At our son’s first birthday banquet, my wife ordered a special dish—just for her assistant.

Without hesitation, I messaged my lawyer friend to draft a divorce agreement.

When Georgia saw the document, she laughed in disbelief, eyes burning with fury. “Out of a hundred dishes at the banquet, you fixated on the one I ordered for Reniel?”

“Can you rein in your possessiveness for once?”

“You can call it whatever you want,” I replied calmly. “Either way, I’m done with this marriage.”

——

By the time I rushed back into the banquet hall, her assistant had taken the seat that used to belong to me.

Wearing a suit perfectly color-coordinated with Georgia’s, he carried himself like the man of the hour—confident, comfortable, like he owned the place.

“He and President Herrera look really good together,” someone whispered behind me.

“They go to work together every day. Who knows, maybe they’re even living together now.”

The words pierced like invisible daggers to my heart, making my chest tighten.

As soon as I returned, Reniel gave a meek apology.

“Sir, I’m so sorry for spilling wine on your clothes earlier. You’re not mad, right?”

Before I could speak, Georgia cut in, her voice sharp with sarcasm. “Don’t I know what kind of person you are?”

“Go sit at Table Three. I ordered you a bowl of porridge.”

The guests praised her attentiveness.

“She’s so considerate—he mentioned a stomachache, and President Herrera immediately ordered porridge.”

“He hurt his foot and she personally applied a bandage.”

“A woman that is attentive... Reniel is really lucky.”

I forced a smile, even as my nails dug into my palms.

Georgia used to despise incompetence.

There were times she would fire an assistant just for printing one extra name tag. Yet here she was, displaying a patience I hadn’t seen from her in years—not even toward me.

“This banquet is about our son,” she said blandly, offering no explanation for any of it. “Let’s not make it about us.”

Just as I tried to rise, she stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“Oh, I forgot to mention—I've already decided who will be Lewis’s godfather.”

Before I could react, Reniel stepped forward and fastened a protective charm around my son’s neck.

He pressed a kiss on Lewis’s cheek and gently said, “From now on, I’m Lewis’s daddy too.”

He looked up at me, smugness and provocation written all over his face.

The ceremony was deliberately kept simple, but just as it was about to conclude, Georgia interrupted the host.

“According to tradition, to acknowledge a godfather, Lewis should bow to Reniel.”

I frowned. “He’s only one-year-old. Making him bow could cause suffocation or brain injury.”

“Can you think before you speak?” Georgia snapped. “Is Lewis really incapable of bowing—or do you just resent who I chose as his godfather?”

“That's enough, President Herrera,” Reniel interjected with a mild smile. “The safety charm was symbolic. That’s enough ceremony.”

In his words, the woman who had just been arguing with me cooled instantly.

“I’d like to say a few blessings for Lewis, if I may?” He smiled.

Georgia gave him a subtle nod of approval, and a microphone was placed in his hand.

I glanced at the table. A wine glass, still holding the dregs of red wine, caught my eye.

Reniel smiled as he began to speak. “I heard Lewis was a test tube baby.”

“Now that I see him up close... he really does seem to lack a bit of soul.”

“Test tube babies must be terribly delicate. Must’ve been tough on you, Emerson.”

“Oh, and by the way, does Lewis know he came from a lab—”

Smack.

I stepped off the stage and struck him across the face.

His head jerked sideways, eyes welling up with tears.

Smack.

This time, it was Georgia. Her expression was cold as ice as she coldly spat, “That one was for Reniel.”

With nothing more to say, Georgia left the venue with Reniel in tow.

The atmosphere froze, suffocating and silent.

Forcing a polite smile, I turned to the guests.

“Please... enjoy your meal.”

When we got home, the left side of my face was still burning faintly.

After coaxing Lewis to sleep, I collapsed on the couch. It felt like someone had hollowed out my chest, leaving only a pit of bitterness behind.

Like dozens of lemons were being pounded into my heart—sour, aching, and tight.

Even breathing became a struggle.

It wasn’t until deep into the night that I heard the door creak open.

Georgia walked in and reached to touch my face, but I pulled away.

“I was wrong, Emerson.” She knelt before me, rubbing her cheek lightly against my knee.

“But you were the one who hit someone first.”

“Reniel was drunk—he said something stupid. Why take it seriously?” She smiled, stood up, and brushed her nose against mine like nothing had happened.

“Can’t you just forgive me?”

The moonlight streamed in through the window, and I caught the scent of men’s cologne lingering on her collar.

I picked up the divorce agreement from the table and handed it to her, my voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Georgia, let’s get a divorce.”

“Divorce?” Her smile froze. She took the document and flipped through it again and again.

Once she realized I was serious, she snapped. The papers were flung into my face.

“Are you out of your mind, Emerson?”

“Lewis just turned one, and now you want a divorce?”

“You think this is something you can solve with a couple of words?”

“I know I was wrong today. I hit you. But everything has a cause, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve already apologized. How long are you going to keep acting like a stubborn child?”

“Don’t forget—you’re a father now.”

“Keeping this family together should be your top priority!”

She went on and on, never once noticing the tears falling silently from my eyes.

The sting on my face returned—tears seeping into the cut left by a staple, burning like salt in a wound.

Georgia instinctively reached for her wallet—but her hand stopped, frozen mid-motion.

“You used your last bandage on Reniel, didn’t you?” I asked, my voice was low.

“And you even ordered that bowl of porridge for him, right?”

Her expression shifted, but she answered smoothly,

“So what if I did? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“You want a divorce over a bowl of porridge and a bandage?”

“Emerson, you’re being ridiculous!” Her voice grew louder and louder, waking Lewis in the next room. His cries pierced the silence of the living room.

Watching her frown in irritation, I asked, “Do you even know where his formula and bottles are kept?”

The question caught her off guard. She stood still, speechless.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. Of course she didn’t know.

Since giving birth, Georgia had always kept her distance from Lewis.

She refused to breastfeed during his infancy, and barely even looked at him.

“I hate the way my body looks now. I hate myself since giving birth!”

I could still hear her breakdown like it happened yesterday.

Cradling Lewis’s bottle, I turned to head back into the bedroom. But first, I signed the divorce agreement.

“You should sign it too,” I said without looking at her. “If not, I’ll file for divorce on the grounds of infidelity.”

“And trust me—if it comes to that, you won’t be walking away with much.”

She tried to speak, but I gently cupped her face—the one I used to love so deeply.

“There’s a lingering taste on your lips,” I murmured, “of the red wine Reniel was drinking tonight.”

“What did you two really do? It’s not that hard to guess.”

After putting Lewis back to sleep, I returned to find the living room empty.

Georgia was gone.

The divorce agreement lay shredded in the trash.

On the table, placed neatly, was a luxury boutique shopping bag—the very one she’d been hiding behind her back when she came in.

When I opened the bag, a limited-edition designer baby blanket lay inside.

My gaze darkened slightly.

Ever since I became a father, every gift Georgia gave me had something to do with the child.

It was clear—she wanted to bind me tighter and tighter to the role of “Lewis’s father.”

Not a husband. Not a man. Just the father of her child.

My phone buzzed twice in quick succession.

The law firm I had previously contacted had finally responded.

[We heard Attorney Greene had temporarily stepped back to care for his child—what a surprise to see you reaching out again.]

[With you joining us, our team will undoubtedly grow even stronger.]

[Looking forward to working with you.]

I replied with a polite message, exited the conversation, and saw a new friend request pop up.

The verification message was just three words.

[It’s me, Reniel.]

The moment I accepted, a message came through with a photo.

There were bloodstains on the towel, and the bedsheet was still damp with lingering traces.

[Your wife said I satisfy her more—and that she wants to give me her "first time" after getting a repair procedure.]

The implication was clear.

A freshly graduated kid, with nothing to his name, clinging to Georgia’s affection as if it were the whole world.

He thought she’d given him her “entire heart.”

And now he was desperate to prove himself. To flaunt his supposed place in her life.

Youth always has a way of charging headfirst into the fire.

And at that moment, I saw myself—years ago.

At sixteen, Georgia and I were the only two students from our small town to get into a prestigious high school.

Her parents, both teachers, were so proud they threw three days’ worth of banquets.

On the other hand, I didn’t even dare tell my guardians.

My biological parents died when I was eight, and I was taken in by my uncle.

Living under someone else’s roof taught me early on how to read faces and keep my head down.

That night, I still remember the smell of liquor in the room.

Three or four beer bottles rolled under my uncle’s chair as he toasted the factory manager, casting me a glance.

“My damn sister died too early, leaving me this burden to feed.”

“Good thing it’s a boy, and strong enough. Should fetch a decent price, right?”

“Of course,” the factory manager chuckled.

“Eighty percent of his wages will go to you, ten percent as an agent fee. Fair deal.”

Just a few drinks, a few crude words, and the path of my life was sealed.

So when Georgia excitedly found me and asked when I’d report to the new school, I stammered, unable to speak a full sentence.

Then the front door creaked open.

My uncle's voice came with a greasy smile. “This boy is in great shape. Just say the word and I’ll send him over.”

They looked me up and down like I was livestock.

“I’m not going to school,” I muttered. “I’m going to work.”

There was a long pause.

“Do you want to go?” Georgia asked, her voice quiet and uncertain.

My silence was her answer.

That night, she came back.

Under the cover of darkness, her eyes sparkled brighter than the stars.

“I brought money,” she whispered. “Let’s go. You’re going to school.”

My dying parents had begged me to obey my uncle, to be good.

But at that moment, I only wanted to grab Georgia’s hand and run.

In high school, I was mocked relentlessly for my accent, my old clothes.

Meanwhile, Georgia—bright, and outgoing quickly became friends with the city kids.

One day, sensing my unease, she pulled me into a corner.

“Emerson, if you don’t like me hanging out with them, I’ll stop. I’ll only stay with you.”

“Just don’t hate me, okay?”

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.

All my bottled-up emotions burst out.

I wept in silence while she waited patiently, saying nothing—just letting me pour out everything I had buried inside.

From then on, she always found me during lunch breaks. Sat beside me in the far corner of the cafeteria.

Every day, we shared a bowl of plain porridge that cost just fifty cents.

When classmates gave us strange looks, Georgia remained calm and unapologetically firm.