Every year on our wedding anniversary, my wife gifts me a watch, always the same kind. This year, she couldn’t be there on the day, so she asked me to pick it up myself.

At the store, the clerk presented two watches. “Ms. Snow customizes two watches each year,” he explained, “both with initials on the back.” One bore the initials KY, for Kip Yoder—my name—while the other had AH, for her beloved, Abel Hill. My watch was priced at five thousand, while Abel’s was valued at six hundred thousand.

I pushed away the $600,000 watch and told the clerk, “This is for Ms. Snow’s true love. Please add her initials as well, and wish them happiness together.” Then, at the door, I tossed my own watch into the trash. This cheap marriage is finally over.

Soon after, my wife called, her tone impatient: “Kip, that watch was a birthday gift for Abel. Why make a scene and give people something to laugh at?”

I looked at the six watches in my drawer, each one seemingly mocking me. I replied quietly, “Our anniversary happens to be Abel’s birthday. It all makes sense now. Kate Snow, you love him deeply, don’t you?”

Her voice grew defensive and sharp. “What are you talking about? Abel and I are just good friends, nothing more.”

I didn’t back down. “Kate, the clerk told me you order two watches each year—one for him, one for me. His costs hundreds of thousands, and mine, only thousands. Tell me, who is really your husband?”

Kate paused for a moment, then said, “What matters is the thought behind it. Why focus so much on the price? You’re usually not one to care about money.”

I felt a wave of disappointment. “Kate, if that’s how little this love is worth, then why not marry Abel instead?”

Seven years of marriage seemed worthless compared to every glance and gesture from her childhood sweetheart. Abel and Kate had been close since they were kids, but when the Hill family went bankrupt, he moved away from Oklahoma City, and they lost contact.

Years later, after we married, Abel reappeared at one of her class reunions. I remember seeing Kate drunk for the first time. When Abel made a toast, her eyes reddened. I thought she’d simply had too much to drink, but later I understood—it was regret. She regretted marrying me and missing her chance with Abel.

Since that day, she became increasingly involved with him. She helped Abel find a place to live, used her connections to set up business introductions for him, and went out of her way to support him. Even because he lived far from work, she began getting up half an hour early each day to take a detour and drive him to the office.

Whenever I raised my concerns, she would respond with conviction: “He’s a close friend. Can you stop looking at our friendship through such a suspicious lens? If I wanted to be with him, I would have left you by now. We’re just friends, nothing more.”

Sometimes my friends would joke, “In seven years of marriage, has Kate ever driven you to work? Has she ever taken you to the ER in the middle of the night? Are you even sure you’re not being played?”

They had a point—every special gesture, every ounce of consideration she gave was reserved for Abel, never for me. Our wedding anniversary was postponed year after year because Kate always had “urgent work” and would say she needed to stay late. Only now do I understand—she was spending his birthday with Abel, every single time.

That afternoon, as expected, Kate texted me: “Honey, I have to work late tonight and can’t spend our anniversary together. Let’s celebrate tomorrow instead. Don’t wait up; it’ll probably be very late.”

I replied, holding onto a faint hope: “Kate, are you really that busy today? Can’t we make time for each other, just this once?” I was clinging to the slim chance that she might surprise me, that she’d pause and see how much this day meant to me.

But her response came back, colder than ever: “I told you, I don’t have time. Why are you so hung up on this anniversary? It’s just another day. Why celebrate these pointless traditions? We can do it whenever.” Then she hung up.

That evening, I opened the Viber group chat that Kate shared with her classmates. She had no idea I was also in the group, added automatically as a family member when the group formed for a class reunion. Carelessly, she posted a message without realizing: “Today is Abel’s birthday. Wishing him a very happy birthday!”

Then, 99 red envelopes, each containing 1,000 Dollars, were suddenly sent out in the group chat, causing a stir among everyone. Next, Abel shared several photos with Kate. In the pictures, Abel was proudly wearing the 600,000-Dollars watch on his wrist.

A sharp-eyed classmate immediately commented, “Abel, nice! I’ve been eyeing that watch for ages.”

Abel replied, “Thanks to Kate for the birthday gift.”

The photos showed Kate and Abel at the Palace Hotel’s revolving starlight restaurant. Kate was dressed in a low-cut, backless gown with alluring makeup, leaning affectionately against Abel’s shoulder. At first glance, they looked like a newlywed couple.

Someone joked, “Still the same childhood sweethearts, huh? All these years, and you two are just as inseparable. Kate, aren’t you worried your husband might get jealous?”

Kate responded nonchalantly, “Abel and I have nothing to hide. Who would dare say anything?”

One classmate, feeling bold, chimed in, “If you’re so sure there’s nothing going on, why don’t you stream a five-minute kiss live? Prove it to us, and maybe we’ll believe you’re just ‘friends.’”

Several classmates, knowing I was in the group, quickly intervened, “Forget it, forget it, let’s not joke around like that.”

Abel replied, “Don’t give Kate a hard time. I’m single, but she has a husband.”

Kate laughed it off, saying, “What are you so afraid of?”

I clenched my teeth, silently pleading, Don’t do it, Kate. Don’t agree.

But Kate ignored everything and clicked on the video chat. When it connected, she tilted her chin with a daring smile and said, “Ready? Let’s go.”

She and Abel looked into each other’s eyes before locking in a passionate kiss on camera. The group chat erupted instantly, everyone in a state of shock and excitement.

In that moment, my heart broke completely. Seven years of marriage shattered into pieces as I watched it all unfold.

A concerned classmate finally spoke up, typing, “Kate, are you insane? You’re married! You have a husband!”

But others only fueled the drama: “This is insane! Just get married already!” and “I believe in love again!”

The group was electric with excitement, everyone caught up in the spectacle, watching Kate and Abel without even remembering dozens of classmates witnessed it live.

Silently, I recorded their passionate kiss without saying a word. Once they were done, I sent out 99 red envelopes to the group with a message: “Wishing Kate and Abel a rekindled romance, a happy marriage, and a son soon.”

The group chat fell silent. Not a single person claimed the red envelopes; everyone seemed frozen in place. When Kate noticed the red envelopes piling up, her face changed as she realized I was in the group. She immediately called me.

“Kip, what’s the meaning of this? Saying things like that in front of my classmates—aren’t you embarrassed for Abel and me?”

She demanded, “Apologize to Abel in the group and tell everyone it was a joke. Now. It’s immature of you to pull something like this.”

I chuckled softly. “Kate, you and Abel can put on a passionate show for your classmates, but you think I’m the one not taking things seriously? Sure, I’ll apologize.”

I returned to the group chat and typed: “I apologize for interrupting Kate and Abel’s kiss. To make it up to them, I’ll sponsor a night in the Couple’s Suite at Convenient Business Hotel, 188 Dollars, with complimentary condoms. Enjoy!”

Ignoring the reactions in the group, I immediately quit and put down my phone. Within moments, Kate called, her voice nearly hysterical. “Kip, have you lost your mind? What’s wrong with you? What good does it do to humiliate your wife like this? Don’t you feel ashamed?”

Ashamed? I paused, then answered calmly, “Ashamed? No, Kate. I wasn’t the one who shared a five-minute passionate kiss with another man in front of everyone. Booking a room wasn’t the embarrassment here—you are. You’re the one who should feel ashamed.”

Kate sneered, her voice cold. “Oh, I get it—you’re trying to guilt-trip me into coming home? Just because I’m not spending the night with you? Well, I’m staying with Abel tonight. What are you going to do about it? I want you to understand—nothing changes, even if we share a bed.”

I didn’t reply, just let her words linger before I hung up, my heart heavy. On what should have been our seventh wedding anniversary, I finally accepted the truth and made a decision I’d been avoiding for too long.

The next morning, Kate returned home looking worn out, draped in a man’s jacket. Faint hickeys traced her neck and collarbone, leaving no doubt about her night with Abel.

When she saw me, she looked momentarily taken aback, then quickly masked it with defiance. “They’re just hickeys,” she said flatly. “Nothing happened between us. Don’t give me that look. I told you—Abel and I are just good friends. We didn’t cross any lines.”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Kate opened it to find Abel standing there, holding a small bag with a smirk. “You left this in my car,” he said, handing it to her. She took it without even glancing in my direction, as though I wasn’t there—an afterthought in my own home. It was painfully clear: whatever bond we had left was gone, unraveling entirely in that silent exchange.

Abel looked at me and nodded, almost casually. "Kate was drunk last night, so she stayed in the hotel. Don’t overthink it."

I could barely feel anything anymore, my heart dulled from the past few days. Clenching my fists, I walked over to Kate, opened her coat, and pointed to the unmistakable hickeys. “So, this is what you call ‘doing nothing’? Pure friendship, right?”

Turning to Abel, I asked, “You’re looking at these marks, and you’re saying nothing happened?”

Kate hastily pulled her coat back on, her face a mix of frustration and defiance. “It was just a friendly kiss to celebrate his birthday. Do we need to make a big scene? Stop yelling about it, or people might get the wrong idea.”

With a tired sigh, she brushed past me, muttering, “I’m exhausted and have no energy to argue. Move, I need to rest.” She pushed past me into the bedroom.

As she moved, the bag she was carrying slipped from her hand, spilling its contents. On the floor lay a pair of underwear, bearing stains that made my stomach twist.

Kate snatched it up quickly, her face flushed. “It got messy last night because I was drunk. Don’t overreact,” she said defensively, though her eyes betrayed uncertainty.

I seized the bag and pulled out the underwear, throwing it at her face with rage in my eyes. "Kate, you’re truly disgusting."

Kate gasped, pulling the underwear away from her face. "Kip, are you out of your mind?"

Abel rushed in to shield her. "What are you doing? You can’t just attack a woman!"

Without hesitation, I punched him in the face, sending him crashing to the ground, then turned to Kate and slapped her. "This is what it means to take action!"

She screamed, covering her cheek. "You dare hit me? Just because I didn’t spend the anniversary with you, you resort to violence?"

I pointed at the hickeys on her body and the underwear lying on the floor, glaring at her. "Kate, you make me sick. I'm done with this—this sham of a marriage. I want a divorce."

Kate struggled to her feet, her voice rising in anger. "What proof do you have? You need to apologize to Abel, right now!"

I turned back to Abel, landing another punch. "Apologize to him? Do you think one punch is enough? Just get out of my sight."

As Kate sobbed, she stormed out, and I slammed the door behind her. Both families would know about our impending divorce after she went home in tears.