My Husband Gave My Lunch to His Assistant, So I Left Him

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1: 1

Because my husband had a bad stomach, for seven years I never once missed making him a homemade lunch with my own hands.

That day I came in the rain to bring it, and as always he only sent his assistant down to take it.

The rain outside came down harder and harder. I stood there a while. He didn't come down with an umbrella, and he didn't message to ask how I'd get home.

I waited out the rain in the convenience store by the entrance, bored, scrolling a video feed, and happened to land on a local influencer.

On the screen, a girl was pouting sweetly at a beautiful, generous lunch box in front of her.

My future mother-in-law's love is a little too salty today, what do I do?

Looking at those familiar dishes, that familiar lunch box, even the mouthwash I'd thoughtfully tucked inside, something in my chest went tight.

The next second a message popped up. It was my husband.

Too salty today. Use less salt next time.

I looked out at the pouring rain, and for some reason my eyes went wet too.

In my heart I answered quietly:

It's fine. There won't be a next time.

The words in that message box made my heart shudder.

I scrolled back through the sparse chat history with Richard Mason.

Don't bring mango today, I'm allergic to mango.

The shrimp was good today. Make another portion tomorrow.

Make sweet and sour ribs tomorrow.

The food was cold today. Bring it faster next time.

....

Every message was short and cold, as if he were giving orders to a housekeeper.

I wiped the corner of my eye and gave a bitter little laugh.

Laughing at my own foolishness. There had been signs all along, and I'd forced myself to believe otherwise, refusing to doubt, refusing to suspect.

Richard was never allergic to mango before. When did he suddenly become allergic?

Richard never liked sweet and sour food. When did he suddenly start ordering sweet and sour ribs?

Every last thing was telling me the same truth.

All those times I'd racked my brain learning new dishes for him, all those times I'd run through pouring rain just to get his food to him on time.

All of it had really been for someone else.

I couldn't stop myself from scrolling through the girl's account, and it turned out the account went back four years.

In the first video from four years ago, the girl was still a fresh college student.

That day she casually tossed a gift box into the trash, with the caption:

Do rich guys really chase girls in such a corny way these days? I'm not that kind of gold digger.

From the first video to the ninety-ninth, the gift boxes the girl received grew more and more expensive, some even reaching seven figures.

Her clothes grew more and more refined too, and the smile on her face grew more and more confident.

Within a mere half year she'd become a director, drawing a wave of envy in the comments.

I had no heart left to scroll the rest. My heart had frozen into frost.

I lifted my stiff hand and called Richard.

It took a long time for him to pick up, and his tone was full of impatience.

Didn't I say not to call me after work hours?

I opened my mouth, my throat aching and dry.

Richard, the rain's too heavy out here. Can you come take me home?

I asked it nervously, holding on to one last shred of hope.

But before Richard could answer, a girl's coy voice suddenly rang out on the other end:

Aww, come here, babe. Baby ate too much and my tummy hurts.

My heart shuddered, and the other end had already gone to a busy signal.

The last little candle flame in my heart went out.

I sat there dazed for a while, then started to laugh, until even the passersby looked at me like I was crazy.

A moment later, my phone buzzed again.

It was a twenty-dollar transfer from Richard.

Cab fare.

2: 2

I didn't take the twenty dollars. I walked home instead.

Set against how generous he was with other women, those twenty dollars felt like a handout tossed my way.

But the moment I got home, Richard laid into me before I could even speak.

"May, aren't you something now, coming home this late!"

"Do you have any idea? I got back and there wasn't even a cup of tea waiting, not even my bath drawn!"

His grip on my wrist hurt. I just stood there and let the man rant.

Only when Richard stopped did I say, coldly,

"Richard, was I born to do all this for you?"

The anger on his face gave way to surprise, then something almost like disbelief as he looked at me.

"You're a housewife. Isn't this exactly what you're supposed to do?"

Something in me caught fire. A whole day of hurt and exhaustion broke loose at once. I threw his hand off hard and snapped,

"Richard, did I choose to stay home?"

"The reason I was forced to stay here, do you really not know?"

He flinched away from my stare on instinct.

That ugly stretch of the past sat between us like a scar. If I never brought it up, he'd probably have forgotten it long ago.

After a moment, Richard softened his voice and tried to pull me into his arms, coaxing me.

"May, have you just been cooped up too long?"

"Tell you what. I'll send you two hundred dollars, you go out and have some fun, all right?"

As he said it, the man actually pulled two bills from his wallet, wearing a look of pure indulgence.

"May, don't scrimp on my account. Eat what you want, spend what you want."

"Just don't be so difficult next time, okay?"

I suddenly remembered that girl's first video, tossing a bracelet worth a few hundred thousand into the trash like it was nothing, and yet saying Richard's love was too cheap.

So how much was Richard's love for me worth?

That night, unsettled from the day, I fell into the nightmare again.

In the dream, they forced liquor into me and stripped off my clothes.

Those men pinned me down and said if I spent one night with them, the Mason project would go smoothly, all of it.

I cried and screamed and fought, and then jerked awake out of the nightmare.

The fear still clinging to me, I curled into Richard's arms out of habit. The man patted my back once, offhand, then pushed me off and sat up.

"I've got a meeting tomorrow. Go sleep in the guest room."

Richard left, and I hugged my pillow and cried without a sound.

Back when I was rescued, he'd held me and said it over and over,

"Don't be scared, May. I'll protect you my whole life. I won't let anyone hurt you again."

Because of what happened, I later fell into severe depression and had to stay home.

And it was Richard who held me then and promised, solemnly,

"May, from now on you just stay home and take it easy. Your husband will earn the money and take care of you. Don't worry, even if you do nothing at all, just being alive is enough."

I wrapped my arms around my own shoulders and laughed at myself.

Right. What he called taking care of me was buying out my time for a few thousand dollars, so I could slave for him.

And then bankroll another woman.

3: 3

The next morning, I didn't head out early to the market for the freshest vegetables like I always did, and I didn't rush to have Richard's meal ready the moment the clock struck the usual hour.

Instead, I went to a law firm and asked the lawyer straight out for a set of divorce papers.

Then I took my resume and interviewed at a few companies.

But I had barely stepped out of the last one when Richard called.

"May, do you have too much time on your hands? Do you have any idea how much you're embarrassing me? My wife, going out to look for work, taking orders from someone else?"

"Be a good girl and go home and cook. Make sweet-and-sour fish tonight!"

He hung up before I could get a word in.

Not long after, every company I'd interviewed with called back, one after another, apologizing and gently informing me that I hadn't made the cut.

I curled my fingers, nails digging into my palm.

A video notification popped up on my phone.

It was that girl.

"I've got wonderful news to share with all of you. I'm pregnant!"

"The baby's daddy is over the moon. I just said I wanted sweet-and-sour fish, and he called his mother right away and had her make it for me!"

"I feel like the happiest woman in the world right now!"

The girl cradled her belly, all smiles, those big eyes gazing smugly into the camera, as if she were flaunting it at someone.

My heart lurched.

The comments were nothing but blessings, some of them even begging her for tips on how to land a life like that.

So Richard had clipped my wings, and set another woman up in the palace of happiness instead. Was that it?

I typed a single line into the comment section.

"The happiness of knowingly being the other woman?"

Then I blocked her. I didn't want to look at something that filthy anymore.

But half an hour later, Richard tracked me down and dragged me into his car.

Inside, his face was dark.

"May, do you have any idea? Because of your rumor-mongering, Clara's been so hounded online she's ready to jump off a building!"

I froze for a second, then let out a cold laugh.

"What rumor did I spread? Richard, she's pregnant. With your child. Isn't she?"

A brief silence filled the car.

After a moment, Richard tugged irritably at his tie.

"She's just a girl barely in her twenties. Why do you have to go after her like this?"

"Besides, her being pregnant is a good thing for you too, isn't it? The only reason I didn't tell you was for your sake. I wanted it to be a surprise."

"You went through IVF all those times and never conceived. What's wrong with having a child who'll call you Mom someday? My marriage certificate has only your name on it, after all!"

Richard's shameless words almost made me laugh out of sheer anger. I stared at him, steady and unblinking, as if I were meeting this man for the very first time.

To grant Richard his wish of becoming a father, I'd done IVF over a hundred times. My stomach was still covered with countless bruises from the needles they'd used to draw out the eggs.

That pain went straight into the bone. Even now, remembering it made my scalp crawl.

And yet here he was, saying so lightly that having a child with another woman was for my own good?

Richard paid no attention to how I felt. His tone turned hard.

"In a bit, you're going to apologize to Clara. Tell her you spread the rumor out of jealousy."

I didn't answer. But I didn't even get the right to refuse before Richard yanked me out of the car.

At the edge of the rooftop, Clara's skirt fluttered in the wind, her whole body swaying as if she might topple over any second.

The moment he saw it, Richard's eyes went red with panic. He pulled me a step forward and shouted.

"Clara, come down! I've brought the one who started the rumors about you. I'll make her apologize to you right now!"

I stood there rigid, refusing to say a word.

Clara's tears came harder, and she looked at Richard with a pitiful, wronged expression.

"Richard, am I really the other woman?"

"Because if I am, then I don't want to live anymore!"

At that, Richard's brows knit tight, and he said coldly, right against my ear,

"May, apologize!"

"Otherwise, I won't mind releasing those photos from back then!"

4: 4

My whole body went rigid. I stared at Richard in disbelief, and all I found in his eyes was insistence and cold indifference.

The blood in me turned cold, bit by bit.

After a while, I turned my head toward Clara like something already dead, and said each word slowly:

"I'm sorry."

The moment it was out, I forced back the sob rising in my throat and turned to leave, but a woman's voice stopped me.

"Wait! You slandered me and you think a light little sorry is enough?"

Clara's eyes were red as she glared at me, unwilling to let it go.

I clenched my teeth, my fingertips trembling.

"What else do you want?"

Clara shrank into Richard's arms, the picture of pitiful innocence.

"Richard, she almost got me killed, almost killed our baby. So I want her to kneel and apologize to me, all right?"

My head snapped up toward Richard, and he nodded his agreement without the slightest hesitation.

He looked at me, his eyes leaving no room for refusal.

"May, kneel and apologize to Clara!"

My heart clenched with sudden pain.

The man who years ago had paid a fortune to buy those photos to protect me was now using those same photos to force me to my knees before the other woman.

"May, apologize to Clara!"

Richard barked it again, a warning in his eyes.

I bit down hard, my mouth flooding with the taste of blood.

But when I thought of what would happen if those photos got out, thought of the disappointment in my parents' eyes all over again, I still bent my knees.

The floor bit into my knees, and Clara looked down at me from above.

It went on for a long time, until she finally curled her lip.

"Richard, I want to go home."

Richard carried Clara away. The wind on the rooftop pushed against my back, and it dried my tears too.

I went home alone, and the first thing I saw when I stepped through the door was Clara on the couch.

Richard saw me come in and said, careless, "Clara's got some morning sickness, but she's used to your cooking. You'll be looking after her for a while."

"Consider it your way of making it up to her."

My throat worked, and every word I could have said turned into one slap, landing hard across Richard's face.

His head jerked to the side, stunned. Clara instantly threw her arms around him and screamed at me:

"How dare a housekeeper hit her employer! If Richard hadn't said you're too old to find another job, we'd have fired you long ago just for pining after your employer!"

The girl's face was flushed with anger, but I only found it laughable.

"Richard, you're calling me the housekeeper again?"

Richard's expression shifted. He pulled me aside and said in a low voice, "For the baby's sake, let's keep it from Clara a little longer."

"Just behave, and I'll raise your living allowance more after this."

I twisted my lips, about to speak, when Clara suddenly let out a small whimper.

"Richard, I'm so hungry, the baby's hungry too. I want fish stew right now, this second. Go buy some, okay?"

At that, Richard shot me a warning look, then grabbed his car keys and went out the door.

Just like that, the apartment held only me and Clara. My face cold, I turned to go back to my room, but Clara blocked my path.

"Don't rush off, you old hag. Take a look at this!"

I hadn't wanted to give her the time of day, but the next second I saw my own private photos on the girl's phone screen.

The same private photos Richard had once bought out, the ones he'd told me had already been destroyed.

That night, stripped bare and forced to face the camera, rose up in my mind again.

I was shaking all over, and without thinking I moved to snatch the phone.

But before my hand even touched Clara, she was already on the floor.

I stepped toward her, reaching again for the phone, when a violent pain tore through my side.

Richard drew his foot back and lifted Clara up, frantic.

All I could feel was the wetness spreading between my legs, and the pain in my lower belly sharpening to the limit.

But Richard didn't spare me another glance, sweeping Clara up and striding out.

After he left, the blood between my legs came heavier and heavier.

Then everything went black, and I lost consciousness completely.

When I opened my eyes again, there was a blinding stretch of white before me.

A woman's voice reached my ear.

"Don't move around. You just had a miscarriage with heavy bleeding, you need bed rest."

"Miscarriage" "heavy bleeding"?

The words stabbed straight through my nerves. Without thinking I reached for my belly, my face gone bloodless.

The child I'd begged for through more than a hundred rounds of IVF, the child I'd longed and longed for.

Gone, just like that, without my even knowing.

And before I could surface from that crushing grief, the phone on the nightstand rang.

The caller ID said Mom.

"May, what's the story with those photos online?"

"What in the world have you been doing out there all these years?"

Something seemed to detonate in my head. I could barely make out the rest of what my mother said, only an endless ringing left in my ears.

The photos had gotten out after all?

That fact repeated over and over in my mind, and my limbs suddenly locked up, unable to move for a long time.

The phone slipped to the floor and shattered into pieces, and my mother's voice cut off entirely.

It was a long while before I moved, long enough that my back was soaked with sweat. I forced myself up, signed my own discharge papers, and asked for a copy of the injury report.

The phone was smashed and useless, so I threw it out with the SIM card straight into the trash.

Then, outside the hospital, I borrowed a phone from a passerby and dialed the number of Richard's worst enemy.

"I'll agree. Every document you want, I can give you."