On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband Ethan brought his pregnant subordinate home. After I caught the two of them in bed together, Ethan said disdainfully: "Unlike you, a dead fish, I have needs. Vivian is younger than you. She understands what I want." Right in front of me, he put Vivian's feet on his lap and massaged them. I didn't cry or make a scene. I just packed a few old clothes in front of them. I tore up the terminal illness diagnosis I'd been hiding and flushed the pieces down the toilet. Ethan's friends were all betting in their group chat that I'd be back on my knees begging to reconcile by morning. After all, I'd been a stay-at-home wife for seven years. I even had to watch his face just to buy groceries. But half a month passed, and I vanished completely. Ethan panicked. He called, his voice seething: "Jane, if you don't get your ass back here, we're getting divorced!" But a deep, cold male voice answered the phone. The billionaire tycoon Adrian replied icily: "Jane just had surgery. She's sleeping. My lawyers will send the divorce papers."
On our seventh wedding anniversary, Ethan brought his pregnant subordinate home. "Jane, come pour Vivian some water." His tone was casual, as if he were ordering around a maid. The woman called Vivian, her belly showing just a hint of pregnancy, leaned delicately against Ethan. Her eyes held undisguised provocation. I was holding a plate of freshly made pasta, my hands frozen in mid-air. The steam from the pasta blurred my vision. "What else can you do besides cook?" Ethan frowned, his face full of impatience. "Vivian can help me land the big project with Skyline Corp. She understands me better than you do." Right in front of me, he put Vivian's feet on his lap and massaged them carefully. His movements were so gentle, as if he were handling a priceless treasure. Seven years. He had never been this tender with me. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand. Even breathing hurt. But I didn't cry or make a scene. I just calmly untied my apron. Under their sticky gazes, I walked into the bedroom and packed a few old clothes. The wheels of my suitcase scraped across the floor with a harsh noise. Ethan finally looked up, his eyes mocking: "Jane, playing the runaway game again? Where can you even go?" I ignored him and walked into the bathroom. From the deepest part of the drawer, I pulled out the terminal illness diagnosis I'd hidden for a month. Stomach cancer. Stage four. I'd imagined countless times what his reaction might be when I showed him this paper. Maybe a hint of shock. A bit of guilt. Now I saw how naive I'd been. I calmly tore it into pieces and threw them into the toilet. I pressed the flush button and watched those fragments swirl into the vortex and disappear. Just like my seven years of ridiculous marriage, and what little remained of my life. Walking out of the bathroom, I dragged my suitcase without a shred of attachment. Ethan's voice came from behind me, carrying a condescending sense of charity. "Come back when you're done with your tantrum. Don't be ungrateful." Vivian giggled, leaning close to his ear: "Ethan, don't be angry. Jane's probably just upset. Women are like that. Just humor her a bit." I heard Ethan laugh. "Where can she go? A waste of space who's been a stay-at-home wife for seven years. She has to watch my face just to buy groceries. I bet by tomorrow morning, she'll be crawling back on her knees begging me." I opened the door and walked out. The night wind was cold against my face, but it made me feel more clear-headed than I'd been in years.
Ethan posted a new update on social media. He changed our wedding photo to an intimate shot of him and Vivian. The caption read: "The beginning of a new life." His group chat with his like-minded friends was even more lively. "Holy shit! Ethan, you brought your mistress home to provoke your wife?" "That Jane should've been replaced ages ago. She's lifeless all the time. Vivian's way more understanding." "Let me open a betting pool on how many days before Jane comes back. I bet three days max!" "Three days? I bet one day! She'll be kneeling at the door by tomorrow morning." Ethan sent a smug emoji. "I bet she won't last past midnight tonight." They discussed me without restraint, as if I weren't a person but just a ridiculous wager. They were certain I couldn't survive without Ethan. After all, for him, I'd given up my career, my friends, everything. From a promising research scientist, I'd become a housewife who only revolved around the kitchen and her husband. But one day passed. Three days passed. A week passed. I didn't go back. I vanished like I'd evaporated from the world, leaving no trace. Ethan started getting anxious. He began calling me, progressing from impatience to furious rage. "Jane, how long are you going to keep this up?" "Who the hell do you think you are? I'm telling you, my patience has limits!" "If you don't come back, I'm cutting off your card!" Finally, after half a month, all his patience ran out. The moment the call connected, he practically roared. "Jane, this is your last chance! If you don't get your ass back here, we're getting divorced!" I had no strength to speak. The stabbing pain in my stomach nearly made me pass out. My phone slipped from my powerless hand. A well-defined hand caught it steadily. On the other end, Ethan was still shouting: "Say something! Are you mute?!" A deep, cold male voice came through the receiver clearly. "She just had surgery. She's sleeping." The other end went silent instantly. The man paused, his voice carrying no warmth. "Also, about the divorce, you don't need to wait." "My lawyers will personally deliver the divorce papers."
Ethan was stunned. "Who are you? What gives you the right to make decisions for Jane?" "I'm her current guardian." After saying this, the man hung up. When Ethan called again, he only heard the cold busy tone. He was so angry he nearly smashed his phone. A woman who'd been his maid for seven years, a waste who couldn't survive without him, dared not answer his calls? And found some wild man? He immediately used all his connections to trace that number. The result made his heart skip a beat. No information found. That number was a top-level encrypted line, completely untraceable. For the first time, an indescribable panic rose in Ethan's chest. At that moment, in the top-floor VIP hospital room, I slowly opened my eyes. I saw a pure white ceiling and smelled the sharp scent of disinfectant. The wound in my stomach still throbbed faintly. "You're awake?" A familiar yet strange voice sounded in my ear. I turned my head and saw the man sitting by the bed. Adrian. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his manner cool and elegant, though the dark circles under his eyes disrupted that composure. We hadn't seen each other in eight years. He looked more mature than in college, and even more unreachable. "You..." My voice was hoarse. I couldn't form a complete sentence. "You collapsed on the street. A passerby called emergency services," he explained concisely. "In your phone's contacts, there was only Ethan." "I called him. He didn't answer." Adrian's tone was flat, revealing no emotion. But I heard what he didn't say. When I needed him most, my husband was with another woman. "Later, I had my assistant check your medical records." Adrian looked at me, his gaze deep. "Stage four stomach cancer. Jane, why didn't you tell me?" I avoided his eyes and forced a smile. "What good would telling you do? We're not connected anymore." "Not connected?" Adrian repeated the phrase, his tone rising slightly at the end. "Jane, you left with Ethan without a word years ago. You didn't even say goodbye. And now you tell me we're not connected?" His proximity made me feel suffocated. What happened back then was my debt to him. It was my weakness, my betrayal of our promise. "I'm sorry." I didn't know what else to say besides this. "I don't need your apology." Adrian stood up, looking down at me from above. "I'm only asking you one thing. Are you divorcing Ethan or not?" I looked at him and suddenly smiled. "Yes." "Not only that, I want him to lose everything." The next day, Ethan met Adrian's lawyer in his office. "Mr. Harris, this is the divorce agreement drafted by Ms. Jane." The lawyer pushed a document toward him. "Ms. Jane requests that marital assets be split fifty-fifty. Additionally, the villa you currently reside in is Ms. Jane's premarital property. Please vacate within three days." Ethan looked at the lawyer like he was looking at a lunatic. "On what grounds? I built that company from scratch! The villa is in her name, but I paid the down payment and the mortgage!" "Mr. Harris, your company's startup capital came from the inheritance Ms. Jane received from her parents. As for the villa, we have evidence proving all payments came from Ms. Jane's personal account." The lawyer produced another document. "This is evidence of your extramarital affair and your child with a third party. If this goes to court, you may not get a single cent." Ethan's face turned deathly pale.
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