Clarissa's POV
But before Shirley could approach, Alfie stopped her with a sharp tone. “No need. Whoever breaks it should clean it up. I’ve spoiled her too much these past few years.”
A chill spread through me then.
Before, he told me that after we got married, I wouldn’t have to lift a finger—he would take care of everything. He said I married him to be happy.
But ever since Shirley started working for him, everything changed.
He came home later and later. When company parties ended late, he would even drive her home personally.
At first, he told me he just felt bad for her—said she was a young girl trying to make it on her own. But their conversations stretched later and later into the night.
One time, I asked what they were talking about.
But he simply replied, "Work."
I never doubted my love for him. I never thought I had to.
But love can change in an instant. The night he left me—newly pregnant and sick—to be with Shirley, everything fell apart.
While I spent the night throwing up, unable to reach him, he was by her side.
Now, as he gestured toward the mess on the floor, his voice was filled with irritation. “Shirley is staying here tonight. Clean up quietly. Don’t wake her.”
His furrowed brow made it seem like I had created this mess on purpose.
Then, he led Shirley to the guest room.
At the doorway, she leaned up to kiss him—fully aware I was watching. Her eyes met mine, smug and taunting.
A wave of nausea twisted in my stomach. I didn’t even want to imagine how many times they had done this behind my back.
In the end, I didn’t clean up. I just sat on the couch, staring blankly into the darkness for half the night.
At some point, Alfie came back into the living room. He sighed, crouched down, and started picking up the broken lampshards one by one. Then, he knelt in front of me and spoke softly, “You really think I’d make you clean this up?”
He gave me a look as if I were being difficult. “Shirley was eating with us for the first time. No matter what, you should have given me some respect as your husband. If word gets out, do you know how embarrassing that is for me?”
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.
His chest and back were covered in faint red scratch marks—marks that weren’t from me.
He didn’t even try to hide them. Because in his eyes, I was just a blind woman. Someone he didn’t have to answer to.
“Don’t be upset,” he said, inching closer. “It’s bad for the baby.”
The scent of Shirley’s perfume clung to his skin, making my stomach churn.
His hands, the same ones that had just been on her, reached out to touch my face.
Disgust and rage surged through me. I shoved him away and fell to my knees, retching into the trash can.
Meanwhile, Alfie stumbled back, startled. He hesitated for a moment, then took a step forward—but soon stopped with a distaste in his face.
“I’ll get you some water,” he muttered before turning and walking off.
I threw up until there was nothing left inside me, gripping the edge of the trash can for support.
When I finally stood up, I watched his retreating figure—his hurried steps, his obvious need to get away from me—and I laughed bitterly.
He used to be different.
One year, at a company New Year’s party, I got drunk. He stayed up all night taking care of me, cleaning up after me without a single complaint.
Back then, he cared. Back then, he loved me.
Now, he didn’t. And it couldn’t be more obvious.
I closed my eyes, willing those painful memories away.
From now on, no matter what Alfie did, it wouldn’t matter to me anymore.
I walked straight to my vanity and opened a small box. Inside were two small dolls, their fabric scorched and ruined by fire.
The night I saved him, these were in his hands. Even when he was on the verge of death, he smiled and said, “Love, these are the lucky dolls you painstakingly got two years ago. I found them again. One for you, one for me. That way, we’ll never be apart.”
Back then, those words moved me to tears.
Now, they were nothing but a cruel joke.
