But perhaps he forgot—I had already given up on the Raymond Family the year my father had an affair and my mother, in her depression, threw herself off a building.
I married Frans simply because I loved him. And now that I don’t anymore, there’s nothing left that I can’t walk away from. Just then, a friend messaged me.
“Wait… isn’t this your house? Who’s that woman?”
Attached was a tweet. I clicked the link. The photo was unmistakably taken inside my home—familiar backdrop, the dining table, dim lighting casting long shadows. The close-up showed a man’s hand on a mouse, veins prominent, the scene imbued with an unmistakable intimacy.
The caption read: [Nothing better than friends and dreams! PS: Frans’s fried eggs were a little burnt, but he’s improving~ hahaha~”]
The tweet was from Zaney. Posted just half an hour ago. The account was clearly her burner—no more than a handful of posts. I had never seen it before. Her main account had hundreds of thousands of fans. But this? This one was meant to be low-profile, meant for someone specific. Apparently, Frans wasn’t just willing to stay up all night with her. He even got up early to make breakfast.
I could only imagine how perfect this night had been for him. And if I hadn’t been in the picture, it probably would’ve been even better. I sent a screenshot to my friend, typing calmly.
[No idea. I’ll ask him.]
Then, without hesitation, I forwarded the post—along with our chat log—to Frans. He always cared about his public image. I wondered how he'd react to this. Half an hour later, his name lit up my screen again. I answered.
His voice was low, strained, tired.
“Where are you?”
“Does it matter?”
He let out a slow, weary sigh. “Sheryl… Zaney didn’t mean anything by it. She just wanted to share her life. That’s why she used a small account. She forgot to disable the contact recommendations.”
“I’ve already asked her to take it down.”
“Do you really have to jump to conclusions like this?”
I wiped the tears from my face. Then laughed. Cold. Bitter. Empty.
“Frans… the woman who spent the night with you wasn’t me.”
“If you really believe that was just two friends sharing a moment, then I sincerely hope you enjoy the life you’ve chosen.”
I ended the call. This time, I didn’t just hang up. I blocked him.
***
That afternoon, I sat quietly in a hospital waiting room, clutching a slip of paper. The doctor had said the procedure was simple. But it would be better to have someone accompany me.
I stared at the wall and realized, I couldn’t even think of a single person I could ask.
“Sheryl?” a voice called from behind me.
I turned. The man in the white coat was tall, strikingly handsome. Surprise lit up his face, along with a bright, unmistakable smile.
It took me a second, then the name came back.
“Harry Klein?”
He laughed. “It’s me! Long time no see! I’m working here now. Are you… feeling unwell?”
He still carried that dazzling energy—like when he used to be the captain of the varsity team and student council president. Everyone had adored him. Everyone except Frans. They never got along. One the school prince, the other a rebellious storm. Two different kinds of brilliance, clashing.
Back then, Harry didn’t pay me much attention. But now, seeing him again, I felt a flicker of warmth.
I nodded and said casually, “I’m pregnant. Here to get rid of it.”
His smile disappeared instantly. “Why?” His voice was tense. “Is Frans… not treating you well?”
So he knew I married him.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Harry lowered his gaze, jaw tightening. He looked genuinely upset. I didn’t know why he cared this much, but it warmed something in me.
I patted his shoulder, trying to defuse the tension. “Anyway, now that I know you’re still in Jiangcheng, let me treat you to a meal sometime.”
As I pulled out my phone to exchange contacts, he hesitated—then said softly,
“Actually… I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“It’s just… you never replied.”
