And so, half a year passed like this.
Her trips increased from once every three months to once every two weeks.
Even when Anna cried in hunger, she would ignore her, leaving me to prepare formula milk.
Each time she came back, she looked rejuvenated, glowing, full of energy.
She thought I didn’t notice—but I understood everything.
Emily sobbed softly, asking pitifully:
“Daniel, did I do something wrong?
I admit I haven’t taken care of Anna lately… but I can’t help it. Every time I see her, I just want to cry.”
My mother-in-law tried to mediate:
“Daniel, we can help take care of the baby. Don’t be so rash.”
I shook my head. I was long past disappointment with Emily.
“I don’t want to drag this on. Tomorrow we’re going to the county clerk’s office to file for divorce.”
“If you don’t want to raise Anna, fine. I’ll raise her myself.”
In half a year, Emily had nursed Anna fewer times than I could count on one hand.
She kept claiming she had insufficient milk supply, or that her postpartum depression made it impossible.
I tried to understand, even offering comfort again and again.
But my tolerance had only made her bolder.
“Is this something a normal person would say?”
My father-in-law glared at me furiously, coffee mug still in his hand.
“Emily’s been with you for five years, married you, gave birth to your child, and worked hard to care for this family. And now you want a divorce?”
“Did I hear that right, or have you lost your mind?”
Faced with his questioning, I shrugged.
“Then just take me for insane. All I want now is a divorce.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, my father-in-law smashed the coffee mug.
Glass shards scattered everywhere, and hot coffee splashed across me.
Emily cried out instantly:
“Dad, what are you doing?! That coffee was scalding hot—it could burn Daniel!”
She looked at me with concern, trying to pull me toward the bathroom to rinse the burns with cold water.
I shook her hand off.
“Enough. Stop pretending.”
Emily’s gaze faltered.
“Daniel, what’s wrong with you today? Did something happen? Are you in trouble?”
“If you are, tell me. I’m your wife—we’ll face it together, okay?”
Looking at Emily’s tearful, affectionate eyes, I almost wished it were true.
But her acting was so convincing, I could no longer tell reality from performance.
My father-in-law roared, unable to stand it anymore:
“What’s the use of a man like this? And you’re still defending him?”
Emily cried out: