Faye's POV

Seven months into my second pregnancy, I stumbled across Dwight Patton's chat box with his mistress. They were filled with flirtatious messages and explicit photos.

At first, I brushed it off, thinking most men probably stray a little during times like these. I wanted to turn a blind eye, for the sake of our family.

But then came his birthday. I went out of my way to prepare a lavish dinner, hoping to make the day special. I thought he’d only invite a few close friends over. But to my surprise, he also brought her—his mistress.

She didn’t even try to hide her smugness, throwing insults my way as if daring me to react. And him? He just sat there, pretending not to notice. Worse, he called me petty when I showed the slightest displeasure.

As I bustled around, trying to keep things together, he laughed and flirted with her right in front of me. He even let her mock my appearance.

“Seven months, right? Those stretch marks must be wild,” she said with a smirk.

“Pregnancy is so gross,” she added, turning to him. “I’m never going to go through that!”

He just smiled, reassuring her, “Then don’t, okay?”

Our friends watched it all unfold like it was some twisted comedy.

——

Soon, I got fed up and couldn’t take it anymore. I demanded an apology from her. But before I could finish my words, Dwight jumped to her defense.

“Faye, it’s just a joke. Why are you taking it so seriously?” His voice was sharp, and his eyes were filled with disdain.

“Besides, look at yourself—swollen, fat. Wasn’t she just telling the truth? Stop acting like some bitter old woman. It's so annoying!”

His words cut deep, like a blade slicing straight into my heart.

Anger and humiliation surged through me. I slammed my cutlery onto the table and stormed off, locking myself in the bedroom with a loud bang.

But I could still hear his furious voice echoing through the apartment behind the door. “You're unbelievable, Faye! If you’ve got the guts, then just leave this house!”

But then, as if flipping a switch, I heard him console his guests with a soft voice, telling them to ignore me.

As such, I collapsed onto the bed in my dark bedroom. Tears flowed freely as pain and frustration overwhelmed me.

'Am I really a bitter old woman?' I questioned myself as my heart ached.

I’d been married to him for six years. I was about to bring his second child into the world, and yet, he could humiliate me like this.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to work at a Fortune 500 company, confident, successful, and radiant. But when we had our first child, I gave up my career to be a stay-at-home mom. Slowly, I became… this.

He had promised me back then that he’d earn enough to give me and the kids a comfortable life. But now, he looked at me with nothing but contempt, calling me an aging, unattractive housewife.

And yet, wasn’t it all because of him?

I remembered the day I gave birth to our first child. The baby was in the wrong position, and I couldn’t deliver naturally. A C-section was the only option.

On the operating table, his mother argued relentlessly about whether I should have anesthesia, insisting it would harm the baby. It wasn’t until my father arrived and signed the consent form that I was finally able to have the surgery.

However, the scar on my stomach after that surgery, the mark of everything I’d sacrificed for this family, was now just another thing he despised.

After the birth, I wanted to hire help—someone to assist with the baby and household chores. But he refused, claiming strangers couldn’t be trusted. He then suggested bringing his mother to live with us instead, despite knowing full well we didn’t get along.

As expected, his mother criticized me constantly, calling me spoiled, and saying women in her day had it much harder and never complained.

Those days were hell. Soon, the constant stress and her cruelty pushed me into postpartum depression. It wasn’t until my condition worsened that he reluctantly sent her away.

Faye's POV

But it didn't end there. Instead of comforting me, he even berated me. “I work hard every day to make money, and all you do is watch the kids and cook. How is that so difficult?”

Every morning, I’d wake up at six to make him breakfast. After eating, he’d leave for work without a second thought, leaving me to handle a crying baby and a mountain of chores.

While I cooked, the baby would inevitably start crying. I’d rush to pick him up, cradling him with one arm while awkwardly stirring a pan with the other.

In the chaos of daily life, where was the time to take care of myself? Day after day, I neglected my appearance until I hardly recognized the woman in the mirror.

Six years was all it took for time to leave its mark on me—strands of gray in my hair, fine lines at the corners of my eyes.

After our first child, he told me he wanted a son to "complete the family." He also insisted I stay home and not return to work.

Out of love and commitment, I agreed.

But why? Why did sacrificing everything for him lead to nothing but his coldness and disdain?

I tried to live up to his expectations, hoping he could treat me as well as before. But why couldn't he?

Turning on the light, I sat at my vanity, running my fingers over my tired, pale face.

I used to cherish my reflection. Now, it only brought me sadness.

Overwhelmed with despair, I picked up my phone and called my mother.

“Hello? Who’s this?”

Hearing her familiar voice broke the dam holding back my tears. They streamed down my face uncontrollably.

“Mom,” I choked out, barely able to speak.

Despite saying only a word, she immediately recognized me and was filled with worry. “Is that you, my dear? Are you crying? What happened?”

My voice trembled as I tried to stay calm. “I’m fine. I just… I miss you. Mom, if I come back, am I still welcome?”

Her response was firm and full of love. “Of course, honey! You’re my daughter. You’re always welcome home.”

My thoughts drifted back to when I first met Dwight in college. He was a sophomore who boldly confessed his love for me. Despite his humble background, I fell for him completely.

Everyone warned me not to marry a poor man, but I didn’t listen.

After graduation, I turned down a family-arranged match and moved to New York with him, despite my parent's disapproval.

I stood by him through every struggle, from being a broke young man to becoming the owner of a successful company.

And yet, he still hadn’t given me the grand wedding he once promised.

I opened the bedroom door to find the house empty. The guests had all left, leaving behind a mess of half-eaten food and dirty dishes.

Without hesitation, I turned and walked out.

Flagging down a taxi, I told the driver to take me to the hospital.

When I arrived, the doctor looked at me with concern. “You’re already more than seven months along. An induction at this stage is extremely risky and will be very painful. Are you sure about this?”

My voice didn’t waver. “I’m sure. Schedule it.”

With a resigned sigh, the doctor handed me a consent form. “Alright. Please sign this.”

The procedure was set for two days later.

Dragging my exhausted, swollen body back home, I called a cleaning service to deal with the mess.

Just as I was about to lie down and rest, I heard a noise at the front door.

Dwight had returned, and with him came Lizzie Clem. Beside her was a white suitcase.

Faye's POV

Dwight casually said, "Lizzie’s apartment building is under renovation, and it’s too noisy for her to stay there. I figured she could move in here for a while. She can even help take care of you.”

I laughed bitterly to myself. This was the same man who once told me this was our home, yet now he walked in with another woman like it was nothing.

Standing beside him, Lizzie put on her best innocent act, speaking in a soft, sweet voice. “Don't worry, Faye. I’ll leave as soon as the renovations are done.”

I didn’t bother to respond. Instead, I shut the door to my room with a cold finality.

But as expected, Dwight’s anger flared from the other side of the door. “What’s your problem now? Lizzie was being polite—why didn’t you answer her? She’s just a kid! Why are you making this such a big deal?”

A kid?

I was only two years older than her! Why am I the only one who should tolerate everything?

Well, it was probably because Lizzie was his secretary—young, pretty, and conveniently always around him. Looking back, I should’ve noticed the signs earlier.

Recently, the two of them had grown closer. His late nights out and unexplained absences became more frequent.

Then one day, I stumbled upon their flirtatious text messages on his phone. That moment shattered any remaining illusion I had.

I quietly took screenshots of their conversations, saving them as evidence—for a future divorce, if it came to that.

Trying to justify himself, Dwight added, “Faye, you’re about to give birth. You shouldn't harbor negative emotions—for the baby’s sake.”

I glared in the door's direction, my eyes filled with a mix of anger and disillusionment.

In the past, I turned a blind eye to his behavior, sometimes arguing with him when I couldn’t take it anymore. But all that did was make me look like the bitter, nagging wife.

Now, I was done. This relationship was broken beyond repair, and I had no energy left to fight for it.

Later that night, I stepped out of the room to get some water, only to find Lizzie lounging on the couch in a revealing nightgown, exchanging flirtatious glances with Dwight.

When she saw me, she feigned politeness. “Good evening, Faye.”

Despite that, I ignored her entirely and went back to my room.

I assumed Dwight would stay in the guest room with her and not return to the master bedroom. But after the lights went out, I heard the soft creak of the door opening.

He tiptoed in and placed a cup of warm honey water on the nightstand. Then, his hand gently rested on my belly as he said in a low, tender voice, “Sorry for earlier, honey. I simply couldn't turn a blind eye when someone I knew needed a hand.”

I laughed at the absurdity of his words, bitterness clawing at my heart. “What about me? Have you considered what would I feel?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “You’re my wife, Faye. You’ll understand, won’t you?”

Before I could respond, a sharp knock interrupted us.

“Dwight, my showerhead isn’t working. Could you come take a look?” Lizzie’s soft, syrupy voice called from the other side of the door.

“Sure, I’ll be right there,” he said without a second thought.

Afterward, he left without another glance, leaving me alone in the dark.

That night, he didn’t return to our room. The guest room was right next to ours, and in the silence, I could hear faint sounds that pierced my heart like needles, one by one.

The next morning, Dwight left early for work, leaving just me and Lizzie in the house.

“Hey,” she began casually, a hint of mockery in her tone, “Giving birth must be really painful, huh?”