Six years after my release from prison, I opened a steamed bun shop in the north of the city. Life was just getting back on track.

But one ordinary afternoon, I stumbled upon a male blogger's "confession." In the video, he proudly talked about his entire process of marrying into a wealthy family. How he gradually kicked the first husband out. How he achieved his current perfect life by conquering women.

"Why should the newcomer surpass the old? Because I can fight and grab the chance. Remember, everyone, the one who isn't loved in a relationship is the mistress. Fake, high-minded old men are destined to never find happiness."

I thought his values ​​were wrong and clicked "not interested." But while kneading dough that afternoon, it suddenly dawned on me. What he was talking about seemed to be my story with Rachel Godman, my ex-wife.

——

The video was blurred, so it wasn't very clear. I casually scrolled through his homepage list. Sure enough, I saw Rachel's back in the pinned video.

Strangely, on that well-maintained hand, however, adorned the diamond ring from our engagement. Rachel wasn't a frugal or sentimental person. Perhaps her business hadn't been doing well these past few years. I just smiled it off.

Just as I was about to block her, the curtain was lifted. A heavy chill swept over me.

I put down my phone and casually called out, "The steamed buns are sold out this morning. If you want some, we'll reopen after four in the afternoon."

The person didn't move, standing in front of the door, blocking half the light. Finally, a familiar voice called out in my ear, "Steven, it's me."

I looked up and the familiar figure was shrouded in the winter gloom. I was stunned for a moment, offering a polite yet distant smile.

"I said the steamed buns are sold out." I replied casually.

Rachel didn't reply. Her gaze swept over the simple little house, landing on my rough, cracked hands. I didn't know if it was my imagination or what. Rachel's breath seemed to pause for a moment. She looked at me, her tone filled with shock and disbelief.

"Steven, all these years... you've been living here?"

It seemed like she was surprised. Surprised that I could knead dough and steam buns with the same hands I use to play the piano and paint. She hardly believe that the once proud and dazzling Mr. Portman would be willing to live such a hard life.

It also seemed like a test. Testing whether I would still cling to her like before. Or whether I would cry and beg her to come home. But facing Rachel's intense gaze, I remained silent.

After what seemed like an eternity, Rachel spoke again, sounding unsure and a little resentful, "I saw Thomas's video. What happened back then... I'm sorry. If you want to come back..."

"No need." I cut her words.

I continued kneading the dough, not even looking up, "I'm living very well now."

Rachel became anxious at not getting a definite answer. She unconsciously raised her voice, "What about Luke? You're just going to let your son live this miserable life with you?!"

My kneading hand paused. I lowered my head and spoke calmly, "Luke is dead."

Rachel frowned. "What about your mom and dad? Don't they care about you?"

I threw down the dough and looked up at Rachel, "My parents are dead too. I'm not selling buns today. You can leave now."

Seeing my attitude, Rachel became angry, "Steven, I know you hate me for what happened back then. But can you please not joke with the lives of your loved ones?"

"So many years have passed and you haven't changed your bad temper at all! I've already apologized to you, what more do you want? Why are you so stubborn?" A fierce argument erupted in the cramped little room.

This time, I didn't speak, silently pushing open the small door behind me. The ashes of burnt paper money drifted in the sunlight. All the questions instantly stopped. I lit a cigarette in my hand, using the flame of the incense.

Leaning against the corner of the table, I smiled and offered my belated blessing, "Happy wedding."

If it weren't for Rachel's arrival, I would have almost forgotten. Today marked her tenth year with Thomas Lincoln. It was also the tenth year since my family was destroyed.

Ten years ago, Rachel wanted a divorce because of Thomas, whom she had raised herself. She disregarded our three-month-old child. She disregarded our years of companionship. She ignored the advice and pleas of her family. She even disregarded her own reputation and honor.

She was determined to divorce me. She said she had met her true love, her soulmate. She was willing to give up everything to be with him. I couldn't accept Rachel's betrayal and infidelity. Even more unacceptable was that the person she cheated with was Thomas— the child we had raised.

Years ago, an old friend entrusted his son to us on his deathbed. He left his only son with us to care for. The responsibility of raising a life was too heavy for Rachel and she hesitated.

But Thomas took my hand and timidly said, "Uncle, I'll be good."

In an instant, my heart softened. Rachel and I had been trying to have a baby for years without success. We thought that having a child around might bring some luck. Perhaps he had a knack for children and could bring siblings to our side. So I did everything I could to give him the best.

Rachel and Thomas were fifteen years apart. In Rachel's and my eyes, he was both a child and a younger brother. Thomas was also very well-behaved, taking on most of the housework and keeping both our elders happy.

Back then, Rachel always said... "You were born with the temperament of a young master."

"I don't expect you to be like Thomas, I just hope our child will be as well-behaved and sensible as him." Rachel's words proved prophetic.

In the fifth year after Thomas came to our home. After countless hardships, we finally had our first child. The child was born weak and sickly due to congenital developmental deficiencies. But I still cherished him dearly, seeking medical help everywhere.

One day, I finally connected him to the best cardiac surgeon. I was about to tell Rachel this news.

I opened the door and saw her and Thomas embracing. On the large bed in the master bedroom, the two were making love, oblivious to everything else. The necklace around Thomas's neck were the ones I had gotten for him when he was eighteen.

I was stunned speechless for a long time. I slapped Rachel across the face, asking her why she did this, why she had hurt me for Thomas.

"He's just a child! He's the child we raised! Rachel, you beast! You inhuman beast!"

At that time, I thought Rachel had seduced Thomas. I even considered calling the police to seek justice for him.

But then Thomas grabbed my hand, grinning and said to me, "Don't be angry, Uncle, you're getting wrinkles around your eyes. Rachel and I are in love, please don't break us up."

At that moment, I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. I didn't know when they got together. I had no idea how I'd raised such an ungrateful child.

In the years I'd cared for him, I'd been tireless. When he said he missed home and couldn't sleep, I stayed with him night after night. When he said he was bullied at school, I stood up for him. He said Rachel seemed to dislike him, so I encouraged Rachel to spend more time with him. Unexpectedly, the kind of liking he spoke of was sexual intimacy.

I was so angry that I fainted. My child's condition dropped rapidly without my care. During my hospitalization, Thomas kept sending provocative messages.

He sent me videos of the two of them together. He sent me Rachel's sweet words of love and vows. He sent me a divorce agreement that Rachel had already prepared. When I saw that thick stack of videotapes, I vomited for three days and three nights.

I just couldn't connect this heartless bastard in front of me with the timid little girl I first met. During that time, I almost cried my eyes out. Rachel never visited me once.

When I returned home from the hospital, I saw her directing people to move my belongings. In front of the enormous wedding photo, Rachel tightly gripped Thomas's hand.

"Steven, you didn’t understand, you'll never understand. Thomas is the rose I raised myself, my confidant, my soulmate. He's different from you. He's thoughtful, profound, someone I can discuss life with!" As she spoke, her gaze swept disdainfully over my designer clothes.

She coldly uttered, "Vulgar."

Those words shattered the last shred of my defenses. I didn't know how Thomas, who hadn't even finished high school, could discuss the length of life with her.

I only knew that back then, to be with Rachel, I gave almost everything. I almost broke with my family for Rachel. I drank myself into a hemorrhage countless times at the dinner table for Rachel. But they, just when I thought my suffering was over, dealt me ​​a fatal blow.

I remembered the traces they left all over the house. I remembered Thomas's parting words, "So what if you're rich and have everything in life? You don't know, do you? While you were working hard to earn money, Rachel was lying beneath me, moaning. From now on, this is my home. Your woman, everything you've worked so hard to earn, is mine."

My anger reached its peak. In a fit of rage, I set fire to the villa. The fire wasn't big and was quickly extinguished.

But Rachel filed a lawsuit against me for this crime. She gave me two choices: Divorce or go to jail. I also gave her two choices: Die or face complete disgrace.

She was a law professor who had lived a life of aloofness. What she couldn’t let go of most was her scholarly integrity. I could accept her leaving me because of incompatibility. But I couldn’t tolerate her using my money to support a gigolo.

We were arguing so badly that both of our parents came to mediate. When the elderly women, tears streaming down their faces, asked me why, I couldn’t even answer.

How could I begin? The child I raised had become a homewrecker. And my wife of many years, whom I’d loved for years, wanted a divorce for this bastard.