A flurry of kisses landed along the hollow of my neck.
My whole body went rigid, but I didn't push him away—I let him pretend, let him pour out his false tenderness.
"There's still a few things to wrap up. I need to be there," I murmured.
There was no real need to go on a business trip. I only wanted to stop seeing Raymond for a while.
He undid the buttons of my blouse with a hand that was both impatient and practiced.
"Maddy." His voice was hoarse. "Hold me tight."
He wanted me. He wanted to pin my hands above my head like he always did. I didn't speak; I pulled my hands free instead, stiff and careful.
He sensed something was wrong and opened his eyes.
"Maddy, are you still angry?" he asked.
As I stayed silent, he sank to one knee like he was reciting some ritual, suddenly solemn, and took a small box from behind his back.
"Bought you something new. See if you like it."
Inside was a simple white dress. The sight of it turned my stomach with a deep-seated disgust; everything about it felt fake. I set the box aside.
"Raymond," I said, steady. "Let's get a divorce."
His phone buzzed at that moment, several messages flooding in. He glanced down without thinking, and his face softened, full of the kind of indulgence he'd never shown toward me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the contact name: "Dory." He was exchanging cheerful, intimate messages as if they'd known each other forever.
Only after he finished reading did he look up.
"Hmm? What did you say just now?"
It hit me like a punch into cotton. On his phone's lock screen was the video of Dorothy in that red dress, dancing. Whenever he saw that image, his expression went slack with adoration — an expression I had never once received from him.
...
When that girl, Dorothy, showed up holding a pregnancy test, I didn't hesitate. I slapped her across the face.
She hadn't expected it. She screamed and clawed at me.
"You bitch, Madeline! How dare you hit me? Wait until Raymond finds out—he won't let you get away with this!"
Hearing the commotion, Raymond barreled in, face suddenly ashen. He saw me gripping Dorothy's hair, forcing her against the wall.
"Madeline!" he barked, desperate, and yanked me back.
Rather than anger, a strange amusement spread across my face as I turned to him. "Hubby, this girl is a fraud—she's saying she's pregnant with your child. How could that be? For the money she once took, I'll teach her a lesson."
I swung my fist toward her stomach, but someone grabbed my wrist midair.
"Don't make a scene, Madeline." Raymond rubbed his temples, annoyed.
"You're stopping me?" I scoffed. Image was everything to him, his every posture calibrated for public display. This was the first time he'd stopped me without caring who watched.
"Raymond, what do you mean?" I pressed. "Is she telling the truth? Is that child really yours?"
I expected him to stutter, to invent a dozen excuses. Instead, he looked at me and frankly admitted it.
"Yes." He held my gaze. "The child is mine."
I threw the hardest, angriest slap I had left at his face. He didn't flinch; the handprint burned on his cheek, and for a long moment he didn't turn back toward me.
"Maddy—the night was a mistake." His voice was low and pained. "I thought she was you."
He swallowed and tried to explain, as if that made the betrayal smaller. "But the doctor said she can't terminate the pregnancy. If she aborts, she may never be able to have children again. I can't do that to her."
The words landed like another blow. He could find compassion for a stranger but not for me.
