My Genius Husband’s Lab Affair

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Twenty years into our marriage.

The chat thread between my husband Ethan Moore and me had been reduced to nothing but cold numbers.

The screen was filled with nothing but 1s and 2s.

Me: Working late in the lab tonight?

Him: 1 meaning yes.

Me: Coming home tonight?

Him: 2 meaning no.

I'd brainwash myself with the same mantras: he's a genius physicist, he's busy, his career is important.

On our anniversary, I bought lingerie and asked if he'd be coming home that night.

This time, he didn't reply with a number. Instead, he sent a 60-second voice message.

I clicked play. A woman's voice came through:

"Once I'm done feeding Professor Moore, I'll send him home."

"You take care of his daily needs, I take care of his physical desires. Our division of labor is crystal clear."

My hand trembled as I exited the app and drove to the lab.

Through the crack in the door, I saw Ethan working himself like a machine on top of a woman.

Heavy breathing, low moans like knives carving into my eardrums.

I stood outside in silence for what felt like an eternity before finally knocking.

When Ethan emerged, his expression was calm. Not a trace of embarrassment at being caught in the act.

His dark eyes settled on my face. After a moment's pause, he spoke deliberately: "Let's talk about this at home."

His slender hand reached toward me.

I didn't move.

For the past twenty years, whether it was dates, confessions, proposals, or even the pathetically rare sex we had I'd initiated all of it.

"Fiona?"

For once, he used my nickname, but his head was still tilted to the side, his gaze directed behind him.

Looking at that woman whose face he was carefully blocking with his body, shielding her from view.

My nose stung.

I forced a dry laugh: "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

Only then did he turn his head. The look in his eyes now held guilt and pleading.

"Fiona, can we just go home first? Please?"

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed my collar and roughly pulled me aside.

Then he turned back and gently instructed the woman: "You should go. Quickly!"

The clicking of high heels drew closer and closer.

Ethan's gaze followed her retreating figure, growing more distant.

He watched her so intently that he didn't even notice the cut on my cheek from where I'd been scraped against a nail on the wall.

Ethan hadn't always been this cold to me.

During those college years when his condition improved, he'd acted like a normal person, caring about my joys and sorrows.

After we married, he'd cancel urgent meetings and experiments on nights when I had my period, using his burning palms to warm my stomach. He'd clumsily write me love letters by hand before my birthday, trying to make up for the regrets of our youth.

But those warm, sweet memories couldn't compete with the pain on my face right now.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I forced them back.

Taking a deep breath, I shook off his hand: "Stop looking. She's gone."

His body stiffened. He hesitated, not daring to turn around.

This time I didn't wait for him. I headed to the car first.

We arrived home close to 11 PM.

The moment I changed out of my shoes, hands lifted me from behind and placed me on the sofa.

I turned to see Ethan retrieving the first aid kit, kneeling before me. The concern in his eyes didn't seem fake.

"I'm sorry..."

I didn't respond, letting him carefully treat my wound while his neck was still covered in hickeys.

Just like years ago when we exchanged wedding rings, when he'd publicly vowed to love me forever.

The same posture.

The same eyes.

But everything had changed.

Blood-stained cotton balls fell into the trash. As Ethan closed the first aid kit, I held out my hand to him:

"Your phone."

He didn't move, but the concern in his eyes faded, replaced by barely suppressed impatience.

"Don't make trouble for her. I'll end things with her."

I bit down hard and laughed.

This man's earlier concern, his kneeling it was all for this moment.

So I wouldn't make trouble for the woman who held his heart.

How could I possibly listen?

Brushing past him, I grabbed his phone from the table. The lock screen showed that woman's shy, smiling face.

The password was still my birthday.

But the pinned chat on his SnapChat had been changed to this woman named Chloe.

Their chat thread was incredibly active.

He replied to her every message instantly.

But my chat with him was a wasteland.

The last message was from half a month ago.

"Coming home for dinner?"

He hadn't replied.

The next day after work, he'd sent a dismissive: "Too busy, forgot."

I knew he had a national-level project underway, so I'd been understanding, not making a fuss, racking my brains to make him nutritious, healthy meals.

But I never imagined that all the care I gave him, he'd spent on someone else.

Even his "busy" was just being busy screwing someone in the lab.

[Your wife hasn't seen you in half a month. Are you coming home tonight?]

[Bored with her. Not going.]

The hand gripping the phone trembled slightly.

Twenty years. The best years of a woman's youth. I'd spent it all on this man, and all I got in return was "bored with her."

Those words blurred through my tears into an indistinct mess.

I bit my lip, forcing my eyes open wide, reading word by word.

Reading how this rigid man who'd lecture about physics even during sex had dressed up in costumes to play elaborate roleplay games for this woman.

Reading how at the science award ceremony I'd begged him multiple times to take me to events he'd always refused he'd brought her instead, letting her accept congratulations in my place, under my name.

Reading how when Chloe asked him "Do you like your wife or me?" he'd replied without hesitation:

"She's old now, loose down there too. Can't compare to you."

Turning the entire first half of my life spent devotedly helping him ascend to greatness into one massive joke.

My eyes burned. I returned the phone to Ethan.

The more I read, the more I felt like a complete fool.

"Fiona, I'm a man. I have needs and desires. Things with her got out of hand, we couldn't help ourselves."

"I hope you can understand and not make a scene. Let's just end this here, okay?"

His voice remained gentle.

Even his lies sounded so convincing.

But I stubbornly wanted answers. I pointed at the pinned profile picture, my voice hoarse:

"Of all people to cheat with, why her? Why the woman who killed your parents?"

I raised my voice, grabbing his collar, my words tearing through the air:

"Have you forgotten how your parents could have lived, but she ran them over again and again, grinding them into pulp?"

Ethan turned his face away. After a long pause, he finally spoke:

"She was young then. It wasn't intentional."

"And my parents shouldn't have been out that late at night. They brought it on themselves..."

I carefully savored those two sentences.

And couldn't help but laugh bitterly.

Laughing at my own blindness.

When Ethan's parents died and his relatives refused to take him in, Chloe afraid he'd press charges had systematically driven him insane.

She'd made him crawl on the ground and drink urine, bark like a dog, spreading videos of it everywhere.

His miserable state was burned into my memory for twenty years. Even after he recovered, I'd kept track of Chloe's whereabouts.

But I never anticipated this.

Not only had Ethan forgiven his parents' murderer first, he'd climbed into bed with her.

During every night he'd lied about working late, he'd tried every position with her.

He said they couldn't help themselves, overcome by passion.

So what were my meddling twenty years worth?

Thunder rumbled as his phone rang simultaneously.

Ethan didn't even glance at me before answering.

"Ethan, my thesis data got rejected. If I miss tonight's deadline, my entire project is ruined..."

Chloe's voice was sweet and cloying.

The man's throat bobbed as he immediately rushed to the entrance to change shoes, not forgetting to coo at her:

"Don't worry, baby. I'm coming right now."

He responded as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if I didn't exist.

I whirled around and blocked his path: "You're not going!"

Ethan frowned, irritation rising in his eyes.

"Fiona! This is about Chloe's future. She's not useless like you. Get out of my way!"

The word "useless" nailed me in place. I forgot how to react.

Ethan's patience completely evaporated. He grabbed my collar and shoved me aside.

My wound struck the corner of a cabinet. I hissed in pain.

Instinctively, I called out: "Ethan, it hurts..."

The only response was the earth-shattering slam of the door.

Liquid dripped down my face.

I didn't bother with it.

Like a walking corpse, I pulled out tonight's lunch box of food I'd lovingly prepared.

Opened the lid, grabbed my fork, and mechanically stuffed the still-warm food into my mouth, chewing as if punishing myself.

But thinking about how this lunch box had also been at the lab tonight made my mouth, my stomach, churn with revulsion like I'd swallowed countless needles.

I rushed to the bathroom and retched into the toilet.

As tears streamed from my eyes, the doorbell rang.

It was Ethan's supervisor.

"Fiona, Ethan's at City General Hospital. Get here quick!"

Instinctively, I asked: "What happened? Is he okay?"

Before he could answer, a strange woman's sobbing voice came through the phone:

"If it weren't for helping me get that corporate data, you wouldn't have been forced to drink so much you got gastric bleeding!"

"I'll go heat up some milk for you right now..."

Ethan's weak voice protested: "Don't... just stay with me. Let her do that kind of grunt work."

"Is that... appropriate?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Taking care of people is her only talent. Remember this your hands are meant for writing papers, conducting experiments, winning awards. They shouldn't be wasted in a kitchen..."

My throat felt like it had been scraped raw, like a fire burning it over and over.

I stared at my gaunt, withered reflection in the mirror.

Suddenly I understood. In this genius physicist's eyes, I his wife was only fit for menial labor. Only fit to serve.

Elevate his mistress to the clouds.

Reduce his wife to a maid.

What a perfect arrangement.

"Fiona, Ethan's bleeding quite a bit. When are you coming?"

I wiped away my tears and spoke slowly into the still-connected call: "Boss, I won't be coming to the hospital. But feel free to invite me to the public denouncement when his affair with Miss Chloe gets exposed!"

I hung up. My heart felt no better.

I drifted ghost-like to the bedroom, gazing at the bright moon hanging high. Suddenly, I laughed softly.

Ethan had probably long forgotten that back then, I'd been the top student at our university besides him.

He'd already been specially recruited by the National Physics Research Institute.

For my sake, he'd secretly torn up that offer letter, insisting on going to another city with me for college.

I'd gotten angry at him for the first time: "Are you crazy? How can you waste your talent like this?"

He'd stubbornly shaken his head, his eyes redder than blood.

"Wherever you go, I go. Without you, I don't want anything!"

He'd even taken that offer letter covered in tape and knelt at my parents' door, kowtowing repeatedly.

"Uncle, Aunt, please believe me. Fiona is my entire life."

"I'd rather die than let her down."

When Ethan was serious, stars would appear in his eyes.

And I'd naturally believed him completely.

When he said forever, I thought he meant forever.

Later, I gave up my studies, became a homemaker, lost myself in his ever-ascending career, becoming increasingly marked by domestic mundanity.

I earned no praise, only insults calling me "useless."

Life really is full of reversals.

Just like tonight I'd gone to the lab to tell him he was going to be a father.

What should have been a surprise turned into a nightmare.

The next day, when I returned home from the lawyer's office, my parents suddenly called.

Their tone was unusually stern.

"Fiona! Tell us the truth. Did you do something to betray Ethan?"

I was stunned.

I didn't know how to explain that Ethan had cheated and I wanted a divorce.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, I chose to deflect.

"Mom, Dad, nothing like that happened..."

My mother's heavy breathing came through the phone.

"Our house got splashed with red paint by some woman named Chloe. She says you're shameless, that you seduce her husband every night!"

"What's going on? The neighbors are all pointing fingers at us, saying you couldn't control yourself, that while Ethan was working late, you were out there sleeping around..."

My hot-tempered father snatched the phone away, shouting at the top of his lungs:

"Are you really that cheap? That desperate? Because of you, people are talking behind our backs. Your mother's fainted several times... If you don't fix this, we're cutting you off!"

Bang! The call disconnected.

Almost simultaneously, a soft laugh came from the bedroom.

The door opened.

Chloe stood inside.

She looked younger than her profile picture, with luminously pale skin and bright eyes. In her hands were the shredded pieces of my pregnancy test results.

"Like the gift I sent your parents?"

She smiled sweetly.

But it made my blood run cold.

I pulled out my phone to call the police while demanding: "How did you get in here?"

She slapped the phone out of my hand.

Shaking her head with a mocking laugh: "Stupid! Your husband gave me the key, obviously."

I stood frozen, my entire body shaking with rage.

She looked at me, tilting her head with a smile.

"Can't handle this already?"

"What if I told you I don't just have your house key I also have his project authorship rights and his research institute paycard? What would you do then?"

I took a breath, forcing down the fury rising in my chest.

"You saw it yourself. I'm carrying his child. I'm his legitimate wife. He won't destroy his academic career and future for you!"

She froze for a second.

Then burst out laughing.

"Really?"

She suddenly stood up, slowly walking toward me, her eyes dropping to my still-flat stomach.

Lips curling, her voice drawling slowly: "You think having a baby will tie him down? Just like you thought spending twenty years with him would guarantee you his whole life?"

"Stupid! So stupid!"

She threw her head back, laughing wildly.

Her voice was shrill and piercing.

Then I watched as her hands slowly moved to her own stomach.

Her clothes were thin.

Thin enough that I could clearly see her swollen belly.

Chloe glanced at my stunned expression, her face unable to hide her gloating.

"Fourteen weeks along. Ethan said once he finishes this current project, he'll tell you he wants a divorce. He's even reported it to his superiors."

"If I were you, I'd spread my legs and find another man..."

Fourteen weeks...

Fourteen weeks ago, she'd already had a key to my home.

She'd probably been in my marital bed, on the sofa, even in the shower in every corner of our shared home.

He'd mounted this woman, taking her again and again.

The clinking sounds of lab equipment bottles came crashing back into my ears.

Boom!

My carefully maintained composure shattered under the weight of my rage.

I grabbed the ashtray from the table and hurled it at her.

Ahhh!

She couldn't dodge in time. It hit her squarely, blood streaming from her forehead.

The suffocating pressure I'd been holding back, mixed with fury over my parents being terrorized, formed a tidal wave.

I didn't stop. Instead, I lunged at her like a madwoman.

Straddling her body, I grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the table.

Bang!

Her piercing screams were music to my ears in that deadly silent space.

The blood spurred me into deeper frenzy. I tore at her scalp while cursing at the top of my lungs:

"Bitch! Whore! Husband-stealing slut! Why don't you just die! I'll kill you!"

I'd lost all reason.

Completely consumed by rage.

Chloe's face was covered in blood. Her forehead crimson, her nose crimson, her mouth crimson.

She screamed until her voice went hoarse.

But I showed no mercy, clawing at her face, biting her ear, kicking her stomach with my feet.

She shrieked as blood seeped from between her legs in a spreading stain.

I stared at the bright red beneath her, pausing for a few seconds.

Just those few seconds and my lower abdomen took a brutal kick. Pain exploded across my belly.

My entire body flew backward.

Splurch!

Flesh pierced through.

The tip of an umbrella protruding from the entryway plunged deep into my body.

No!

I heard Ethan's terrified scream.