In the fourth year of our marriage, Henry Johnson cheated on me, Wendy, his wife.

He held Melissa Sullivan in his arms and told his friends, "Even if Wendy were standing naked in front of me right now, I would feel nothing."

My grandma wanted to see him for the last time, but he didn't come. He even gave the only thing my grandma left to Melissa.

He sneered with contempt. "Wendy, you're old now. Who else would want you except me?"

Later, I left with determination.

But his eyes turned red, and he knelt in front of my door.

"Wendy, are you really giving up on me?"

——

When I received the video, I was making chicken soup for Henry.

He had gone out for a networking event today, so he must have felt uncomfortable in his stomach when he returned.

It was almost dawn, and Henry had not yet arrived home when a strange number sent me a video.

I had a bad feeling and clicked on it.

The video was a bit shaky, indicating it wasn't recorded under normal circumstances.

Despite this, I could clearly see Henry's face. He looked at the camera with a doting expression. The video then panned down to show Henry's hands stroking a pair of sexy legs, occasionally pinching them. The owner of the legs said coquettishly, "Henry, you are so bad."

I heard Henry chuckle, "You like it too, don't you?"

In the background, someone was whistling and teasing that even Mr. Johnson couldn't resist the temptation of beautiful women.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke in. It was Henry's best friend, Howard Stewart. "Henry, don't make too much trouble. What if Wendy finds out?"

Henry's eyes turned mocking. "Even if Wendy were standing naked in front of me right now, I would feel nothing."

I was a little breathless, and the laughter in the video felt like slaps to my face.

The girl in Henry's arms said with a sweet smile, "Henry, you hurt me last night."

"Where?"

"Here, feel it..."

My ears rang briefly, and I couldn't catch the rest of the words in the video.

No wonder he claimed he was too tired when I invited him earlier.

It turned out, even if I were standing naked in front of him now, he wouldn't be turned on.

How ironic, he had no feelings for me, yet he left that woman unable to get out of bed.

I suddenly remembered that Henry had brought me a bouquet of tulips after work yesterday. He seemed to be in a very good mood, and it rubbed off on me too. Curious, I asked him what made him so happy. What did he say?

"My wife made me the most delicious chicken alfredo. I'm so happy." I chuckled at his flattering comment, but it never occurred to me why such a simple thing could bring him so much joy.

During dinner, he received a phone call, turned to me anxiously, and said something had happened at the company. He had to go back to deal with it and assured me he would be back soon.

So, I waited from dinner until the early morning, eventually falling asleep on the sofa. When I woke up, Henry's sleeping face was beside me. I asked him when he had returned. He kissed me and advised me not to wait for him next time.

He had spent the entire night in someone else's bed, only to return to hug me and say good morning.

At the risk of being caught by me, he had slept with two women in one night.

I felt incredibly nauseous and began to retch, clutching the trash can beside me.

I couldn't tell when the video ended. Then, another message flashed on my screen: [As a woman, you can't hold a man's heart. You are a failure.]

I glanced at it, wiping away the tears that had sprung from my retching. I tossed the untouched chicken soup into the trash.

Henry probably wouldn't be back tonight.

Clutching my phone tightly, it felt like I was holding onto my very heart.

Divorce wasn't an option, at least not yet.

Henry didn't return all night, and the only message from him was: [I have something to attend to at the company tonight. You don't have to wait for me.]

The repetition of "company" in his excuses didn't escape my notice. He wasn't putting much effort into being convincing.

I decided not to respond to him, put my phone away, and got ready to head to the hospital to visit my grandmother.

I was surprised to hear that my grandmother wasn't well. Nobody had told me before. My parents told me the news in the evening when she suddenly fainted. They were worried that something awful might happen to her.

The doctor said that my grandmother, who was elderly and had heart disease, needed to be treated gently and avoid any kind of stimulation to keep her healthy.

I sat beside my grandmother, delicately peeling an apple for her.

She glanced at me with a smile and asked, "Why didn't Henry come?"

My hand paused mid-air, the knife nearly grazing my skin. Setting down the knife, I gently fed her a slice of the apple.

"Grandma, he's been really busy with work lately."

"Being busy is a good thing. Henry is such a dedicated young man, and he treated you well. That makes me feel reassured.

I forced a strained smile. Grandmother had a deep affection for Henry. Despite my parents' reservations, she had advocated for him, comparing him to my late grandfather, Albert Collins. She defied all opposition to ensure Henry and I married. Even the initial funding for Henry's startup had been quietly provided by my grandmother.

"Grandma, what if I were to consider divorcing Henry..."

"What's wrong? What happened? Why would you suddenly bring up divorce? Don't be rash, Wendy. Henry has always treated you so well."

"No, no, Grandma, I was just joking."

Rising from my seat, I carefully adjusted the quilt around Grandma, then swiftly made an excuse. "Grandma, I'll head back and make you something to eat."

Turning away abruptly, I nearly broke down in tears. How pathetic.

Once home, I busied myself with preparing dishes. Grandma had always loved the ratatouille I made.

Henry finally returned, wrapping me in an embrace with an apologetic expression, explaining that his absence was due to the overwhelming demands of his company.

Was he busy at work or was he busy with the women?

As he spoke, a familiar, inferior scent of sunflowers filled the air, sending a chill down my spine. It was the favorite scent of his first lover. Whenever I brought home a bouquet of sunflowers, he would say, "Wendy, don't be jealous. She's gone."

Indeed, she had passed away. She was a remarkable young woman. I heard she stayed behind during the earthquake evacuation to ensure all the children were safe, tragically losing her life under the rubble.

I never once considered myself in competition with that girl. My fondness for sunflowers was purely my own, stemming from a place of genuine affection.

But as I watched Henry struggle to hold back his tears, I swallowed my own words and abandoned sunflowers as my favorite flower. I chose tulips instead.

But now he let Melissa use sunflower-scented perfume. I pushed him away..

He was supposed to feel guilty for me, but also for the girl.

"I understand. Excuse me, I need to take food to Grandma."

Henry stood there stunned. In the past, whenever he hugged me, I would hold him with a smile, enjoying our intimacy.

He withdrew his hand in shock, finally catching the key words. "What's wrong with Caroline?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. When my grandmother passed out, he was wrapped in the arms of another woman. Yet, the first thing on Grandma's mind when she regained consciousness was Henry's absence.

I picked up the food and turned to leave, "Grandma is sick."

He seemed very anxious too. He put on his coat and wanted to follow me.

But before he could take a step outside, his phone rang.

He looked a bit nervous when he saw who was calling, but he answered anyway. I couldn't discern the conversation, but he was even more anxious than before.

After hanging up the phone, he walked away quickly. As if he'd just realized I was there, he touched his nose and said, "Sorry, Wendy, something's come up. You go ahead. I'll join you later."

Before I could utter a word, he had vanished into thin air.

Silently, I packed the food and made my way to see Grandma.

I was by Grandma's side all day at the hospital, keeping her company and offering her comfort. Despite her urging me to go home and get some rest, I stayed until evening. Henry didn't show up at all.

The house felt pretty empty when I walked in. After showering, I crawled into bed.

My body exhausted but my mind in turmoil.

When did Henry start cheating on me? Was it during my last business trip, or had it begun much earlier?

Another message interrupted my thoughts, displaying a picture of Henry massaging Melissa's feet, accompanied by a taunting message: [Has Henry ever done this for you? I heard your grandma is unwell, such a pity. But I'd rather have Henry accompany me shopping first. Hope you don't mind?]

More messages flooded in: [Wendy, stop pretending. I know you've seen it. I suggest you give up the Mrs. Johnson title as soon as you can, or you'll regret it.]

I didn't reply, turned off my phone, and forced myself to go to sleep.

Later, I heard Henry return. He disappeared into the bathroom for a shower before slipping into bed beside me, his back turned. The bedside lamp remained lit, as was my custom.

In the dim light, I noticed scratches on his back, likely inflicted by Melissa. I couldn't discern if they were accidental or deliberate.

Sitting up, I confronted him, "Henry, you didn't come to the hospital."

His back tensed and he turned to me with a strained smile, trying to change the subject. "Wendy, you're still awake?"

"You didn't come to the hospital."

"I'll be there tomorrow, Wendy," he assured.

I looked at Henry and asked, "Henry, do you love me?"

"Love? I'm working tirelessly to build a better future, all to be worthy of you."

Taking my hand in his, he continued, "Your parents were initially hesitant, but it was Grandma who paved the way for our union. I'll always be grateful for her kindness."

I remembered the day I brought Henry home. My parents had some concerns about his financial situation. They were also concerned that his upbringing might have left him with certain character flaws. They advised me to reconsider.

My father even said that with our family's conditions, I could find any better husband I wanted.

Grandma was the only one who stood by us. With a reassuring pat on Henry's hand, she expressed her faith in my judgment, likening Henry to my grandfather.

My grandfather was a devoted soldier who cherished my grandmother deeply. He perished on the battlefield, serving his country. And Grandma had never entertained the thought of remarrying.

With Grandma's unwavering support, I took the leap and married Henry. She even entrusted him with the sole token of love my grandfather had given her, hoping he would cherish and care for me in the same manner.

As I observed Henry, fervently defending himself, a sense of weariness washed over me.

The boy who once trembled with excitement at the prospect of marrying me seemed like a distant memory. What was the point of arguing now?

Ignoring Henry's attempts to justify himself, I looked into his eyes and silently resolved to end our marriage as soon as my grandmother recovered from her illness.

However, life had a way of thwarting our plans and often leading us down unexpected paths.