She spoke with a lightness of voice, her gaze serene. Yet my heart sank and my fingers couldn’t help but clench the quilt.
No. 9 Middle School? She transferred last year?
But Diego had clearly said it was when Emily picked up the child that she ate potato chips in his car, leaving crumbs behind.
A chill ran up from the soles of my feet, so cold that my breath was stifled.
I forced a smile and nodded lightly. “Oh, I see. That makes things so much easier.”
My voice remained composed, but inside, a storm was brewing.
So that dream was real. Diego had truly cheated on me.
The next day, Diego returned.
As soon as he entered, he quickly walked over to the bed, his tone filled with nervousness.
“Flavia, are you feeling better? The doctor said your constitution is weak and you need to nourish yourself properly.”
As he spoke, he set down several large bags filled with my favorite fruits and tonics, plus a limited-edition silk scarf.
“You glanced at it a few times last time we were at the mall? I remembered and went out of my way to buy it today.”
At that moment, my heart skipped a beat.
He was still the same as before—attentive to every detail, remembering all my preferences and keeping me dear in his heart.
After dinner, he took the initiative to cook, preparing my favorite pork rib soup while reminding me to limit my phone use and get to bed early.
Yet inside, my emotions were churning violently.
Later that night, he went to shower and casually dropped his phone on the bedside table.
I stared at that phone. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my mouth.
In the end, I reached out and picked it up. The passcode was still my birthday.
The screen lit up, revealing a wallpaper of our beach trip. I leaned into Diego’s arms, laughing heartily. He looked down at me, his eyes melting with tenderness.
My fingers trembled as I opened WhatsApp and scrolled through the chat history. There were no flirtatious exchanges and no secrets. Every conversation was clean and innocent.
M-Banking, PayPal and even payment records were filled with purchases for me.
My doubts about him have almost disappeared.
Until I opened TikTok.
A chat box named ‘Don’t Eat Cilantro’ suddenly appeared in the message list.
Opening it revealed pages of densely packed messages.
[Honey, I miss you.]
[You’re so annoying. You were so rough last night, I’m still sore all over.]
The words on the screen stabbed into my eyes, one by one.
What shocked me even more was that Diego, who was always sparing with his words and cold as ice to outsiders, was patient and tender with her, unlike his usual self.
[Silly girl, are you still lazing in bed?]
[Be good, if you’re sore, don’t move around. Remember to apply the ointment.]
[I’ll make it up to you next time, okay? Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.]
Every word was saturated with affection, as tender as coaxing a little girl.
My fingers froze on the screen as suffocating pain churned in my chest.
I clicked back to the TikTok profile of the person who didn’t eat cilantro.
Her posts were all about daily life, yet every one carried trace of intimacy.
A blurry back view showed a man’s broad, familiar shoulders. The watch on his cuff was identical to Diego’s.
A late-night short video showed two sets of bowls and cutlery on the table, with the caption. [Thanks for the midnight snack, Honey.]
And the latest update featured a long, strong hand fastening a necklace around her neck.
The caption read: [The most excellent luck of my life is meeting you.]
My palms were drenched in cold sweat as I clutched the phone.
Diego, the man everyone hailed as “the perfect husband,” wore a mask of cold detachment in public yet showed me quiet consideration and restraint. However, he had shed all reserve with this woman, revealing nothing but unbridled passion and devotion.
