After Three Years of Marriage, My Husband Cheated

In the third year of our marriage, Harold Gray found himself a lover. He fought against his entire family for her, even leaving the Gray family behind to build his own business from scratch. People said he’d lost his mind, but he simply took a drag from his cigarette, gazing into the night sky with a faint smile. “Ashley is my life. If I lose her, what does it matter if I have everything else?”

Then he turned to me, his eyes searching. “What do you think, Sara?”

I felt the weight of his words as I quietly walked away. But suddenly, he panicked, grabbing my arm and forcing a cigarette into my hand.

“Sara, the old me is gone. I’m giving you this new life of mine.”

I coughed, the smoke choking me, making me feel sick to my stomach. It’s just a worthless life, I thought. There’s no need to pretend it’s something valuable.

——

Harold later introduced me to his new lover. Her name is Ashley Evans—a top student from Oxford University, both adorable, with an innocent smile. Her dimples are like glasses of fine wine, so intoxicating that they make you forget yourself when you look at her.

She really is stunning.

So when Harold told me she’d be staying by his side from now on, I wasn’t surprised.

But I never expected that he wouldn’t divorce me. Instead, Ashley would move in, and the three of us would live together. I laughed out of sheer disbelief.

"I don't have such poor taste," I said.

Harold’s voice turned icy. "Sara, this family isn’t for you to control."

Of course, he was right. I was raised by the Gray family, and if it hadn’t been for the engagement arranged when we were children, I wouldn’t have been standing here now, in front of Harold. Over the years, the Walter family had fallen into decline, and the Gray family had more than kept their promise. I was supposed to be grateful—to behave properly.

So, I smiled and nodded. "Then what more is expected of me?"

Harold suddenly smashed the vase next to him, sending shards flying across the floor. "Why are you being so sarcastic? I made it clear when I married you—it was just to deal with my older brother."

"For three years, you’ve shamelessly clung to me, never once thinking of leaving. Isn’t it only fair that you step aside now that I’ve found someone?"

So, that was it. They wanted me to move out and give them the space to be together.

I said, "This isn't something we can decide on our own. Go talk to my older brother. If he agrees, I'll move."

I turned to leave, but Harold suddenly yelled, "Are you out of your mind?"

His words jolted me back to reality. As I took a step, I realized a shard of glass had pierced through my shoe and embedded itself into my foot. The blood was bright red, but I barely noticed.

"Get it bandaged," he said.

I almost thanked him.

Then he added, "And don’t mention this to my brother. I don’t want to deal with him."

I bit back the pain and replied, "Okay."

As we headed upstairs, Ashley spoke up, her voice filled with confusion. "Mr. Li, didn’t you say your wife was lifeless? But she seems so strong and resilient to me."

"Why is she acting so strange? I studied psychology, and this looks like a classic case of someone oppressed and silently enduring humiliation. Has she suffered in the Gray family all these years? Have you treated her poorly?"

Harold’s voice tightened, his anger barely contained. "She’s just being dramatic. She’s been like this ever since she lost the baby. It’s pathetic. All she does is mope around half-dead, and it’s sickening."

The child—our first and only—belonged to Harold and me. But Harold never wanted to marry me. He was forced into it, pressured by his elder brother, Anton.

In the second year of our marriage, Anton Gray, frustrated by Harold's reckless behavior, demanded that he have a child to settle down. One night, after drinking heavily, he stormed into my bedroom, pulling off his tie without a word.

I tried to stop him, saying, "I can handle your brother; we don’t have to force this."

But Harold just looked at me, his voice filled with bitterness. "The biggest compromise of my life was marrying you."

That night was my first time—and our first time together. The experience was far from pleasant. The process was rough, and the outcome was just as bad. I was tossed and turned all night, yet I didn’t conceive.

Then it kept happening—over and over again, whenever his mood struck. Sometimes it was in the living room, other times in the kitchen, or even in places separated by a wall from where guests sat.

Each time, he would say, "Sara, you have no right to feel ashamed. You already did the most shameless thing—marrying me."

With every incident, my heart grew colder and colder.

Fortunately, not long after, I became pregnant.

Then one day, by pure chance, I fell down the stairs. As searing pain gripped my lower abdomen, and I felt myself slipping closer to death, I saw Harold standing nearby—cold, distant, and unmoved.

He hadn’t pushed me, but he was there, watching. If he had just reached out—if he’d even made the slightest effort to help—I could have caught my balance, grabbed the railing, and avoided the fall.

But he didn’t.

At that moment, my heart died for him.

I once thought that Harold and I would continue like this, living out our days in a twisted coexistence, hating each other until old age finally took us.

But that was clearly impossible.

I took a deep breath, resigning myself.

Forget it. Who cares about the recklessness of youth or the chaos it brings?