On my birthday, my husband Joseph—the one who was terrified of heights—claimed he had to work late. Then he turned up in his student Betty's Instagram story, skydiving with her. On Christmas Day, I asked him to come with me to see my parents. He said his project was too demanding. Meanwhile, he was out having dinner with Betty to celebrate. My fingers went numb as I scrolled through the videos on her page, one after another. Watching all those sweet, everyday little moments unfold on my screen, I made up my mind to have it out with Joseph. But I was stopped at his office door. "Mrs. Smith, Professor Smith might still be busy in there—today's the day his favorite student Betty is presenting her project results. Maybe… you could wait a bit?" I stood up. "No need. Tell Joseph to get ready for a divorce." … Back home, I went straight upstairs to the bedroom to pack. I'd just placed the signed divorce agreement on the nightstand when I looked up into a pair of pitch-black eyes. Joseph's gaze landed on the two large suitcases beside me. He frowned. "There was a student defense at noon today. I had to be there, couldn't get out in time. Are you upset again?" I ignored him, grabbed the suitcases, and headed for the door. He pressed down firmly on my shoulders, pinning me in place. "Grace. Talk to me." He watched me calmly, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. "Grace, when are you going to break this bad habit of going silent every time you're angry?" I couldn't budge the suitcases from his grip, so I straightened up. "I want a divorce." "Reason." "You're cheating on me. Is that reason enough?" I pried his hands off and reached for the suitcases again. He blocked me once more. "Grace, can you stop this? You're the only one I have." "Am I?" I pulled out my phone. "Then who is she?" I tapped on Betty's latest video. The footage of the two of them skydiving was crystal clear. "Weren't you the one who said you were afraid of heights? That you hated extreme sports? So why aren't you afraid of heights when it's her?" "Tell me. Why is that, Joseph?" I tried to keep my voice level. "Grace, you've been checking up on me?" No apology. No admission. No explanation. Not what I'd imagined at all. Just an accusation. "Don't you think you should be explaining this first?" He tugged at his tie irritably, took a deep breath. "Her name's Betty. She's one of my students. The kid was feeling down last week, so I went skydiving with her." "That's all it was." "Joseph. Do you honestly believe that yourself?" One video could be explained away. But this many? How was he going to spin all of them? He went silent. I grabbed the suitcases again. He spoke. "Give me some time. I'll sort it out." "Get out of my way!" I shoved him hard and walked straight out the door. I went back to my parents' house. I didn't tell them about the divorce. I just made up some excuse—said he'd been busy lately, and I felt lonely being home alone. Thankfully, they didn't ask too many questions. The next day, I went to my studio as usual, only to find someone standing at the entrance. Betty. She looked the same as in her photos—white dress, a little nervous. I walked past her and unlocked the door. She called after me. "Grace, I need to talk to you. Can we talk?"
In the end, I let her in. She sat across from me, fidgeting, trying to explain the situation with Joseph. "Mrs. Smith, Professor Smith and I—it's really not what you think. That day, I genuinely wasn't feeling well. I begged him to go skydiving with me. It was just a misunderstanding." "A misunderstanding?" I laughed and pulled up her account. "The three hundred–plus videos underneath—those are all misunderstandings too?" Betty was speechless. I brushed her hand aside. "If you're here to study, then study. Stop trying to seduce someone else's husband." Her face went white. Eyes red, she turned and ran out. Moments later, I got a message from Joseph asking why I was giving Betty a hard time. I laughed bitterly and called him. "Joseph, she came to me. What I'd like to know is how she got the address to my studio." "Instead of wasting your time coming here to interrogate me, why don't you sign the divorce papers and go find your true love?" Silence. Several seconds passed before he finally spoke. "Grace, you're not in a stable emotional state right now. I'll come over tonight and we'll talk." That evening, he showed up as promised. I sat at my easel, brush never pausing, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What? Here to demand justice for your little one?" He didn't respond. After a long moment, he sighed, his tone resigned. "You're the one who's my wife, Grace." I ignored him. He continued. "I have a conference abroad this week. I won't be back for seven days. When I get back, we'll sort things out between us." My hand holding the brush froze. He went on: "Since you don't like Betty, I'll minimize contact with her going forward. I've handed off her project and coursework to other professors. I won't be involved anymore." I said nothing and went back to painting. He lingered in the doorway for a long while before finally leaving. The next morning, I received his boarding notification and a photo for proof. Over the following seven days, he sent me check-in messages like clockwork. During conference sessions. At meals. Even before bed. I didn't reply to a single one. While Joseph was still out of the country, I went back to the house to retrieve an important USB drive. Just as I was about to leave, I heard Betty's voice downstairs. "Professor, if I come home with you for your birthday, won't your wife be upset?" "It's all my fault. If I hadn't posted those videos, she never would've fought with you." She was holding a cake, her expression full of guilt. Joseph tenderly ruffled her hair. "It has nothing to do with you. She's just overthinking things and being petty." The words had barely left his mouth when he looked up and saw me standing at the top of the stairs. I didn't acknowledge him, but he scrambled after me in a panic. "Don't be angry—I brought you that watch you've been wanting." "I waited in line forever to finally get it." He opened the box, revealing an elegant watch, his face a mask of self-satisfied tenderness. As if refusing the watch would prove I was the petty woman he'd just called me. "Don't be mad, okay? I brought you a gift. It'd be pretty petty of you not to take it." He opened the box. Inside was a beautiful watch. I let out a cold laugh. "This isn't a recycling bin. Don't bring me cheap garbage." Then I turned on my heel and walked out. And blocked him on every platform.
The next day, he appeared below my building, begging. I didn't acknowledge him. He stayed for three full days. He told me that day was truly a misunderstanding—Betty had shown up on her own to celebrate his birthday. He couldn't bring himself to refuse. He said he'd already transferred Betty to another advisor. They would never be in contact again. He asked me to give him one more chance. I didn't respond. On the fourth day, he didn't come—something came up. I finally had a moment to myself and headed to the studio. I pushed the door open, and the sight that greeted me was utter devastation. Nearly half the paintings—years of my work—destroyed. Torn to shreds. Knocked over. Each one ruined in its own way. But the lock showed no signs of forced entry. I pulled the security footage from the entrance camera. There it was: Betty, using a studio key to let herself in and wreak havoc. And the only people who had a key to the studio were Joseph and me. I took the evidence and went straight to the university to confront her. Her eyes were red, her expression the picture of wounded innocence. "Mrs. Smith, I know you've misunderstood a lot because of what happened between me and Professor Smith. You've been targeting me at every turn—you even made Professor Smith hand me off to another advisor." "But I've already explained—there's nothing between Professor Smith and me." "Why are you framing me like this?" "Don't you think you're being scary? Controlling Professor Smith's every move—do you really think that makes him happy?" "Or is it because of the sexual assault you went through in high school that your personality became this… twisted?" "What did you just say?" Instantly, every pair of eyes around me shifted. The whispers erupted. "Wait, is that true? She was sexually assaulted in high school? God, that's disgusting." "No wonder she's so messed up. Makes sense now, with that kind of history. Poor Professor Smith—juggling his career while dealing with a mentally ill wife." "Bullying a young girl like that. She's rotten to the core." … I went ice-cold all over. My grip on her wrist tightened involuntarily. "Who told you that?" She didn't answer, but I already knew. After all, the only person who knew about my assault and could have told her—was Joseph. She leaned in close, her smile a taunt. "Professor Smith told me, of course. Even that watch he brought back from the conference for you? I picked it out." What… I stood frozen in place. So Joseph had never cut ties with Betty at all. Not only had he been with her the entire seven days he was supposedly checking in with me at the conference— Even the gift he'd given me was one she'd chosen. Betty looked at me with pure venom. Before I could react, a force shoved me back. I stumbled, nearly fell. Joseph burst into the room and pulled Betty behind him. "Grace, what exactly are you trying to do?" "I already listened to you—I transferred Betty to another professor. I'm not in contact with her anymore. Why do you keep going after her?" I'm going after her? I laughed. I was about to speak when Joseph grabbed Betty's arm and walked out of the classroom without looking back. The other students filed out too. Only a few scattered figures remained, circling me, whispering.
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