Ten years. Ten years of living in a different city—a different world—from my husband, and we still couldn’t have the one thing we wanted most: a child. To finally make my husband's long-held dream of being a father come true, I did the unthinkable. At the absolute peak of my career, I quit. I walked away from it all to come home, to him. But the moment I pushed open the door to our house, a seven-year-old boy, a miniature version of my husband, came laughing and barreling out into the hall. My heart stopped. I grabbed the arm of the cleaning lady who was passing by, my voice tight. "Excuse me, is this the Walker residence? Eric Walker's house?" "It is," she said, her eyes flicking to the gifts in my hands. "I hear his wife bought him the house. Everyone on the block knows it." She smiled warmly. "Are you here for the party? They're celebrating some good news." 1. My eyes drifted past her to the backyard, where I saw a woman with a swollen, pregnant belly. The little boy who looked so much like Eric ran laughing toward her. In a flash, Eric’s face tightened with alarm and he lunged forward. Just as the boy was about to collide with the woman, Eric threw out his arms, catching his reckless son. "Leo, you're about to be a big brother, and you're still acting like this? What if you'd hurt your mom and the baby?" The boy made a face, grinning. "But I want a little sister." Eric ruffled his son’s hair, the affection in his eyes so thick it practically spilled over. Eric’s parents hurried over, gently scolding the boy. "You can't be so rough from now on, sweetie. You could have caused a terrible accident." I stood frozen, watching this perfect picture of a happy family, and the cold truth finally dawned on me. They all knew. They all knew about this little family, and I was the only one left in the dark. But… every time I came home, he was always so passionate, as if we were newlyweds. He’d hold me until dawn, whispering how much he’d missed me. Because of that, even after eight years without a child, I never questioned us. I never once doubted his love. Before I boarded my flight, I’d texted him that I had a surprise. He’d replied, “Can’t wait.” That was only a few hours ago. How could everything have changed so completely? My gaze found Eric. His eyes scanned my face for a long moment before landing on the gift box still clutched in my hand. His voice was a raw, barely audible rasp. "What are you doing back?" He saw me staring at the pregnant woman beside him and quickly dropped the hand that had been resting on her waist. Suddenly, all the small, ignored details from our eight-year marriage exploded in my mind. The way he’d always cut our video calls short, blaming a bad connection. The gifts I’d sent home, always returned with the excuse that "the storage closets are full." The way he’d shot down my idea to take a vacation last month, insisting that "work is just too crazy right now." "A surprise," I said, my lips pulling into a grim parody of a smile. My throat felt like sandpaper. "Weren't you the one who said you couldn't wait?" The woman took half a step forward, subtly positioning herself in front of him. "Excuse me, do we know each other?" I ignored her, my eyes glued to Eric’s face. "Aren't you going to introduce us?" Eric snapped out of his trance, forcing a brittle smile. "This is Claire," he said. "The mother of my children." He then gestured toward me, and for a split second, he hesitated. I didn't give him the chance to lie. I held out my hand. "I'm Mia. Eric's wife." Claire didn't move. My hand hung there, stiff and awkward in the cold air between us. The color drained from Eric’s face. He tugged at Claire's sleeve. "Mom, Dad, why don't you take Leo inside?" Claire gave me a long, meaningful look as Eric's parents quickly ushered the boy away, their coaxing voices fading into the house. Once they were gone, Eric's entire demeanor shifted. His eyes reddened, and his face crumpled with a look of profound betrayal. "Why would you just show up like this? Are you checking up on me?" I held myself together, my voice miraculously steady. "I quit my job." Eric’s head snapped up. "What?" I knew exactly what that "what" meant. My salary, earned from years of grinding away overseas, was more than enough to support his entire family in luxury. My quitting meant that lavish lifestyle was over. It meant the gravy train had come to a screeching halt. I had given up years of progress, my entire network, to come back and start from scratch. For years, he’d grown accustomed to a life of ease funded by my hard work. Now, facing a sudden fall from that paradise, he couldn't handle it. "You always said I didn't spend enough time with you," I said, the words tasting like ash. "So I quit. I gave up everything over there because I thought we could finally start our life together, for real." "I wanted to tell you the good news in person, so I came straight from the airport with your gifts." It was as if he was only just now noticing the pile of shopping bags at my feet. I had rushed here, not even stopping for a sip of water, and my clothes were damp with sweat. He beckoned to a housekeeper I didn't recognize, a flicker of guilt in his voice. "Could you help take these gifts inside? And show… show this lady to a guest room." He turned back to me, avoiding my eyes. "I'm taking Claire for a check-up. Just tell the housekeeper what you want for dinner." And with that, he guided Claire out the door, as if this whole catastrophic reveal had never happened. As if he owed me, his actual wife, no explanation at all. I watched them go, a lump forming in my throat. This was my house. He was my husband. Those were my in-laws. But here I was, being sent to a guest room. An intruder in my own home. I couldn't help but wonder… if our baby had survived all those years ago, would our family have been this happy, this whole? 2. Getting married to Eric had been a dream. Everything was so easy, so perfect. From meeting his parents to the engagement party, they had always looked at me with such genuine approval, telling everyone how lucky their son was to have found such a hardworking, dedicated woman. I still remember my first time at their house. Eric’s father, after three glasses of whiskey, had clapped me on the shoulder and boomed, "Mia, you marrying our Eric means you're our daughter now. We'll treat you like our own." Back then, Eric was always by my side, his eyes filled with a nervous energy as he’d try to block me from drinking too much, secretly squeezing my hand under the table and mouthing, "Take it easy." He told me he loved quiet, peaceful places, so I took all my savings and bought this sprawling house, a place worth millions. Eric was ecstatic. He insisted on decorating it exactly how I liked. I didn't really care about the details, so I let him have free rein. But he involved me in everything. He ran around tirelessly, picking out deep blue curtains because he knew it was my favorite color, insisting on a durable gray couch, and even choosing the wedding photo for the main wall—the one where he said I had the goofiest, most beautiful smile. "This is our home now," he’d said, his fingers tracing the edge of the picture frame, his eyes shining. "Once you're settled in your job overseas, I'll come join you." But when I finally secured a permanent contract with the company, he changed his tune. "My parents are getting older, Mia. If I leave, there'll be no one to look after them," he’d said over a crackling phone line. "Besides, I just got promoted to department head. It's a terrible time to quit. Just wait a little longer. I'll come over as soon as I finish this big project." And I believed him. I used to think that distance was no match for love, that as long as our hearts were connected, we could overcome anything. I threw myself into my work, sending him the majority of my paycheck so he could buy supplements for his parents and nice clothes for himself. Every time he received the money, he'd laugh and say, "It's more than enough," but then a package would arrive at my apartment with cured sausages from our hometown. "Don't you dare neglect yourself out there," the note would read. Thinking back on it now, maybe he wasn’t the one who made them. Just like his "bad connection" during our video calls was probably just an excuse to hide the sound of a crying baby. And the gifts I sent, returned because the "storage closets are full," weren't full at all—he just didn’t want another woman’s belongings in his house. Even every rushed "I miss you" might not have been born from longing, but from a desperate need to cover something up. I stood in the living room of my own house, staring at the large family portrait hanging on the wall. Eric was leaning against Claire, and their son, Leo, sat between them. All three were smiling, their happiness a blinding glare. The frame holding the picture was the birthday gift I had sent him last year. He'd told me it was "too expensive, too precious to use." It wasn’t that he couldn’t bear to use it. He just didn’t want a gift from me hanging in their home. Footsteps echoed on the stairs. Eric’s mother came down carrying a platter of fruit, her smile strained. "Mia, dear, have some fruit. It's all your old favorites." I didn’t move. I looked her straight in the eye. "Leo… is he Eric's son?" I wasn't blind. I knew the answer. But a weak, cowardly part of me still wanted to believe that all those beautiful memories weren't just a carefully constructed lie, a performance put on by his entire family just for me. Her hand trembled, and a grape rolled off the plate, tumbling onto the floor. She scrambled to pick it up, her voice muffled. "The children… they're both very well-behaved…" I closed my eyes. "He's seven." The pain was like a fist squeezing my heart. "That means he was born the year after I went abroad." She froze, her head snapping up. The panic in her eyes was impossible to hide. "Mia, let me explain…" "Explain what?" I laughed, a tight, strangled sound. "Explain how your entire family lied to me for eight years while I worked myself to the bone, sending my money back like an idiot to support another woman's husband and child? Or explain who he was thinking of every time I came home and he held me, telling me he loved me?" Eric’s father emerged from his study and pulled his wife behind him, his face stern. "Mia, it's too late for all that now. Eric can't live like this anymore. You two… you should just get a divorce." "A divorce?" I repeated the word, a bitter taste in my mouth. I suddenly remembered my wedding day, eight years ago, when this same man had stood before me, smiling, and said, "You take good care of my boy." How could a heart change so much in just eight years? "Claire was Eric’s high school sweetheart," his father said with a sigh, his tone laced with a bizarre sort of sympathy. "After you went abroad, Eric was all alone, and he went through a lot. Claire was the one who was there for him. They… they couldn’t help it." Couldn't help it? And what about me? All my struggles abroad, all the sleepless nights, all the days and years I spent counting down until I could come home—what was all that for? I snatched a fruit knife from the table, not to hurt anyone, but just to have something solid to grip. The cold steel bit into my palm, but it did nothing to quell the fire raging inside me. Just then, the sound of a car engine cut through the silence from the garden. Eric and Claire were back. 3. They walked into the living room, and Claire’s face went white when she saw the knife in my hand. "Mia, what are you doing?" Eric immediately stepped in front of her, his brow furrowed. "Let's just talk, okay? Don't scare Claire." "Scare her?" I looked at her swollen belly, and the whole scene felt like a twisted, surreal nightmare. "Don't you think I'm the one who should be scared?" I turned my glare back to him. "Eric, tell me, in all these eight years, was there ever a single second you felt even a shred of guilt?" He bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes. "I'm sorry…" "And that's it? 'Sorry' makes it all go away?" I slammed the knife down on the coffee table. The sharp clang echoed in the tense silence. "I quit my job, threw away my future, and came back to build a home with you, only to find out you've been playing house with someone else for eight years! What did you take me for, Eric?" Leo came running down the stairs, saw the knife, and burst into tears, throwing himself into Eric’s arms and crying for his mom. Eric hugged the boy, his back to me, his shoulders shaking as he gently patted his son's back. Claire walked over and slid a document in front of me. "There's a saying, Mia. The one who isn't loved is the third wheel. This is a divorce agreement. Let's just end this gracefully." I didn’t even glance at the papers. My eyes were fixed on Eric's back. He never turned around. So those nights that felt like a second honeymoon were just an act. That "can't wait" text was probably meant for Claire, sent to me by mistake. I was a clown, performing in his twisted play for eight years, only realizing I'd been written out of the script when I finally pushed open the door myself. The gift box I’d been holding had fallen to the floor at some point. The necklace inside had spilled out, its diamonds catching the light with a cold, indifferent sparkle. I had gone to three different jewelers to find it, a piece that was supposed to bring good luck. I heard the sound of paper being ripped, followed by what sounded like a slap. Then came Eric’s broken, desperate cry. "Who said anything about a divorce? Since when do you get to make decisions in this house?!" He screamed my name, his voice thick with tears. I felt dazed, turning and walking toward the door, leaving the wreckage behind me. Some debts can't be settled with a simple "I'm sorry." And some homes, once shattered, can never be put back together. 4. I went to my mom's house. I’d been away for so long that my rare visits home were mostly spent with Eric. My parents, always so understanding, would tell me, "You have so little time. Of course you should be with your husband." Looking at the gray that now peppered their hair, I was struck by the sudden, painful realization that I had been a terrible daughter. I had poured all my money, my love, and my energy into Eric and my career, rarely sparing a thought for them. I tried to pull myself together, to act like nothing was wrong. But my mom saw through it instantly. "Did you and Eric have a fight? You haven't been home in so long, honey. Why would you argue now?" she murmured, her brow furrowed with worry. "Men have their pride. Don't be too hard on him. It hasn't been easy for him either, waiting all these years." My dad came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. "Alright, let her be. The girl just got home. Let's have a nice meal, get some rest. Whatever it is, it can wait." He looked at me, his eyes soft. "She's tired and hungry. Don't pester her." Their gentle words were the final straw. The dam inside me broke. As I served myself rice, tears began to fall, one after another, splashing onto the table. Dinner was silent after that. Neither of them asked another question. They just kept quietly placing more food on my plate. That night, lying in my old bed, I could hear them talking through the thin walls of the old house. "Go buy her favorite snacks tomorrow," my dad said. "Good food and a full stomach can solve half of life’s problems." "I'll talk to Eric," my mom replied. "Married couples fight. It's never as serious as it seems. They'll make up." I curled up under the covers, a fresh wave of tears soaking my pillow. If Eric had just told me he didn't love me anymore, I would have let go. I wasn't the type to cling. But he hadn't. He and his entire family had conspired to build a separate life in the house I paid for, right under my nose. I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me until the early hours of the morning. I was jolted awake by the sound of cheerful laughter from the living room. It sounded like… Eric. Dazed, I scrambled out of bed and threw open my door. And there he was. Eric, sitting on my parents' couch with Claire and their son. How dare he? How dare he bring his mistress and his illegitimate child into my parents' home? My chest tightened, and I couldn't breathe. Before I could say a word, Eric spoke, his voice breezy and casual. "You're awake! We were just saying, with Claire due any day now, maybe we should work on giving you two a playmate. It would be nice for them to be in-laws, right? We all know each other so well." He even had the audacity to wink at me. My mouth opened, but no words came out. What could I say? Could I call him a liar in front of my parents? Tell them that Leo wasn't just Claire's son, but my husband's too? Tell them that my perfect husband had cheated on me the year after we were married? How could I possibly… I had to admit, Eric knew me perfectly. He had me completely trapped. I looked around the room. Everyone was smiling, laughing, a perfect portrait of familial bliss. Everyone except me. I was an outsider, separated from their happiness by an invisible wall. Claire smiled sweetly at my parents. "Mia has always been so busy with her career, flying everywhere. I already told Eric, when Mia has her own baby, I'll be there to help take care of everything. You two won't have to worry about a thing." She looked at me, her eyes glinting with a hidden, mocking light, and I suddenly felt exhausted. If the rest of my life was going to be this charade, then I wanted out. Now. I took a deep breath. "Well, I don't think we'll be in-laws, seeing as the two children are—" Before I could finish, Eric shot up from the couch and grabbed my arm. "Mia, didn't you say you were taking Claire to her appointment? We're going to be late. Mom, Dad, we'll be back soon. You guys chat."
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