During our first year of marriage, my husband hired a nanny, supposedly to care for me during pregnancy.
On her first day, I caught her washing my husband’s underwear.
I felt awkward.
“Auntie Miles, you don’t need to wash my husband’s underwear.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Alright…”
A week later, I noticed her lingerie hanging on the balcony.
A month later, without warning, my husband began spending most nights studying.
I lay awake until dawn, night after night.
Finally, I decided to end the life growing inside me.
——
After dressing, I went downstairs.
At the dining table, Auntie Miles sat in my usual seat, laughing with Gregory Stanton. Their shoes touched beneath the table.
The air carried an unspoken, intimate tension.
My chest tightened at the sight, confirming my doubts. Perhaps from guilt, they quickly noticed me standing nearby.
He pulled away from her, a hint of unease in his movements.
Both looked startled.
After all, ever since I became pregnant, I never got up before nine. They had never seen me this early.
Auntie Miles rose and went to the kitchen, returning with a heated breakfast.
“Ms. Hayes, you haven’t had much appetite lately, so I made a light bowl of noodles and an egg. Simple food is good for the baby. Eat it while it’s hot.”
I sneered, glancing at the lavish spread before them.
“Seared foie gras, caviar, toast, eggs Benedict… So you eat like this every morning without me knowing?”
“Auntie Miles, this meal costs a day’s wages, doesn’t it?”
Charlotte Miles’s face paled. Her lips trembled, tears forming.
A woman in her late fifties could still look surprisingly delicate when wronged. Gregory dabbed at his mouth and frowned.
“Sylvia Hayes, why is the scene so early? She’s been through childbirth. She knows what’s good for you. Who are you directing your sarcasm at?”
Auntie Miles tugged his sleeve, murmuring, “Don’t be upset.”
Only then did I notice her outfit—elegant yet seductive, with a plunging neckline that revealed a hint of cleavage.
To an outsider, she could have been mistaken for the lady of the house.
And the man beside her could have been her younger, devoted husband.
Looking at him now, my sleepless night’s emotions surged, and my eyes burned.
We had survived struggles in school, at work, in different cities, and even with family.
We had weathered countless storms together.
I thought we would cherish each other forever.
But reality struck me like a slap.
Still, I clung to hope and asked in a hoarse voice, “Gregory, what if I don’t want to eat?”
His expression stayed calm, his eyes cold.
“Then go make something yourself. She’s an employee, not your servant. Drop your arrogance.”
He had been born poor, an orphan, and his pride was fierce.
I had always pitied his hardships, so when he got angry, I found ways to make peace—acting spoiled in his arms after feigned irritation.
I knew he was waiting for me to do the same.
But this time, I only met his gaze coldly before yanking off the tablecloth.
Clang—
The crash of porcelain filled the air, the wreckage on the floor like the aftermath of a storm.
