Chapter 1

The day before Christmas, Duncan Foster came downstairs, dressed neatly.

I was putting up decorations.

He walked over to me. "I won't be home for Christmas. Will you be okay on your own?"

Before I could even ask why, he said, "She's pregnant. The baby is mine. I need to go be with her."

My hand trembled, and the colorful paper fluttered lightly to the ground.

"Why tell me this now, of all times?"

From his silent expression, I knew our marriage was over.

My voice hoarse, I forced out the words. "Duncan, let's get a divorce."

"Irene, haven't I been good enough to you? Why get divorced?"

Even the most even-tempered and level-headed person would have a hard time not losing it after hearing something like that.

I snatched the ashtray off the coffee table and hurled it right at him.

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Duncan, you've been sleeping with another woman, and you have the gall to ask me why?

"Don't you think that's ridiculous?"

Duncan didn't even try to dodge.

Glass shattered across the floor, and a bruise instantly swelled on his forehead.

But that didn't quench my fury one bit. I grabbed the books, magazines—everything on the table—and flung them all at him.

Duncan didn't so much as flinch; he just stood there, rigid and unmoving.

In the end, I even smashed my favorite vase—the one holding flowers I'd picked from the garden just that morning.

Duncan had always been so distant and cool. Before we married, his room was done up in stark, cold colors.

Completely lifeless, no hint of warmth.

Every week, I'd pick up some flowers from the shop to spruce the place up, hoping to inject a little coziness.

After the wedding, I hired a designer to overhaul the entire villa, and I personally chose and arranged every single item, big or small.

It had been our warmest sanctuary, a home that was ours alone.

Now it lay in ruins, wrecked by my own hands.

Duncan just watched me in silence, eyeing me like I was some kind of lunatic, his expression oddly detached.

Worn out from all the smashing, I covered my face, sank to a squat on the floor, and broke down in helpless sobs.

Duncan came over and stood in front of me.

After what felt like forever, he scooped me up off the ground, cleared some debris from a corner of the sofa, and gently set me down.

He knelt before me, his eyes betraying a flicker of pain as he brushed away the tears from the corner of my eye with his thumb.

"Irene, don't do this... It breaks my heart to see you like this."

In his eyes, I caught a glimpse of myself—eyes swollen and red, looking utterly wrecked.

I froze for a moment.

How had we ended up here?

I wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand and tried to pull myself together.

"Do you remember what you promised me?

"You said we'd be together for life, through thick and thin, growing old hand in hand."

But Duncan, we'd only been married three years, and you'd already cheated on me—betrayed our marriage.

"How long have you two been together?"

Duncan quickly looked away, avoiding my gaze.

"Almost a year."

So they'd been at it that long?

I clenched my fist, nails biting into my palm, and let out a bitter laugh. "Why tell me now? Why not just keep it hidden forever?"

Duncan sat quietly beside me, fished out his lighter, and sparked up a cigarette.

The smoke softened the sharp edges of his face.

"I didn't want to lie to you."

Didn't want to lie—what a self-righteous, phony line.

If the love was gone, he could've just come clean. We could've divorced like adults.

I was not the kind to beg or cling on desperately.

But no, he had to go and have an affair while we were still married.

"She's barely in her twenties—young, adorable. Unlike you, she doesn't turn down the gifts I buy or the money I give her. She's super clingy, always acting cute and spoiled."

As he said it, a spark lit up in his eyes, only to fade when he turned back to me.

"But Irene, you never do any of that. You make everything feel so... bland.

"After all, I'm your husband—the one person who's supposed to be closest to you."

But Duncan, I'd always been this dull, aloof sort of person.

It was the way I grew up—the family dynamics and environment shaped me like that.

I didn't know how to flirt or act cute; I hated imposing on others.

Even with my closest people, I kept things straightforward and accounted for.

I'd been working hard to change, trying to learn how to rely on him.

But when I really needed him—lying in the hospital after that car accident, calling him desperately—where was he?

"Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, it's bacon; Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, tomato and vegetables. I'm honestly so over this tepid, monotonous life."

I didn't understand. The table was loaded with dishes.

Only a couple were my favorites; everything else was stuff he loved.