Craig's POV
At the gym, my fitness app sent me a new update from the electronic scale.
[Great job! Your body fat today is 18%. Current weight: 125 kilograms.]
I let out a bitter laugh and lowered my head, staring at the man I’d become, panting on the treadmill, forcing myself to lose weight because my wife found me disgusting.
When I finished working out, I stopped by the café downstairs from my wife’s office and ordered a cappuccino.
A young male intern brought the cup over. As he leaned down to place it on the table, a little plush keychain hanging from his phone swayed in front of me.
My wife, Willette Crawford, had one just like it. I’d even teased her once, asking since when she’d gotten into such girlish things. She just brushed me off, saying it was just a prize from some raffle and it would be too wasteful to throw away.
And in that instant, I decided I wanted a divorce.
——
“Hey, that’s a cute keychain,” I told the boy. “My wife has the exact same one.”
His face turned white. He froze for a second, then spun on his heel and hurried away.
For seven years, Willette had played the part of the perfect wife. Always home on time, never out all night, hardly any social gatherings. So I had never once thought to doubt her.
But now I knew the truth. She had hidden her boy toy right under my nose, just downstairs from her office.
I got up to leave, but just as I got in my car, I saw her rushing down the stairs.
The intern had already changed out of his café uniform. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, he looked young, almost boyish.
And without hesitation, Willette slipped her hand into his, their fingers lacing together so naturally that it made my stomach turn.
“Willette, your husband was just here,” the boy whispered, pressing close to her. “He said my keychain matches yours. Do you think he knows about us?”
Willette shook her head. “No. Don’t overthink it. He’s not that sharp. All he knows is how to cook, clean, and take care of our kid.”
The boy nodded and pulled her into his arms.
“Your husband’s a real creep, following you all the way to work like that.”
She rose on her toes to kiss him lightly.
“Jenson, I’m sorry you have to put up with this. If he weren’t so controlling, I wouldn’t need to make you work as a café boy just so we could see each other.”
With that, she tugged him toward the quick-stop hotel beside the café.
My hands gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.
Two whole hours later, I finally saw them emerge.
Willette leaned against Jenson Henry’s chest, her cheeks still flushed. He kissed her forehead with such tender affection that it made me sick.
So this was her so-called “routine”? Keeping her boy toy stationed right below her office, ready to meet her any time she wanted?
You were so clever, Willette.
You’d been lying to me all this time.
Once they left, I walked into the hotel and checked the security records.
Their names had been showing up there for a year.
The first booking dated back to March 15 last year.
The very same day, Willette returned to the workforce.
And the same day, I quit my job to stay home and take care of our child for her.
I drew in a deep breath, pocketed my phone, and drove home.
When I opened the door, there she was in the kitchen, wearing an apron, which was a rare sight. She poked her head out the moment she heard me.
“You’re back late,” she said with that same gentle smile she always wore. “Come sit down. I made your favorite pork ribs stew. After dinner, we can head to Mom’s to pick up Tad.”
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
It was my mother. Her voice was urgent as she urged, “Craig, your child’s running a high fever. His temperature is thirty-nine degrees! You need to come right away!”
I immediately looked at Willette. “Tad’s burning up. We need to get to Mom’s and take him to the hospital.”
We rushed out of the house and jumped into the car. But something unexpectedly happened halfway down the road.
