I clutched my five-month-old daughter in my arms and held my six-year-old son’s hand tightly as we stumbled desperately through the freezing snow.
Faster, faster. Don’t look back.
My son’s voice trembled as he cried out, “Mom, we’ve been running all night. Where are we going?”
Snapping out of my daze, I lifted my gaze toward the upscale residential area in the distance. My chest tightened with hope. “Don’t be afraid, sweetie. We’re going home to find Dad. Once we find him, we won’t have to be scared of anything.”
My son nodded with childlike certainty. “Yes. Dad will definitely chase the bad guys away and then it won’t hurt anymore.”
The familiar front door stood right in front of us. I raised my hand urgently to knock—but my hand passed straight through the door.
——
Stunned, I gathered my children and guided them past the barrier, into the living room and then into the bedroom. That’s when I saw them. A man and a woman, entangled on the bed.
Instinctively, I covered my son’s eyes, but it was already too late.
“Mom,” he asked innocently, “who is that pretty lady? Why is Dad on top of her? Why is she screaming like that? Is Dad bullying her?”
I forced a trembling smile, though my chest felt like it was caving in. “No, Aiden. She’s just… playing around with Dad.”
My son reached up, his tiny hand brushing against the tears on my face. His wide eyes searched mine. “But Mom, why are you crying?”
I turned my head away, unable to meet his gaze.
Why was I crying?
Because in an instant, I had discovered the truth—that the man I had been married to for ten years was cheating on me.
Our relationship had been strained for a while, though I never knew the reason. Still, I kept fumbling for ways to hold us together. He had said he wanted a daughter, so despite my weak health, I gave him one. But even then, he often treated me with cold indifference.
Now I understood. He had found someone else.
I couldn’t bear to let the children watch this scene any longer, so I decided we would wait in the living room until it ended. After that, I would confront Freddie Tyler.
Just then, the movements on the bed stopped.
Freddie gathered the woman tenderly in his arms and she gazed up at him with a smile. “Husband, I’m hungry. I want to eat the porridge you make.”
A flicker of hesitation crossed his face and after a long pause, he murmured, “Alright.”
My feet froze where I stood.
So he truly doted on this woman.
Freddie hated cooking. He would rather order takeout—or even go hungry—than set foot in the kitchen. And yet, I knew better than anyone that he was an excellent cook.
Long ago, when we argued, he would wordlessly make me a delicious meal as a way of apologizing. But somewhere along the way, he had stopped cooking altogether.
Even when I was recovering after giving birth to our daughter, I begged him to make me lotus seed soup. He never once agreed.
And yet, with just a casual request from this woman, he obediently headed into the kitchen.
When he left, she propped herself lazily against the headboard and I finally saw her face clearly.
She was delicate and lovely, probably in her early twenties. Her slightly furrowed brows gave her an endearing look, soft and vulnerable.
I glanced down at my long black down jacket and felt an unfamiliar sting of shame.
Emma Collins, just look at yourself. You’ve known Freddie since childhood and you stopped bothering to dress up. You deserve this—you deserve to be cheated on.
Maybe this was the kind of woman he liked. Maybe if I tried, I could be like her again.
After all, before I married him, I had been even more pure and youthful than she was.
Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly noticed the woman pick up Freddie’s phone. She tapped a few buttons and easily unlocked it.
My stomach tightened.
How careless can he be? I thought bitterly. That phone contains important documents. How could he let her touch it so freely? What if she’s some kind of corporate spy, planning to steal trade secrets and ruin him?
