1 It was my tenth year hosting a late-night radio show, and I was on air for the final episode before the program was canceled. That night, the call came from a university student, her voice laced with pain. "Professor Fillion," she began, "I've fallen in love with my university professor. He's married, but he always gives me special attention." She went on to say that when she was sick, he'd personally make her sick food. When she was sad, he'd stay up late talking to her, even taking her on trips to clear her head. After she finished, I sighed softly and began to console her. "It's normal to develop feelings for someone admirable, but right now, finishing your studies is the most important thing." I told her that I, too, had a crush on an intern teacher in high school, and it wasn't until I met my husband that I understood what mature love was. "I hope you'll also meet the person who truly belongs to you someday," I sincerely wished her. A knowing chuckle came from the other end of the line. She said, "I really envy you, Mrs. Fillion." ... My mind buzzed. I looked up sharply at David, who was waiting outside the studio for me to finish work. No wonder the girl's voice sounded familiar; I'd heard it on his phone. The director sprang to his feet, urging me through my earpiece to keep talking. David's eyes darkened. He turned and walked away, holding his phone. I took a deep breath, forcing a smile. I held my composure, finishing the commentary just as the five minutes ran out. A period had been put on my ten-year late-night show. The song cut in, and my nerves instantly relaxed. My whole body was drenched in cold sweat. I gave a self-deprecating, helpless laugh. It really felt like my first time hosting. My colleagues looked at me with subtle expressions: shock, gossip, pity. "Professor Fillion..." I took my phone. The show and my name were already trending. [OMG! This is explosive! Didn't expect a huge scandal to drop even as it goes off air.] [To the person above: basically, a female student said she fell for her professor. The host advised her, and then the student suddenly called the host 'Mrs. Fillion,' and they immediately cut the call.] [The female host's husband is David Fillion, a law professor at A University.] [How ironic. This woman just finished talking about how good and happy her relationship with her husband was. Next second: 'The clown is me, eating my own melon.'] ... It was probably the highest trending moment for the show. Leaving the office, my stomachache worsened. I forced myself to the garage. David was in the car, flowers and gifts he'd bought for me sitting in the back seat. "The young lady was willful and thoughtless. I apologize to you on her behalf." His tone was light, as if he were discussing an insignificant trifle. "Not many people listen to your show anyway, so it won't have any impact." That was it, just two sentences. Then he reached over to buckle my seatbelt, ready to drive. I laughed, gritting my teeth. "Don't you think you owe me an explanation for what happened between you and her?" His brow furrowed, his voice almost cold. "What explanation do you want? I cheated. I fell for my student. When I said I was working late at school, half the time I was with her. I've barely touched you these past six months because she minded." "If you want a divorce, I have no objections." My heart felt crushed by a giant hand, my voice trembling. "Why..." "Why else does someone cheat? It faded, I got bored, I got tired, I sought new thrills." He was silent for a moment, twirling his wedding ring, then slowly took it off. "I know what I did was unethical, but my heart led me there. I couldn't help it. She makes me feel intensely alive." "I'm sorry, Amelia, I really didn't want to hurt you." My eyes were blurred with tears, his face distorted. "Amelia, with me by your side, no one can hurt you." He proposed to me at the hospital. That New Year's Eve, I went home to spend the holidays with my mom. To my dismay, she had gotten back together with my gambling, abusive father and had agreed to give me to a big boss to settle debts. Driven to desperation, I had no choice but to jump from the second-floor window. David rushed over when he found out, intimidating and bribing my parents until they signed a document severing our parental ties. I looked at the document, crying and laughing. He took out a ring. "When I got your call, I was going through my mom's belongings. In a hurry, I just stuffed it into my pocket and only found it after I got off the plane." "Amelia, marry me. Let me be your family." I nodded repeatedly, wanting to say "yes," but my throat was choked with tears, unable to utter a sound. After my bones healed, we immediately got married. From loving to unloving, it only took ten years. The promise of a lifetime, once so firm, had become like brittle plastic, seemingly intact, but crumbling at a touch. My phone ringing pulled me back to reality. David glanced at me, probably thinking there was no need to hide it from me anymore, and answered the call right in the car. On the other end, the girl seemed to be sobbing. David gently consoled her, "It's alright. Just wait at home. I'll bring her over." The car started immediately. I grabbed his arm, asking him where we were going. "Luna wants to apologize to you." I gave a sarcastic laugh, curled up in my seat with stomach pain, unable to utter a single word. David pulled a bottle of antacids from the glove compartment and offered it to me. I refused it, and he tossed it back, his face cold. When we arrived at Luna's place, he dragged me out of the car. "You should know what to say. If you can calm her down, you can ask for anything." Inside the door, Luna, her eyes red and swollen, bowed to me. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Fillion. I really didn't mean to. I was too nervous, and it just slipped out." "I shouldn't have been so willful and silly. Mrs. Fillion, if you're angry, just scold me. I'll listen." David prompted me with a look to speak. I gritted my teeth. "It's fine. I don't blame you." "If you really feel sorry for me and want to make amends, then post a clarification. Say you had a one-sided crush on David, and because he rejected you, you deliberately sought revenge on us. And that you and David have no inappropriate relationship." "Whatever you do in private is fine, but it cannot affect my career." "Amelia Fillion, you're too selfish. You've had dirt thrown on you yourself, how can you say something like that?" David questioned me furiously. When I first joined the radio station after college, I was harassed by my boss and even beaten by his wife, who mistook me for a mistress. I comforted David, saying it was a blessing in disguise; I wouldn't have to work with that boss anymore. David was angry and heartbroken, asking why I hadn't told him. His eyes red, he promised me, "Wife, I will work hard so you have the confidence and freedom to quit whenever you want." And he truly delivered. We bought a house, had a car, and our lives kept getting better. He was concerned about my irregular working hours and urged me to quit many times. But I had an emotional attachment to the show. Substitute hosts came and went, and in the end, it was always just me. Three months ago, the station decided to cancel the show. With my mentor Professor Evans's recommendation, I passed three rounds of interviews and received an offer to be a news anchor at a TV station, starting next month. This was my dream job. Public opinion could be a huge factor, and one wrong move could ruin my career. I'm selfish? I'm slandering people? Aren't they the ones dumping their garbage on my head? Luna, clutching David, nodded tearfully, saying she could do it. She turned to grab her phone. But I couldn't hold on anymore. My vision went black, and I collapsed. When I came to, it was already dusk. I was lying in a hospital bed. David stood by the window in a white t-shirt, his back to me. For a moment, I was disoriented, as if he were still the boy from ten years ago. We would nap in our cramped rental apartment until evening, sleeping through a heavy rain. He would turn around, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Amelia, come quick, there's a double rainbow!" The real David turned around, his face grim and tired. He handed me divorce papers. "You can tell everyone we're already divorced, that you're single. Then my and Luna's business won't affect you." I didn't hesitate, reaching for the pen to sign. But he suddenly pulled the papers back. "Are you that eager?" I looked at him, bewildered, and asked with a laugh. "What else? What kind of reaction do you expect from me? Reluctance? To continue hysterically asking you why you don't love me anymore? Why you betrayed our decade-long relationship? What's the point?" He let out a short, cold laugh. "None. Sign it." After signing, I looked for my phone. He had a hesitant expression but eventually handed it over. A bad feeling surged in my heart. My phone was flooded with messages. My name appeared alone on the trending list—radio host Amelia Fillion had an abortion in high school. Around three in the morning, an account claiming to be my high school classmate broke the news that I had seduced an intern teacher in high school, had an affair with him in the classroom, and caused him to be expelled from his teacher training college. It claimed I took half a month off because I was in the hospital for surgery. Below, they posted a class graduation photo, and a picture of me in my school uniform, sitting outside an obstetrics and gynecology clinic. I laughed, looking up at David. "What good does it do you to ruin me?" "She didn't do it." David's voice was firm. "She couldn't possibly know your high school classmates, and she couldn't possibly have gotten those photos." "It's because you insisted on bringing up your high school crush on an intern teacher on the show. You should think hard about who you might have offended in the past, who you had conflicts with, or if you've done anything with a guilty conscience." "I've already contacted that account and had the original post deleted. I'll handle this." I was stunned, utterly disbelieving. A sharp bitterness instantly filled my nasal cavity. "What do you mean? You think it's true? You don't believe me, you think I lied to you?" I pulled out the IV needle, and my legs felt weak as I got out of bed, my head spinning. He supported me, pressing me back onto the bed. "What are you doing? Can't you feel you have a fever?" "Is arguing about this meaningful now? The past is the past. True or false, I don't care at all." Then he added, "But the fact that you can't get pregnant is true." My heart clenched painfully. Three years ago, we started trying to conceive. But both times I miscarried before three months. I wanted to try again, but David, out of concern for me, absolutely refused to let me go through it again, saying it was too damaging to my body. "I don't really like children anyway. Let's not have any. Isn't it better with just the two of us, no third wheel?" I gasped for air, still feeling suffocated. He destroyed my trust in him, then questioned my character. A decade of understanding and affection meant nothing compared to a few lines of malicious rumors and a misleading photo. At this moment, my heart completely froze over. My phone rang. It was Professor Evans. "Amelia, the onboarding might need to be delayed. You should rest up for a while." I swallowed my pain and apologized to my mentor. Hanging up, I grabbed the divorce papers from the bedside table. And tore them up with a laugh. "No need. If I don't divorce him, she'll always be his hidden mistress. Professor Fillion, your future will also be ruined by her own hands. I hope someday, when you're tired of her too, you won't regret this." He was silent for a few seconds. "I resigned. Vance offered me a partnership at his law firm, and I accepted." I paused, then burst into laughter, tears slowly welling up in my eyes. No wonder Luna was so brazen, calling me "Mrs. Fillion" on the show, essentially exposing David's identity. David hadn't seemed to care or get angry at all. "What about her?" "She graduated early." I couldn't help but clap twice. Turns out I was the only clown. David, enraged and humiliated, his face grew even darker. "I admit, this incident was Luna's fault. She's young and prone to jealousy. Yesterday was her birthday, and she resented that I couldn't be with her, so she threw a tantrum, and that's how this prank happened." So it was my fault again. I shouldn't have let him come with me to record the last episode. Otherwise, none of this would have happened. "She's already apologized to you. Why are you so relentless?" He took a deep breath to suppress his anger and offered a solution: "Didn't you want to go abroad for further studies? Go study for a few years. When you come back, no one will remember this mess, and you can host or do anything you want." Words always flowed so easily from his lips. He looked at me with a sigh, bent down to pick up the paper scraps from the floor, and left. Sweet words that turn sour are just lies. After they left, my low-grade fever lingered. I forced myself to stay awake and drafted a thousand-word clarification. Just as I was about to post it, I suddenly received a message from Luna. She sent a blood test report. She was pregnant. [Mrs. Fillion, I can do without a title, but the baby cannot. Please, complete us.] I stared intensely at my phone screen, a bitter, metallic taste rising in my throat. I replied with two words: [Congratulations.] I added that screenshot and hit publish. Five minutes later, the tweet was reported and deleted for spreading false information, rumor, and defamation. Immediately after, David's call came through, his voice laced with suppressed anger. "Amelia Fillion, stop causing trouble." I retorted, "Can't I even clarify things myself? Which sentence wasn't true? Where did I spread rumors?" He scoffed. "You're using your own blood test report to falsely claim Luna is pregnant. Are you really so determined to throw this dirty water on her? If you keep making a scene, I'll pursue legal action against you." I froze, magnifying the report. No name was visible. I rushed out to find a nurse. "Am I pregnant?" Upon receiving a positive answer, I stood there stunned, then burst into tears and laughter. Why now, of all times? The nurse helped me back to my room, cautioning me not to get too emotional. I picked up my phone and saw a post from David. He claimed all of this was a stunt I orchestrated to gain popularity, that I paid someone to pretend to call in, and that he didn't even know the student on the show. [Ms. Fillion and I have an estranged relationship and are in the process of divorce. Her actions have severely infringed upon my reputation, and I reserve the right to pursue legal action.] Public opinion immediately shifted. The comments section was filled with curses, accusing me of being ruthless for fame. Someone Photoshopped my picture, with "dirty bitch" written across my face. David sent a voice recording via message. My hands trembled as I opened it. Inside was my father's voice. He testified that I was promiscuous, that I lived with men and didn't come home as a teenager, and had been pregnant and had abortions more than once. [As former spouses, I don't want to see you truly disgraced. Let me know when you've considered the divorce.] [Oh, and about the child, whether you want to abort or keep it is up to you. If you give birth, I'll pay child support.] David, who had once helped me resolve these issues, was now using them against me for another woman. Threatening me with such things. A bitter taste rose in my throat. I put down my phone, too despairing to speak. I don't know how long I lay there before the door was pushed open. It was Luna, carrying a meal container. "Mrs. Fillion, Professor Fillion said you like pumpkin millet porridge. I cooked some, and I also brought some pickles my mom sent." She lowered her head, on the verge of apologizing again, her voice laced with tears. "Mrs. Fillion, I'm truly sorry. I never thought things would turn out like this..." Her affected voice disgusted me, and a shiver ran through my body. My stomach churned; I felt like throwing up. In my haste, I accidentally knocked over the bowl of pumpkin millet porridge. Luna suddenly rushed over, knelt by the bed, and tried to catch it with her hands. Just then, David burst in, his face shocked and pained. "Luna..." He immediately took off his t-shirt to wipe Luna. There were several claw marks on his back. He disregarded everything else, took her to the restroom, and shot me a disgusted glance. Ten minutes later, he returned, put on his jacket. "Luna has mysophobia. Her hands are already raw from washing them with disinfectant. She's shown you enough respect. If you have any grievances, direct them at me." I gave a sarcastic chuckle. "Oh, then you two are perfectly matched." David also had mysophobia. If he had even a slight skin contact with someone, he would immediately wipe it with a disinfectant wipe. But he would tolerate his mysophobia to cook for me and clean up the blood after my miscarriage. "You're not 'someone else.' My mysophobia system only grants you personal access." I bit my lip in anger. Just then, the door to the hospital room was suddenly thrown open. A woman walked in. "Are you Amelia Fillion?" Before I could answer, she walked over and slapped me, grabbed my hair, and slammed my belly into the corner of the table. She held up a photo in her hand; the man on the screen was the one my father had initially intended to give me to. "Let you seduce other women's husbands? I'll beat you to death, you mistress!" I cast a pleading glance at David, but he didn't even see me. He grabbed Luna's bag and rushed out of the room. Of course, he probably called her himself. "I heard you're pregnant! A mistress's child is a bastard. Do you still want to give birth and ruin another family?" I felt suffocated, my heart even more despairing. I couldn't protect my baby. The woman's grip was strong. She yanked my hair and slammed my head against the wall. The intense pain blurred my consciousness until blood flowed from my lower body. Only then did the woman release me. The hallway outside the room was crowded with onlookers. Hearing I was a mistress, not a single person offered help. I slowly collapsed into the pool of blood. Just then, several people, calling themselves entertainment reporters, rushed in, holding phones and cameras. "Professor Fillion, is it true your husband cheated with a student? Are the online rumors about you true? Did you really have an abortion?" "We contacted your classmate, who said you started dating and living with delinquent individuals in junior high. Is that true?" "Do you have anything to say about your husband's response? Please comment!" "What's this woman saying about you seducing her husband? Is Attorney Fillion divorcing you because you cheated during your marriage?" ... The cameras were shoved in my face. My ears buzzed, and my head felt like it was about to explode. "Get out!" A man, looking travel-worn, rushed in, pushed them aside, and lifted me from the floor.
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