On our anniversary, the other woman sent me a picture. Her and my husband, Ethan, in bed together. Not long after, Ethan asked for a divorce. The reason? She was pregnant, and I hadn't given him any kids. What he didn't know was, he couldn't have kids. He was infertile. 1 Honestly, the signs that Ethan was cheating were obvious. I just hadn't wanted to see them. It started about six months ago. Ethan staying out late, coming home smelling like sickly sweet perfume. Lipstick marks deliberately left on the back of his neck, like a calling card. Whoever he was seeing wasn't afraid of me finding out. She was practically declaring war. I felt him pulling away. He became dismissive, responding to my ups and downs with nothing more than a tired sigh. "Ethan, what's going on with you?" I finally asked him one night. "We got through so much tough stuff together," I pressed, my voice trembling, tears welling up without permission. "Why won't you talk to me now when something's bothering you?" For the first time in what felt like forever, Ethan really looked at me. His lips moved, but no sound came out. After a long pause, like he'd made some heavy decision, he pulled me into a tight hug. His hand rested near my neck, and he murmured against my skin. "I'm sorry, honey. Work's just been insane. I'm just... tired." He held me tighter. "Tomorrow's our anniversary. Let me make it up to you, okay? Give me a chance to show you." I sighed internally but squeezed his hand back. I still believed he’d just lost his way for a bit. That eventually, when he came to his senses, he'd come back home to me. For our anniversary, he booked a table at a rooftop restaurant. The wind cut right through me that night. I watched the clock hands creep past midnight. Fireworks exploded in the distance, brilliant and loud. Then my phone buzzed. A text from him: "Cheers to 5 years with my amazing Ava. Here's to many more summers together." My whole body started shaking. When I came back to myself, I realized I was crumpled on the floor, tears streaming down my face. My palm stung – I’d clenched my fist so hard my nails dug in, drawing blood. My phone lay screen-up on the ground nearby. The man who was supposedly looking forward to our next anniversary was currently wrapped in someone else's arms, looking disgustingly cozy in the picture she’d sent. I knew it then. His future summers wouldn't include me. 2 I knew the girl. Chloe. She’d started at Ethan’s company about a year ago, and ever since, he hadn't stopped raving about her. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about her… I knew that look all too well. But I trusted him. We'd dated for two years, married for four. The initial spark had long since faded, worn down by the daily grind of bills and chores. I’d considered the possibility of the "seven-year itch," but I always firmly believed that no matter what, he’d end up back with me. "She's so great," I teased him once, only half-joking. "Aren't you even a little tempted?" Ethan got genuinely angry. He looked hurt, clamping down on his frustration, like he couldn't believe I'd doubt our connection. "The company doesn't need her that badly," he said stiffly. "If you don't like her, I'll fire her. Simple as that." Relief washed over me. I cupped his face, kissing him, trying to soothe his ego. "I was kidding! The company's just getting stable, we need good people. You can't just fire someone for no reason, what would everyone think?" Somehow, word still got out. The next time I dropped off lunch for Ethan, I felt eyes on me. People looked… weird. Before long, a young woman – Chloe – was kneeling in front of me in the hallway, hair disheveled, sobbing. "Ava, please, I swear I'm not trying to break you up! This is my first real job out of college, I need it! Please don't make him fire me!" Ethan looked furious too. Rumors flew around the office. Morale dipped. Obviously, firing her was off the table now. Instead, I ended up trending online. Hashtags like #GoldDiggerWife #JealousOfCampusBeauty. Apparently, I was the manipulative wife trying to ruin the reputation of some "college It-girl" to keep my husband's money. Ethan had to issue a public statement, blaming it on corporate sabotage from a rival company, just to quiet things down. But it was only surface calm. I knew people were whispering behind my back, telling Ethan he should divorce me. He shut down anyone who dared say it to his face. Leaning against him later, exhausted, he held me silently, stroking my hair. At that moment, my trust in him soared to an all-time high. But my gut told me this wasn't over. Not by a long shot. Chloe wouldn't just give up. 3 When did things really spiral out of control? It was probably the night Ethan came home reeking of booze, collapsing onto the sofa the second he walked in. I couldn't even remember how many times this had happened recently. He'd had stomach problems since college. Once the company started doing well, I nagged him constantly – avoid drinking whenever possible. He was groaning, clutching his stomach. I went to get his medication. When I came back, he was face down on a throw pillow. And there it was, bright red against his skin: a hickey. Something inside me snapped. I yanked him upright, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "Ethan. Who were you drinking with?" He waved me away, annoyed. "Business partners." It felt like tiny needles were drilling into my heart. The sharp pain made my nose sting. I grabbed his wrist as he reached for the glass of water I’d brought. I never expected him to shove me. Caught off guard, I stumbled back, hitting my head hard on the corner of the coffee table. Pain exploded, and suddenly, there was blood everywhere. "What the hell is wrong with you? Can you just leave me alone!" he yelled. Then he saw me, kneeling on the floor, hand pressed to my bleeding forehead. The alcohol haze seemed to evaporate instantly. He scrambled for the first-aid kit, hands shaking. Blood dripped onto my hand, onto the wedding ring he’d placed there years ago. A wave of desolation washed over me. He couldn't find anything to stop the bleeding and fumbled for his phone to call someone to take us to the ER. That’s when I saw his most recent texts. Pinned to the top. From her. Chloe. "Ethan, u home yet?" "Pretty cool drinking whatever u want w/o someone nagging, right? ;) " "My bday tomorrow! If u come, Chloe has a special little surprise for uuuu ?" Ethan swiped the messages away frantically, turning his back to me while he called for a ride. I laughed, a hollow, broken sound. Tears mixed with the blood streaming down my face. Chloe. Ethan. So intimate. 4 When I came to – or maybe just focused after the stitches – Ethan was beside me, holding my hand. His face was stubbled, haggard. "Ava, I'm so sorry, I..." I cut him off, reaching for my phone and dialing a friend, a private investigator. "Hey, Mark? Need you to check someone out for me. Chloe. Chloe Jenkins." (Let's give her a last name). Ethan’s bloodshot eyes widened in shock. He went deathly pale, his lips trembling. He looked like a cornered animal. He gripped my hand tighter, so tight I flinched. He probably didn't even realize his own strength. "Ethan, you're hurting me." Hearing my flat tone, the flicker of hope in his eyes died. He instantly loosened his grip, gently cradling my hand instead, rubbing it softly. "Honey, I messed up. I swear, it'll never happen again. Please, just forgive me this once, okay? Please?" I'd rarely seen him this pathetic. When we were young, he was the confident, ambitious guy everyone looked up to. After we got married, he was the mature, gentle husband. This desperate man begging for forgiveness… the image flickered, overlaying the face I knew, then separating again. I realized, with a sickening clarity, that I was the only one who hadn't changed. The man I knew, the man I loved, had been twisted by time into someone I barely recognized. I pushed my phone into his hand, leaning back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted. "Ethan," I said, my voice weary. "I'm just curious about her. Could you have Mark check her out for me? Please?" His hand, holding my phone, wouldn't stop shaking. Finally, after a long, searching look, he relayed the message to Mark over the phone. I’d actually done some digging on Chloe before. She wasn't nearly as innocent as she pretended. Just a little prodding revealed she'd hooked up with quite a few powerful men. Using Ethan’s phone, I sent her a message, inviting her over to our house next week. "Seriously, Ethan?? You're finally taking me home? Won't Ava be pissed?" she texted back immediately. I didn't reply. Ethan looked tortured, covering the phone screen with his hand as if he couldn't bear it. He buried his face against my side, a silent plea. I just stroked his hair gently. Don't worry, I thought grimly. The real fun hasn't even started yet.
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