Married for 8 Years, He Cheated on Me

In the eighth year of our marriage, my husband gave me ninety-nine roses.

Just as I stepped off the operating table, I made a phone call and calmly requested a divorce from him.

On the other end of the phone, his girlfriend apologized in a sobbing voice. "Ms. Quinton, it's all my fault for acting on my own. Please don't get angry with Mr. Quinton."

Henry gently comforted her for a long time and only said to me, "As you wish."

Then, half a month later, I met him again.

"Cook a bowl of noodles for me!"

Henry returned home in the early morning, but he did not see any meals for breakfast on the dining table as usual. He frowned unconsciously, gave me orders and walked to the bathroom.

When he came out of the bathroom with steam, I still watched the TV casually in the living room.

He took out a branded bag from his suitcase and said, "Look, do you like it?"

The pink bag seemed to be the favorite style of young girls.

In the past, he would coax me and take me to do anything I wanted to do. Now, he only relied on boring gifts to get by.

I was too lazy to take another look, so I switched the TV channel and asked him, "When do you have time to deal with our divorce?"

Henry was busy, so busy that he needed his female secretary to choose a gift for his wedding anniversary.

It was always me who had to cooperate with him in terms of working hours.

"Stop it, Jessica doesn't know you hate roses. I won't do it next time."

The man poured himself a small glass of whiskey and sat on the single sofa opposite, smiling.

Jessica Flynn was Henry's childhood sweetheart. She had adored him since she was a child. As soon as she graduated from a prestigious university, she rushed to be his personal secretary.

They were so close that they even stayed in the same suite when they went on business trips.

Actually, I did not blame Jessica for persistently following my husband.

A fly did not bite seamless eggs. If he did not give the opportunity, no woman could get close to him.

I yawned exaggeratedly and tears seeping out of the corners of my eyes unconsciously.

Henry thought that the matter was over after not hearing my reply for a long time. He asked his seven-years-old son's recent exam rankings. I shook my head and answered, "I don't know."

I did not mean to piss him off, deliberately not telling him. I really did not know.

The Quinton Family placed great emphasis on higher education for its family members. The boy was raised in the main house since he was in a young age and he was given various courses after coming home from school.

It was so funny to say that I was the one gave birth to that boy, but my time to meet him was only a handful of times. This was the reason why I had cried and made a fuss, but the Quinton Family did not care at all.

In their view, being able to marry into the Quinton Family was because of my ancestors' merits. As for the rest, it was pure delusion.

Henry pinched his high nose bridge and asked me to focus more on the child. "If this goes on, Jessica will be more like his mother than you."

I understood the meaning of his words.

Yesterday was Friday. It was the only day I was allowed to pick up my son from school.

I arrived an hour early, waiting until it was dark and the school gate was closed.

A few moments later, Jessica called me and informed me that Camilla Quinton, asked her to pick up my son and go back to the main house for having dinner.

On the other end of the phone, I heard Henry's voice.

He was asking Jessica with a soft voice if she wanted a bowl of soup.

Thinking back on all those scenes, I said to Henry with a fake smile, "That's just what you want. I'll leave right away. Let this so-called Ms. Quinton do it."

I did not know which word stabbed him, but he remained quiet for several seconds and suddenly became furious.

"There is a limit to my patience. Renata, stop making trouble," the man said as he stood up and took two steps.

I said indifferently, "Ah, by the way, I forgot to tell you that I had a miscarriage."