Once upon a time, his jokes and expressions had made me happy, but today they felt dull and meaningless.
His clumsy attempts to entertain me were nothing more than a façade to hide his cheating. The louder he tried to be, the clearer his mistakes became.
Silently, I pushed him away. I ignored the hurt that flickered in his eyes and told him to go shower.
As the sound of running water filled the air, I stared at his shadow through the frosted glass and made up my mind. Eventually, I typed out a message and sent it.
“Doctor, I’ve decided to proceed to terminate the pregnancy. Please help me schedule the procedure.”
The child I had once eagerly waited for so much was ultimately not destined to be with me. If I could not provide it with a loving, stable family, perhaps it was better for it not to be born.
Martin habitually began preparing his clothes for the next day, his voice calling out to me without stopping, “Wife, where’s my black tie?” then, “Wife, have you seen my white pants?”
Sighing, I entered the room and fetched the items he needed.
From behind, he wrapped his arms around me and planted kisses on the back of my neck.
The sound of his ragged breathing shot to her heart from her ear. It was like venom that made my whole-body shudder in revulsion.
“Wife, how would I even survive without you?” he seduced me. His hand wandered all over my body but when he turned me around to face him, his movements froze.
“Cathy William, why do you look so pale?” he asked. He looked at me with eyes full of love, they seemed genuine, not a trace of deception in there.
“You should come to the office with me tomorrow,” he added. “Or, I’d worried about your well-being.”
I shook my head without offering any explanation.
“Honey, are you still upset about … that incident?” he asked cautiously.
We both knew what he was talking about, though neither of us dared to address it directly.
“No,” I replied, my tone even. “Don’t overthink it.”
Forcing myself to suppress the revulsion, I patted his shoulder reassuringly.
Martin took the opportunity to act intimate with me, then walked into the bathroom to take a shower.
When I heard the sound of running water in the bathroom, I picked up his phone and unlocked it with ease. The password was still my birthday. He had not changed it.
The chat history was filled only with business matters. Unconsciously, I opened Jenna's Instagram account.
“Afternoon tea from the boss. Love it! It's so delicious.”
“On a business trip with the boss, he gifted me this necklace! I really love it!”
“Who else has a boss who gives six-figure birthday bonuses?”
Every post was about Martin. From Paris to Italy to Japan, they had traveled together, leaving a trail of picturesque memories at countless scenic spots. The girl in the photo smiled sweetly, with endless love in her eyes.
Though Martin was not in any of the photos, I knew. The one behind the camera was him.
A sharp pain pierced my chest as my gaze shifted to his briefcase. Quietly, I retrieved his backup phone from a hidden compartment. Luckily, the password was still my birthday.
The bitterness was unbearable, like swallowing bile. How could someone who claimed to love me so deeply still stray so far in our marriage?
I opened Jenna's chat. On the last conversation on the chat page, Jenna asked Martin, "Boss, after Cathy gives birth, will you still treat me this well?”
She added the text with a playful and coquettish selfie of hers.
Mark only replies with a simple. "Mm."
I couldn’t bear to scroll further. The moment the sound of the shower stopped, I quickly turned off the phone's screen and returned the spare phone to his briefcase.
He hugged me from behind and said the usual love words to coax and reassure me that he loved me.
However, gradually, my mind wandered.
Martin, when you say you love me, who are you really thinking of? When you look at me, whose face do you see?
In hindsight, I should’ve known that something was wrong when the first time I met Jenna. She was like a mirror image of me.
Back then, Martin had simply laughed it off and said it was a coincidence.
