On the eve of the tenth anniversary, Irina Middleton, my wife, who had always been unromantic, suddenly suggested taking wedding photos again.

She said she wanted to make up for my regrets in my youth and my hard work over the years. But at the celebration, someone painted my photo with the word 'kept man'.

Her young assistant cried and tried to explain, "Adrien, I don't know how this happened. Maybe people just assume that the one who isn't loved is the kept man," he said. I saw the paint still on his hands and sneered as I smashed the wedding photo frame.

The assistant then posted a picture on his social media, showing off a million-dollar watch and a photo of him with my wife in our wedding attire. The caption read: [Love is clear, we are the most compatible pair.]

As I scrolled through the divorce papers, I left a comment under his post: [Respect and congratulations—indeed, scum and trash are a match made in heaven!]

——

Just as I finished reading the divorce agreement, Irina, my wife, called. In all the years we've been married, this was her first call.

Her tone was sharp and filled with contempt, "What are you fussing about again? Chris made an innocent mistake, so why are you making a big deal out of it? You're in your thirties. Is it necessary to bully someone younger than you?"

"Hurry up and apologize to Chris, or else …" Otherwise, Irina would give me the silent treatment. She would cut off my allowance. She would kick me out of the house on a stormy night.

I had been through all of that before. In the past, I endured and compromised for love. But the moment she cheated and allowed that pretty boy to provoke me, all my love and memories vanished.

I spoke slowly, "Irina, let's get a divorce. I agree, you two are more suited for each other."

Irina paused for three seconds, then let out a cold laugh, "Divorce? You think you're worthy of bringing up divorce with me? Take a look in the mirror. Who would want a loser like you, a man who's accomplished nothing and lives off a woman? If you have any self-respect, get over here and apologize to Chris!"

I didn't want to argue, so I hung up. What self-respect did I have left?

She had trampled on my dignity to make her lover happy, turning me, the rightful husband, into a complete joke.

I remembered when we got married, we had no money, no wedding banquet and no wedding photos. We couldn't afford the photos, leaving that as an unhealed regret.

She had promised to make up for it, but little did I know she would make it up to another man. Ten years of marriage, starting from nothing.

This woman, the love of my life since high school, had become the deepest wound in my heart. Swallowing the bitterness, I contacted a lawyer to discuss the division of our assets.

Midway through the call, Irina returned and said, "Who are you on the phone with? Why haven't you made dinner yet?"

She stepped closer and the strong smell of cigarettes wafted over. I frowned and took a step back.

Her face immediately darkened when she asked, "What's the matter? Feeling guilty? Adrien, are you chatting with some woman behind my back?"

"Is this your way of getting revenge, or are you just too lonely? I'm the one supporting you and you're using my money to flirt with other women!" After speaking, Irina grabbed my phone and threw it to the ground.

I picked it up and a long, glaring crack ran across the screen, just like the state of our marriage. Irina looked down at me with disdain.

She said arrogantly, "Fine, I won't argue with you this time. Let's just call it even. Now go make dinner."

Irina always had double standards. She could spend nights out with Chris, going on trips and drinking. But I wasn't allowed to say a single word to another woman.

In her eyes, no matter what conflict arose between us, it was always my fault. I was always the one who had to apologize.

But this time, I didn't want to bow down and I didn't want to continue in this degrading, hopeless marriage. Seeing me lying on the couch, unmoved, Irina was about to explode with anger.

But then she saw the scar on my leg, left from when I saved her years ago. She sighed softly, "Adrien, that's enough. Isn't it just a set of wedding photos? I've already had the store send over a new set. What more do you want?"

Just moments ago, I had contacted the photographer. The store owner told me that Irina not only took the most expensive wedding photos with Chris but also shot an intimate boudoir photo set.

Chris had said he wanted to 'capture beauty,' but what he was capturing was moments with someone else's wife.

I turned to look at Irina as she was taking off her coat. She was a picky person who paid attention to every detail. That's why I ironed her shirts neatly every morning.

But today, her lipstick was smudged and her shirt was wrinkled. Clearly, she had been in a heated encounter with Chris not long ago.

Suddenly, I felt nauseous and rushed to the bathroom to vomit.

When I came out, Irina frowned at me and said, "Pretending to be sick again. How childish are you? You're just a lazy, good-for-nothing bum, why are you always so melodramatic? It's because you're so useless that you killed our baby!"

I clenched my sleeves, a sharp pain piercing through my heart like needles. Years ago, I had downed drinks to shield Irina from social obligations, which led to a stomach hemorrhage and left me with a serious gastric condition.

After our startup succeeded, Irina took charge of managing the company, while I, due to my poor health, stayed home to care for our baby and handle the household. I became the 'kept man' in the eyes of others.

Once, Irina brought the baby and me to a company retreat, where Chris accidentally pushed our child into the river. I immediately jumped in after them, severely injuring myself, but I still couldn't save the baby's life.

I considered holding Chris responsible, but Irina just laughed at me, "How dare you blame others for your incompetence? If you hadn't wrecked your body fooling around when you were younger, maybe you could've saved a child."

She knew I drank at social events to help her business. She knew it was Chris's fault that our baby died. Yet she still used the cruelest words to insult and belittle me.

Over the years, her constant brainwashing had made me insecure and fearful. It was only today that I finally understood, endless tolerance doesn't bring love, it only encourages the other person to trample over you.

I didn't want to argue with Irina anymore, so I went to the bedroom to pack my things. She thought I was doing my usual housework.

Lounging on the sofa with her legs crossed, she casually chatted with Chris, waiting for me to serve her. Their conversation was accompanied by a close-up selfie of the two of them.

Irina was so engrossed in the chat that she didn't even notice when I came out with my suitcase.

"Chris wants to treat you to dinner as an apology," she said. "See how generous he is? You made such a fuss over a small issue, embarrassing him in front of everyone. Tomorrow, you're going to the office to apologize to Chris publicly and we can put this matter behind us. Then we can get back to living our lives."

I didn't say a word, just lowered my head and glanced at the message from my lawyer. It would take about ten days to settle the assets and gather evidence of her infidelity. I had already waited ten years, so what were ten more days?

I kept my thoughts to myself, but Irina misinterpreted my silence as another surrender. She grabbed my arm and forcefully dragged me out the door.

In the underground garage, I habitually opened the passenger-side door, but she quickly shoved me aside. My forehead hit the door and the pain brought tears to my eyes.

"Are you okay?" Irina seemed flustered.

She pretended to be concerned about my injury, but her body was deliberately blocking the leopard-print underwear Chris had left in the passenger seat.

She pretended while asked, "The passenger seat is a little dirty. Why don't you sit in the back? Are you seriously hurt? Should we stop by a pharmacy first?"

It was indeed dirty. I avoided her touch and sat in the back, pretending not to notice the label that read 'Chris's Special Seat' stuck to the front seat.

Feeling guilty, Irina tried to make small talk with me on the way, her tone noticeably softer, "Adrien, we've been married for so many years. Don't you know me well enough? There's nothing between me and Chris. He's just a naive young man. I only look after him because he's younger."

I nodded and turned my gaze out the window.

As we passed through a grove of red maple trees, Irina spoke again, "Look, the maple leaves are red again. I remember we took a picture here once. You were smiling so beautifully back then."

Outside, the maple leaves were as vivid as flames, but inside, my heart felt like it had plunged into an icy abyss.

I looked at her and spoke slowly, "We have been together for ten years and apart from the wedding photo that was destroyed, we have never had a photo together."

I used to think that Irina wasn't into romance. She was different from most women, she never liked taking pictures.

Once, during a business trip, I saw some beautiful scenery along the way and suggested we take a picture together as a memento. But she pushed me away and scolded me in public, "Why do you have to follow every trend? Do you think you're still young?"

"People like you, living in the illusion of beauty filters, are destined to achieve nothing in life! What's the point of taking pictures? Stay away from me. Walking next to you is embarrassing enough!" After that, I never dared to suggest taking a photo together again.

In fact, I became so self-conscious that I'd lower my head whenever I faced a camera.

So, Chris was right, love and indifference are obvious.

Feeling awkward, Irina fell silent. The car became quiet, except for the soft clicking sound of the photo keychain of her and Chris.

We finally arrived at our destination. As soon as we got out of the car, Chris rushed into Irina's arms and said, "Irina, you're finally here. I've been waiting so long my legs are sore."

Irina immediately squatted down, took off his shoes and smilingly massaged his feet. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of them, capturing this 'beautiful' moment.

It was only then that Irina remembered my presence. She said casually, "I'm just … showing normal concern for a subordinate."

"I understand. Let's go eat," I replied.

When we entered the restaurant, the waiter greeted us warmly, "Mrs. Middleton, are you here again with your husband for dinner? The usual?"

Irina glanced at me and cleared her throat, "This is my actual husband," she corrected.

I didn't respond, just walked over to the table and sat down. Compared to the brand-name clothes Chris was wearing, my plain attire didn't make me look like Irina's husband at all.

Once we were seated, Chris scooted his chair closer to Irina and took out an old watch from his designer bag and said, "Adrien, Irina gave me a new watch, so this old, secondhand one is for you. Consider it a peace offering. Don't be so petty about the wedding photo incident."

Irina looked a bit displeased and said, "I gave that to you."

She said again, "Adrien, if you like, I can buy you a new one. There's no need to compete with Chris over it. Besides, you stay at home washing clothes and cooking, you don't deserve such an expensive watch."

Chris smiled as he held Irina's hand and playfully whined, "Irina has given me so many gifts. One watch is nothing."

If this had been in the past, I would've demanded answers upon hearing such things. But now, I just calmly glanced at Chris and then lowered my head to send a message to my lawyer.

[I want to reclaim every penny Irina spent on her love], I typed. After receiving the lawyer's confirmation, I picked up my fork, feeling at ease.

When all the dishes were served, Irina, who usually refused to get her hands dirty with food, patiently peeled shrimp and deboned fish for Chris.

Chris gave me a smug look and said sarcastically, "Oh, Irina always takes care of me like this. Adrien, aren't you jealous? Irina, you should eat, too," he added, naturally handing her a shrimp he had already bitten into.

Without hesitation, Irina ate it, completely different from the woman who had once smashed her bowl in disgust when I offered her food, claiming it was unsanitary.

The sight of it made me too nauseous to eat. I slammed my fork down on the table in disgust.