Chapter 1
In the eighth year of my marriage to Edward Grant, he decided to "sponsor" a female student.
She was eighteen, malnourished, and came from a broken home—so much like the girl I used to be years ago.
He took her to Winterlake Springs to see the snow and posted a picture on Instagram of a snowflake melting in both their palms.
One night, because she said she was craving tiramisu, he drove across the city just to buy her some.
When I questioned him, he told me not to make a fuss. He admitted he was in love with someone else, but reminded me that his wife would always be me.
What he didn't know was that I no longer had the strength to argue. After all, I had already started forgetting who he was.
*****
The first time I realized something was off was when Edward's monthly expenses suddenly spiked.
The money he transferred to "that student" went far beyond normal sponsorship. There were also luxury purchases and, eventually, a small apartment near her campus.
I didn't even know what I was feeling—shock, suspicion, or maybe just bitter resignation. I scrutinized her photo, trying to understand what he saw in her. She wasn't even pretty—just a timid girl in a cheap white dress, looking completely out of place.
I scrutinized her photo, trying to understand what he saw in her.
She wasn't even pretty—just a timid girl in a cheap white dress, looking completely out of place.
Maybe he was just tired of me. Eight years of marriage, fifteen years of knowing each other—perhaps that love had simply gone stale. I couldn't deny that even I sometimes felt bored looking at his face. Maybe a little affair felt like no big deal to him.
Still, I thought he should at least respect me enough not to humiliate me. So I decided to confront him.
When I laid the photo on the table, his reaction was nothing short of dramatic—panic, anger, and a desperate kind of fear.
"You know about her?" he snapped. "Don't touch her, Charlotte. She's innocent. If you're angry, take it out on me!"
I stared at him, genuinely stunned. For a moment, he looked less like the polished man I married and more like some reckless, foolish boy.
"What exactly do you think I'd do to her?" I asked.
That seemed to calm him down. He smoothed his tie, regained his usual composed tone, and slid a card across the table.
"There's seven figures in there," he said. "Consider it compensation. Don't interfere with me and her. If this is too much for you, we can file for divorce."
The ease with which he said it made something inside me twist—half disbelief, half disgust.
"Edward," I said quietly, "do you really love her that much?"
He didn't hesitate. "Of course."
I asked, "And what about me?"
He paused, just for a second. "Charlotte, to be honest, meeting her made me realize something. What I felt for you might have been pity, not love. She's the one I truly love."
I laughed under my breath. How tragic—that it took him over a decade to realize he had mistaken pity for love, and now he was ready to erase our entire past for a girl barely out of high school.
"Then why didn't you just divorce me first and be with her?" I asked. "Why wait until I found out?"
He frowned, looking at me like I was being completely unreasonable.
He took a deep breath. "Because I still feel responsible for you. I still care, in a way. If you pretend you don't know, nothing has to change. You can still be my wife. But if you insist, then yes, we can divorce.
"It's your choice, Charlotte. But honestly, I'd rather you didn't. You're thirty now. There's no need to make a scene."
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Edward, you're thirty too. Don't you think it's pathetic, chasing after a girl half your age? You're not in love. You're preying on someone who doesn't know any better."
His face darkened instantly. "What nonsense is that?"
He stood up sharply, eyes blazing. "Charlotte, thirty might be old for a woman, but not for a man. She said it herself—I'm charming at this age. A mature boyfriend type. You, on the other hand, are dull and lifeless. Don't drag me down to your level."
He wasn't done. His anger only grew uglier as he looked me up and down.
He sneered, "You know you've got age spots now, right? Take the money and get some skincare done."