limp and spineless. He tugged at her sleeve in a half-hearted attempt to silence her, not daring to meet my eyes.