I Painted our Marriage, Cheating was His Masterpiece

I was a popular digital artist with millions of followers online. until my daughter was accused of plagiarizing a classmate’s painting. The bullying got so bad that she fell from the sixth floor and ended up in a coma.

When I went to her school to demand justice, someone secretly filmed me, twisted the story, and posted it online. Suddenly, I was branded as an artist who bullied a child. Some people have even accused my original works of plagiarizing other artists.

In the blink of an eye, the internet turned on me, harassing me relentlessly. Everyone told me that my daughter and I should just die.

Only my husband, Winslow Weinstein, stood by my side. He told me to stay at his family’s old villa in the countryside, away from the internet, to take care of our daughter and prove myself through my paintings.

My heart finally calmed. I gave up everything and moved to that quiet place, with my daughter and my paintbrushes as my company.

But when I took her back to the city for a checkup two years later, I saw something that shattered me.

On a giant screen downtown, my best friend was standing under the spotlight, accepting an international award—with my painting in her hand. And there, in the front row, clapping proudly for her… was my husband.

They had become a famous couple in the art industry, adored by the public.

In disbelief, I rushed to Winslow’s office, desperate for an explanation—only to hear breathy laughter and gasps from behind the door.

My best friend giggled and said, “Winslow… if you hadn’t given me those original sketches all those years ago, I’d never be where I am now. But what if your wife finds out? She might get mad. Oh, and about our son—he didn’t mean to bully her daughter. Who knew the girl would be so sensitive? It was just a few harsh words; she didn’t have to throw herself off a building.”

Winslow gave a quiet laugh, his tone lazy and unconcerned. “I never blamed her for secretly painting under some fake name online. She loves me too much to ever be mad at me. And as for Elora… Merry spoiled that girl herself.”

The more I listened, the colder I felt.

I had never imagined that the person who stole my art was the man I loved most and that the one who drove my daughter to jump was my best friend’s son!

Fighting back my tears, I dialed my foster brother’s number.

“Merry?” His familiar voice came through the phone. “What’s wrong?”

My voice trembled.

“Leroy… I want a divorce. Will you take me away?”

1

“Alright.” My foster brother paused. When he spoke again, there was something in his voice I couldn’t name. “I’ll help you get the divorce. But on one condition—after that, I want you to take Elora and live with me.”

I agreed without hesitation.

Every worry, softness, and naive hope I’d carried for years fell apart in that instant.

He told me he had already spoken to a lawyer. If everything went smoothly, the divorce papers could be ready by tomorrow. Once Winslow finished signing the papers, we would only need to wait seven days before our marriage would officially end.

The thought cut through me on the inside, but I didn’t regret my choice.

After hanging up, I quietly returned to my daughter’s hospital room.

Not long after, Winslow arrived, clearly after receiving a call. His shirt was crisp, his hair freshly combed, but I could still smell the faint sweetness of Erin’s perfume clinging to him.

I wanted to shout at him. I wanted to ask him why he had done it and why he had betrayed me.

But I couldn’t lose control. Not when I needed this divorce to end smoothly.

So I forced my voice to stay even. “Hey, when I came to the hospital, I saw Erin accepting an international award with one of my paintings under her name. Do you know what’s going on?”

“Merry, it’s all a misunderstanding. Let me explain.”

A flash of irritation crossed his face, but he quickly softened, grabbing my hand affectionately as if to soothe me.

Disgust quickly burned up my throat, and I couldn't help but shove his hand away.

“A misunderstanding? Two years ago, I was accused of plagiarism while everyone called her the real artist behind my work. Now, she’s stolen my paintings again, signed her name on them, and won an award. Everyone saw it happen. You still call that a misunderstanding?”

“I’ve made up my mind,” I said firmly. “I’m going to sue her. What she did was fraud.”

By then, the anger I’d been holding back broke through.

Winslow’s gaze darkened. He held my shoulders—not roughly, but his words were heavy.

“Merry, calm down. There’s no need to involve the courts. The name issue was an accident. The Rothwells were short on money back then. When Erin posted your paintings online, people simply assumed they were hers. That’s how she got those gallery invitations.”

“She was just blinded by greed back then, pretending to be you to make money,” he added. “But she’s your best friend, isn’t she? You wouldn’t mind something like that, right?”

I almost lost my shit. “Friend? Would a friend steal from me? Tell me the truth, Winslow. Two years ago, when Elora was accused of plagiarism… Was it Erin who did it?”

He looked at me in shock. “Of course not. You’re imagining things, sweetheart. What happened to Elora was just an unfortunate accident,” he denied in the most coaxing tone.

At that moment, the man standing before me felt like a stranger.

If I hadn’t clearly overheard every word he and Erin said in his office, I might have been fooled by his good-husband façade again.

Suddenly, the door opened a little. Erin stepped in, her eyes red and swollen. Her face was a picture of fragility.

She reached for my hand, saying, “Merry, I’m so sorry. You know I didn’t want this. My family was falling apart back then. I only took your painting because I was desperate for money. Please understand me. We’re best friends, aren’t we? I promise, I’ll clear things up later.”

Being betrayed on my face by my husband and my best friend left me too numb to speak.

“Talk it over like sisters,” Winslow said. Then, he excused himself to get some meds, leaving us alone.

The moment the door closed, Erin’s face quickly twisted into a smirk.

“Let’s stop pretending, Merry. You heard everything. Yes, I slept with your husband. Yes, I took your paintings. What are you going to do about it?”

“And your daughter’s painting? The one she was accused of copying? Your husband gave it to my son himself two years ago. That’s why everyone called your daughter a plagiarist.” She clicked her tongue. “Honestly, those kids at school weren’t wrong. Your daughter was a little slut who got what she deserved when she jumped.”

“Bitch!”

I didn’t want to respond to her provocation, but rage consumed me. I raised my hand and struck her across the face.

The sound echoed in the room, and the force made her stagger back.

She clutched her cheek, her eyes welling instantly. Suddenly, her voice turned small and aggrieved. “Merry, why would you hit me? I already apologized—”

The door suddenly burst open, and Winslow roared, “Merry! What the hell did you do?!”

He rushed back in and shoved me aside. “Erin already apologized! What more do you want?!”

The push sent me off balance. My hip hit the corner of the table hard, and I gasped at the sharp pain that shot through me.

“It wasn’t me!” I shouted back in defense. “It was her! She said those things about Elora. She called her—”

The filthy word stuck in my throat.

But Winslow didn’t care; he drew Erin into his arms, concern written all over his face until he turned to me.

“Merry, I’m warning you. Calm down before I lose my patience with you. You’re acting like a lunatic right now.”