Before the end of the workday, Zoe sent me some messages.

Then her call came through.


"Hey! I found them!"

"The phone number was registered just a few days ago, probably just for spreading these rumors. It's a recent college graduate, quite the looker actually, but I can't find any connection to you."

"If I had to find a connection, she works at the same place as your husband."


"I asked around and heard she got in through nepotism, interned there, and landed a job right after graduation. She's not in the same department as your husband. Did you piss her off somehow?"

Now I was confused. Chris's colleague?


Spreading rumors about me? What the hell was going on?

Suddenly, a terrifying thought hit me.

My hand holding the phone began to tremble.

"Send me her main account so I can check her out. I barely know any of Chris's colleagues since I've never visited his workplace. I'll see if I recognize her. Maybe Chris ticked someone off?"

Though that thought flashed through my mind, I desperately didn't want to believe it.

"Sure thing, just sent it to you."

"Sweetie, keep this between us for now, okay? I need to figure this mess out first."

"What? Aren't you going to clear this up? This isn't something you can just sit on."

"I know, I will clear it up, but not yet. Please keep it under wraps for me. Oh, and can you get this account blocked for a few days so it stays off the radar?"

"Don't worry, I've already blocked it. Don't you trust me to handle things?"

I opened the TikTok account my friend sent me.

The young woman in it was all sunshine and energy—running, jumping, radiating that unmistakable glow of youth.

She appeared alone in almost all the videos, except for one that showed a man's hand.

And that hand—I recognized it instantly as Chris's.

His thumbnail was half the normal length.

I used to tease him about that quirk, but now, that damn thumbnail had become my smoking gun.

I reflected on my years with Chris. We weren't the passionate couple from romance novels, but we had our own comfortable affection.

In seven years of marriage, we had barely raised our voices at each other.

The daily grind never seemed to wear us down, thanks to our mutual understanding.

But looking back now, I realized I'd never felt that heart-pounding, can't-breathe-without-you love that everyone talks about.

Everything between us felt more like checking boxes on a life checklist.

When society deemed us ready to marry, we calmly got our marriage certificate to appease our parents.

Chris was a civil servant with a government paycheck that wouldn't turn heads. Believing we deserved more, I launched my company before we tied the knot.

Fortunately, the business took off, and after the wedding, I bought us a house and a car.

He knew his paygrade would never afford us a decent home, so he readily accepted our arrangement—I brought home the bacon, he kept the house in order.

Later, right on schedule, we had a daughter. Every milestone in our life followed the script we'd written.

I had convinced myself this kind of peaceful coexistence was the ideal way to build a life together.

But now I realized that all his tolerance and gentleness were probably just masks hiding the truth—he didn't love me.

Later, my in-laws started the pressure campaign for a second child, harping on about Chris being their only son and my "duty" to produce a grandson.

I wasn't opposed to another child, but I couldn't stomach their obsession with having a male heir.

So I buried myself in work, coming home later and later.