The Trigger for Divorce: Her Lies and Betrayal

It was ten o'clock on the day of the wedding, and I was so excited that I hadn't slept a wink.

Early in the morning, I came across a photo on Instagram that my fiancée had posted, showing her lying in bed.

I recognized the other person in the photo—her childhood friend, Ethan.

The picture was beautifully taken, but it was clear that neither of them was wearing clothes under the sheer fabric.

I couldn't help but comment, "Great photo! Where did you take it? Not at a budget hotel for 188 dollars a night, I hope? Did you pay for it? Why not a five-star hotel? Is it because you don't like it?"

——

After posting my comments, I turned off my phone and tossed it aside, starting to sort through Sophie's things in our new home.

Her clothes filled the wardrobe, each piece designer, and the skincare products on her vanity were things I had brought back from abroad.

I pulled out a suitcase and swept all her belongings into it, treating it as if I were giving them away for free.

The reason Sophie felt bold enough to post that photo on Instagram just a day before our wedding was that she believed my unwavering devotion meant I wouldn't dare to call off the wedding—even after seeing her with another man.

She thought I would forgive her without hesitation because of how deeply I loved her, so much so that I had lost all sense of dignity.

But she seemed to forget that she once told me, "Kyle, even if I fool around with others, it will never be real. My first time will always be yours."

Yet in that photo, there were used condoms discarded on the floor behind her and Ethan.

First time? It seemed she had long since lost count of how many "first times" she'd had.

Suddenly, clarity struck me. If she and Ethan were so in love, then so be it.

There was no longer any need for this wedding.

At ten o'clock, I switched my phone back on.

Dozens of missed calls flooded in along with a barrage of messages from Sophie.

As soon as my phone booted up, she called, "Kyle, what's going on? It's ten o'clock and you're still not here for the wedding! Do you know how embarrassing this is for me?"

"You better prepare double the gift money; my bridesmaids are going to be furious. Do you even want to marry me anymore?"

"I put it on speakerphone, and you need to apologize to me first, and then to the bridesmaids."

In the past, I would have responded gently and complied with her demands.

But now, I didn't care anymore. I retorted sarcastically, "Married? Sophie? Are those hickeys on your neck going to disappear by today? You spent last night with Ethan. How many concealers will you need to cover those up?"

"Aren't you supposed to be an elegant lady from a prestigious family? How does partying with another man the night before your wedding fit that image?"

"Sophie, today's wedding is canceled."

She laughed coldly, "Oh, so you saw my Instagram? Is this your way of getting back at me on our wedding day? You've been watching too much TV."

"Kyle," she said sharply, "if my parents weren't forcing me to marry you, do you think I would? The one I love is Ethan. You may have my body but never my heart. Don't think you can use last night against me."

"I'm giving you one last chance. Get here by eleven or forget about this wedding." With that, she hung up.

I could imagine her fuming with her bridesmaids about how to deal with me when I arrived.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a new message.

It was a picture of Sophie sleeping in Ethan's arms. Although she was covered by a blanket, the hickeys on her neck and her blissful expression made it clear what had happened.

Ethan texted, "She's marrying you today, but last night was truly her wedding night."

I took a screenshot of Sophie's Instagram post along with Ethan's photo and shared them both on my own Instagram with the caption, "Wedding canceled; clearly childhood sweethearts are more suited for each other."

My phone immediately exploded with calls from friends and family asking what was going on.

With our wedding scheduled for noon and already being half an hour past ten o'clock, canceling at this point was no small matter.