"I'm sorry, ma'am, this card has insufficient funds." I froze for a second and quickly handed her another one. The terminal flashed red again. "I'm sorry, this card is declined too." "...What?" I steadied my breathing and dialed my husband's number. "Honey, haven't you gotten paid yet? The baby is out of formula." There wasn't a trace of warmth in his voice. "I can't be the only one holding this family up. I want you to learn to be independent, instead of being a parasite that can't afford to live." With that one sentence, he declared war. Very well. Then the hunt begins now. 1 "Ma'am, do you still want this formula?" The cashier's tone was edged with impatience. Jolted back to reality, I realized the line waiting to check out behind me had grown long. "I'm sorry... I'll have to pass for now." Pushing an empty cart out of the supermarket, I dialed my mother-in-law's number. It rang more than a dozen times before it was picked up. The background noise was the intense clatter of a bingo game. "Spit it out, I'm right in the middle of a good round!" I took a deep breath, every word incredibly difficult to get out. "Mom, Mark's company... his paycheck is delayed this month. Do you think you could watch the baby for a couple of days so I can go out and find some gig work?" "No!" She cut me off before I could finish. "I've already done my duty raising Mark! Don't try to guilt-trip me. If you're short on cash, ask your own family. Didn't they keep the ten thousand dollar wedding gift? Tell your folks to spit it out!" The phone was slammed down. A sourness welled up in my nose. When did they start changing? Probably a year ago, when our daughter got seriously ill. Besides the wedding money and my dowry, even my pre-marital savings were poured into it. Mark was away on a business trip at the time. He solemnly promised over the phone: "Honey, all my money is tied up in investments. You figure out a way to cover it first, and I promise to pay you back when they mature." From that day on, my mother-in-law's eyes were full of disgust whenever she looked at our daughter. "Some kids are just born to collect debts, bringing bad luck just to drag their families down." And Mark, too, started complaining to me frequently. "My uncle's company is restructuring. I didn't get laid off, but the economy is bad, and my salary got slashed in half." "You don't work, so you have no idea what it's like out there. Ask your parents to help out more. Once my uncle turns things around, my salary will go back up, and I'll definitely compensate you guys double." That wait lasted a whole year. Waiting as he went from starting a business to falling into debt. Waiting as his salary shrank from eight thousand to two thousand. Waiting as my daughter and I transformed in his mouth from family members to parasites who couldn't afford to live. Finally, I called my brother. After hearing about my predicament, he let out a long sigh. "Sis, honestly, it hurts me to see you living like this. Take this two thousand, you don't need to pay it back." "But I really hope this is the last time. You have to climb out of that hole yourself." Hanging up the phone, the tears finally broke through. It turns out that when you hit rock bottom, even your shadow leaves you. Those who banged the drums urging you to get married and have kids are now gathered around the edge of the pit, mocking your wretchedness and incompetence. Their lines are always so polished: "You need to have a son to secure your place in your husband's family." "He works so hard out there making money, how come you can't even take care of a kid?" "A woman must be kind and magnanimous, otherwise how will you keep your man's heart?" I wiped the tear stains from my face and picked up my crying, sleeping daughter. Only after getting married did I understand that the phrase "I'll take care of you" is the biggest lie in a marriage. 2 "Chloe, have you ever thought... could Mark be seeing someone else?" My best friend Sarah's voice sounded hesitant. My breath hitched. "Seeing someone else? Then why hasn't she shown up to make a scene? And why hasn't he come clean to me?" "Heh..." A scoff came from the other end of the line. "I think you've been poisoned by too many soap operas. In a real-life affair, whether it's Mark, the mistress, or even that mother-in-law of yours, they'll all collude to scheme against the legal wife. Deliver themselves to your door for you to catch them? Do you think you're starring in a TV show?" She paused. "Don't blame me for being blunt; it's probably because I've seen too much at the law firm. Let me lay out a few facts for you to think about calmly: First, how long has it been since he stopped giving you money for household expenses? Second, can you still unlock his phone? Third, the baby is almost two years old; custody won't automatically favor the mother anymore. So you don't have much time left." "Then what should I do?" My voice betrayed my anxiety. "Hire... a private investigator?" "A private investigator?" Sarah let out another bitter laugh. "Do you have the money? A legit PI who can actually get things done won't start at less than six figures, and the subsequent costs are a bottomless pit. Plus, evidence they obtain through illegal means is very likely to be ruled inadmissible due to privacy violations. You might end up getting extorted by the other party instead." A chill ran down my spine. "Then... what should I do?" "How much cash do you have on hand right now?" "One thousand nine hundred dollars, I just bought a can of formula." "Good. From this moment on, do not touch a single cent of that money. Treat it as your final war fund. I'll introduce you to my senior colleague. I'll help you with your daily expenses, but leave the professional stuff to him." Sarah is the friend I trust most in this world. After graduating college, she chose to go to law school, while I chose to get married. Five years have passed. She's an intern at a top law firm, full of drive and ambition. While I, in the day-to-day grind of groceries and chores, turned into a parasite. Half an hour later, an unknown number called. "Hello, Ms. Davis. My last name is Miller. Time is short, so let's keep this brief. At this stage, your primary task is to collect evidence." "When your husband comes home, you need to accomplish two things: First, take photos of every single card in his wallet, even if it's just a car wash loyalty card. Take clear photos of the front and back and save them. Second, observe carefully if he has a burner phone or uses other messaging apps." "No matter how much you discover he has squandered or hidden, maintain your composure until you have a complete chain of evidence." After hanging up, I sat in the living room for a long time. Even now, I was still unwilling to face reality. His pay stubs clearly stated two thousand dollars, and he had to pay a fixed mortgage of fifteen hundred every month. With finances stretched so thin, how could he possibly be squandering money? Three days later, he finally came home. 3 He tossed his suitcase casually. "Pack a few summer clothes, I have to leave again next week." Smelling the unfamiliar scent he brought back, I looked at him calmly. "Has this month's salary not been paid yet?" His hand, which was untying his tie, paused, and he frowned at me. "Are you ever going to stop? I barely catch my breath walking through the door and all you know is money, money, money?" Seeing the undisguised annoyance on his face, the question that had rolled around in my mind countless times almost burst out. Then, Mr. Miller's warning flashed through my mind: "Maintain your composure until you have a complete chain of evidence." Seeing him put his coat back on. I turned around and brought a bowl of rib soup from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready, do you want to eat a bit?" His Adam's apple bobbed, but ultimately he hung his coat back up. "I told you, let the old folks cover it first. Once things turn around on my end, I'll pay them back every cent." "Mm, got it." I lowered my eyes and served myself a bowl. "I won't bother you about the baby's things anymore." He seemed very satisfied with this answer, picked up his chopsticks, and placed the largest piece of rib into his own bowl. From this moment on, I was going to defend my rights. The target was my husband, who had shared my bed for five years. Sarah's hunch was right. Mark's shrewdness and guardedness far exceeded my expectations. His phone passcode was changed. I could only carefully unlock it with his fingerprint after he fell into a deep sleep. His text message history was wiped completely clean. The contacts list showed no suspicious signals. Transfer records were as clean as a blank sheet of paper. And all the methods I learned online: Checking food delivery addresses, hotel booking records, login histories on shared devices... nothing. I leaned against the wall, looking at his sleeping silhouette. Our child had just turned two. The family's assets had long been diluted to almost nothing by him under the guise of failed investments, company pay cuts, and bank loan repayments. The wedding gift, dowry, and all my pre-marital savings had also been squeezed dry. Five years. Over eighteen hundred days and nights. What would be your next target? "Did you take the photos?" Just as dawn broke, Mr. Miller's message popped up. "I did, but he seems to be guarding against me. There isn't a single bank card, not even his ID is in his wallet. Can we still apply for a subpoena like this?" The reply came swiftly on the screen: "A subpoena? That's not what you should be thinking about right now. Tell me first, what's in the wallet?" I sent all the photos from my phone over. A gas card, a supermarket gift card, a few gift certificates for different bakeries, one credit card, and nothing else. Looking at those empty card slots, that sense of powerlessness hit me again. "Am I... out of chances?" Almost simultaneously as the message was sent, his reply arrived. No text, just a wide-grinning emoji. Followed by two lines of text: "It's secured. I guarantee you'll win this round, but there's one thing. You must find a way to make sure he comes home one more time in the next few days." "What do you mean? Is it possible he won't come home anymore?" "Very possible. Yoyo's birthday is in two days. If my guess is correct, the first thing you'll be waiting for is his divorce agreement." "Divorce agreement?" "Yes. I think his return this time was probably to gather valuable documents. Go check the property deed and things like that; they should already be missing." My heart tightened, and I quickly opened the safe at home. Sure enough. All the important documents were gone. "Alright." His voice pulled me back to reality: "Every step from now on must be done exactly as I say. Buy exact replicas of the cards you photographed in his phone." I took a deep breath and rushed to the gas station. Following the photo, I bought a $400 gas card. Next was the mall, an $800 gift card. I also bought the $120 bakery reloadable card. Watching my balance shrink instantly, my fingertips went cold. But I still took a deep breath and dialed Mark's number. "Honey, tomorrow is our daughter's birthday. Should we... invite the elders for a meal together?" The other end of the line was silent for a few seconds. "No need, Chloe." His voice was terrifyingly calm. "Let's get a divorce." 4 All the words I had prepared got stuck in my throat. "What did you say?" "Tomorrow, you should receive a divorce agreement sent by my lawyer. I hope we can part amicably." "Part amicably?" A sourness rushed up my nose. "Five years of marriage, Mark, and you tell me to part amicably? Are you seeing someone else?" The tone on the other end revealed impatience. "Don't talk nonsense. I just feel like we're draining each other more and more. A good relationship shouldn't be dragging each other down like this. I hope you can keep some dignity." With that, he hung up. Tears instantly blurred my vision. He finally laid his cards on the table. The illusion I had always used to numb myself—the pressure of the mortgage, his career bottleneck—was finally shattered. Completely and utterly, without leaving me even a sliver of room for self-deception. How many hurdles does a woman have to cross in her lifetime? Nine months of pregnancy. The pain of childbirth. And the dignity that must be laid down just to afford formula... And just when you think the clouds are finally parting, you realize the person who was supposed to pull you ashore had long ago removed the planks and ruthlessly pushed you into the abyss. With trembling hands, I picked up my phone and sent a message to Attorney Miller: "He's not coming back. I have no chance." Less than ten seconds after the message was sent, he called. "Stay calm. In a divorce lawsuit, as long as one party doesn't agree, the marriage won't be dissolved immediately. We still have plenty of room to maneuver. What you need to do most right now is not to confront him, but to play the role of an emotionally stable wife trying to win her husband back. As long as you don't panic and mess up your own strategy, we have a chance to win this battle." The next day, FedEx delivered the Divorce Agreement sent by Mark's delegated lawyer. I flipped open the document, and my vision went dark. He even gave up custody of our child. Only at this moment did I truly understand. What he was waiting for was precisely this juncture of divorce. As for child support... Three hundred dollars a month. He even provided several bank statements. Thereby proving he had no assets available for division under his name. I froze in place, tremblingly photographed these pages, and sent them to Mr. Miller. "Is there still a chance of winning?" His reply was swift: "Of course. You are still living in his house. As long as you don't leave, he can't make a clean break. So, don't respond, don't argue. Live your life normally as if nothing happened, until he loses his patience and comes back looking for you on his own initiative. That's when our opportunity arrives." Sure enough, a week later, after I ignored all his calls and urging text messages, he finally came back. The sound of the key turning in the lock echoed. I took a deep breath and, just like thousands of times before, naturally took his coat. "I simmered your favorite yam and pork rib soup. Wash your hands and let's eat first." He didn't move, his icy gaze sweeping over me. "Chloe, do you have to blow things out of proportion and make everyone uncomfortable?" I looked at him, my voice without a single ripple. "If blowing things out of proportion could get you what you want, you wouldn't waste half a breath. Mark, I don't care what you have going on out there, but this is my and our daughter's home. We will always wait here for you to turn back." The last bit of patience on the man's face vanished. "I've already entrusted a realtor to list this house. You probably won't be able to live here for many more days." I nodded and pulled out a dining chair. "The soup is getting cold. My daughter and I aren't picky; just rent a suitable place for us." Mark's sharp gaze swept back and forth across my face. Yes. In the past, hearing the words 'sell the house,' I would have been hysterical. But not now. I had things far more important and urgent than emotions. Taking advantage of the gap when he turned to go to the bathroom, my fingers deftly slipped into his pocket. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest, but my movements were surprisingly steady. The whole process took less than ten seconds. The wallet was silently returned to its original place. "Pack your things tonight." He pulled out a chair. "I'll find a place for you tomorrow." "Okay." I didn't look at him, keeping my head down to spoon a little soup for our daughter. For the rest of the meal, there was not another word exchanged. My mission was complete. The hunt had officially begun.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "391101", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel