Chapter 1

Eight years of marriage, and I thought I was David Lawson's wife.

Then one day, I found a photo in his suit pocket.

In the photo, a woman was holding a boy who looked about seven or eight. Her smile was soft and gentle, and the boy was the spitting image of David.

My fingers trembled as I held the photo.

David came out of the study, and when he saw the photo in my hand, his expression darkened.

"Who is this?" My voice came out barely above a whisper.

He stayed silent for a long while. So long that I thought he wasn't going to answer.

"My ex-wife," he finally said. "And my son."

In that moment, my mind went completely blank. His ex-wife and son. Those words cut through me like knives, sharp and merciless.

"When did you get divorced?" I asked.

David didn't say a word. He just looked at me, his eyes filled with something I couldn't quite understand—maybe guilt, and a kind of helplessness.

"David, I'm asking you. When did you get divorced?" I said, enunciating every word.

He took a deep breath. "I didn't."

His answer pressed down on me like a mountain, making it hard to breathe.

"What did you say?" My voice was shaking.

"I said, I never got divorced," David said, meeting my eyes. "Wendy, I'm sorry."

I instinctively stepped back, my back pressed against the wall. The living room lights were so bright that they made my eyes ache.

I stared at David, the man I'd spent eight years of my life with. He was wearing the shirt I bought him, the watch I gave him, and the slippers I picked out for him.

My presence was everywhere in this house. But I wasn't really his wife.

"You lied to me for eight years?" I heard myself ask.

David looked down, saying nothing.

"Why did you lie to me?" My voice rose. "Why did you marry me? Why did you let me believe I was your wife? Why?"

"Because I love you," he said, looking up, his eyes rimmed with red. "I really do."

I laughed bitterly, tears streaming down my face. "You love me? You love me, so you lied to me for eight years? You love me, so you made me the other woman for eight years? You love me, so you turned me into a homewrecker?"

David reached for my hand, but I snatched it away.

"Don't touch me," I said. "You make me sick."

I turned and ran into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. With my back against the door, I slid down to the floor. The tears wouldn't stop falling. I covered my mouth, trying to keep myself from sobbing out loud.

Eight years. An entire eight years. I gave David the best years of my life. I thought I married for love, but in the end, I married a fraud who already had a wife and a kid.

That night, I didn't sleep a wink. My mind was a mess, replaying every moment from those eight years—our first date, our first kiss, the first time we got laid. The day we got married, David was grinning ear to ear, telling me, "Wendy, I'll take care of you."

I believed him. I thought I married for love. But it turned out that I married a lie.

*****

The next morning, David left for work. As soon as he was out the door, I logged into his computer.

The password was my birthday. I let out a cold laugh. Wasn't that ironic? He used my birthday as his password, but he'd been lying to me for eight years.

I searched through his files, his emails, and his chat logs. Each keystroke felt like a punch to my chest.

Finally, I found it. A divorce agreement, unsigned, dated ten years ago.

Ten years ago, he and his ex-wife were about to get divorced, but they never went through with it. Why?

I kept digging and found an email from his ex-wife. [David, I'm pregnant. Can we not get divorced? I know you don't love me, but the baby is innocent. Please, I'm begging you.]

The email was from ten years ago. So, his ex-wife got pregnant, and they never got divorced.

And then what? Then he met me. He told me he was single, and I believed him. Then he married me. And I became his mistress for eight years.

I stared at the screen, tears falling onto the keyboard.

David and I were college classmates. He was two years ahead of me, and was the student council president. He was gentle and popular, the kind of guy everyone liked. I'd had a crush on him for three years.

Then, the year I graduated, he showed up out of nowhere, told me he was into me, and asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend.

Of course, I said yes. I'd been into him for three years. Three whole years.

We got married two years after we started dating. The wedding was simple, just a few friends. He said his parents had passed away early, so he didn't have many relatives to invite. I didn't think much of it.

My parents had some reservations, thinking his family background was a bit unclear. But I insisted. I told them I loved him. They couldn't change my mind, so they agreed.

For eight years, I thought we were happy. David was always good to me. He remembered my birthday, knew exactly what I liked to eat, and paid attention to all my little quirks.

We hardly ever fought, and whenever we did, he'd always be the one to say sorry first.

I thought that was love. I really believed I'd found the one.

But yesterday, he told me he was never divorced. He had a wife and a son. Then what about me?