It was the day we were celebrating my son turning one month old when I saw it.
A photo of him, my wife, and her first love—the three of them, smiling, like some happy family.
Edmund Kingsley posted it on Facebook. The caption?
[It's been so long! At last, our family got reunited!]
I just stared at the post for a minute.
It was my son between my wife and his first love, and all I could manage was a simple comment: [?]
Before I could even make sense of the picture and the caption, my phone buzzed. My wife.
"For Pete's sake, Duncan, I just let him hold the baby for a picture! Why are you making such a big deal out of it?!" she said, her voice sharp. "If you've got time to stalk him, how about changing a few more diapers for your son?"
Right after that, the call ended before I could say a damn thing.
When I checked the post again, it was already gone; I was blocked.
But that photo of the three of them? Still there, haunting me.
That's when I knew—divorce was the only option.
——
I was stuffing the last of my clothes into a suitcase in the bedroom when Ophelia walked in. Her expression soured the moment she saw the suitcase sitting by the door.
"Come on! Edmund and I have nothing on!" she snapped, crossing her arms. "I told you, he just wanted a picture with our baby. Why do you always have to be so damn possessive?"
I clenched my fists, trying to rein in the anger bubbling up inside me.
"Possessive?" I scoffed. "Since he came back, have you ever noticed the insane things you've done for him?"
Her eyes narrowed, and her tone turned cold.
"Duncan, don't you dare," she warned. "He's my childhood friend. I'm successful now—why shouldn't I help him out a little?"
I let out a laugh. Not the funny kind—the kind you make when you realize you're screwed.
"So, you 'helped' him all the way into bed. Is that what you're saying?" I retorted.
Her face twisted with anger.
Before I knew it, her hand came down hard across my face.
"Seriously, Duncan, when did you turn into this paranoid asshole? If I wanted to sleep with him, you'd be long gone! You better watch your mouth, or don't blame me if I push for the divorce myself!"
With that, she stormed off, slamming the door behind her.
I just stood there, touching my face, my cheek burning from the slap.
Since Edmund had shown up, my wife wasn't the same.
She paraded him around at our product launch like some star, even handed him the project I'd been working on for three years just because "he wanted to prove himself."
And when that project lost three freaking million she brushed it off, casually saying, "So what?"
The staff got furious, calling Edmund "just a handsome dude" behind his back.
But by the next day, they were all fired. Every single one of them. And no one dared bring Edmund up again.
But if all of this wasn't real, if it was just me being paranoid, then what about that damn "family" photo Edmund posted? What was that?
The next morning, Ophelia was gone before I woke up. Her assistant called me in a panic, saying no one could reach her.
But I wasn't interested in dealing with that. Wherever she was or whoever she was with—that didn't bother me anymore.
I had other things to worry about—like taking my son to get a paternity test.
After submitting the samples, I sat quietly in the hallway, waiting for the results.
Deep down, I already knew what the result would be. But I needed to see it on paper with my own eyes.
Before I could get too far into my thoughts, I looked up and spotted my wife—with her first love.
The second he spotted me, he practically hid behind her like a kid caught doing something he shouldn't.
"H-Hey, dude, w-what are you doing here?" he stammered, trying way too hard to play it cool. "Uh, Ophelia... She just bumped into me. It's not what you think."
But his lame excuses only made things clearer.
Meanwhile, Ophelia didn't even try to smile. The moment she saw me, her face turned stone cold.
"Seriously? You're not following me now, are you?" she said disappointingly. She then insisted, "How many times do I have to say it? Edmund's like a little brother to me. Stop being paranoid!"
I shot them both a cold glance.
Just then, my phone buzzed with a text, informing me that the report had been prepared.
Without a word, I locked the screen and turned towards the office.
Seeing that I was ignoring her, Ophelia frowned slightly and quickly stepped forward, grabbing my sleeve.
"He was in a car accident yesterday. I was just here taking care of him," she explained.
I turned to face Edmund, sizing him up.
"He's not missing any limbs, no internal injuries whatsoever. How serious could it be that someone else's wife has to babysit him overnight? Or is he like me, with both legs broken once before?"
Ophelia tried to explain, but her words trailed off, and she pressed her lips together, going silent.
Two years ago, I was in a car accident myself. An eight-wheeler truck lost control and came barreling right at me.
I got pinned underneath, and all I could think about was calling my wife.
I desperately wanted to tell her that if I didn't make it, she should take my inheritance and find a good man who could take care of her for the rest of her life.
But the reality—I called her 50 times, and she didn't pick up...
Thank goodness, just when I was about to give up, the call finally connected.
I told her I was in a car accident and might not survive.
But instead of sympathy, all I got was her irritated lecture. "Dammit! Can you stop calling me out of the blue?! I'm busy as hell, you know?"
She even threatened me, hissing, "If you're just trying to get my attention, I wouldn't hesitate to divorce you, Duncan!"
After that, I didn't dare disturb her again. I faced death all on my own.
I was lucky, though. The emergency responders showed up just in time, pulling me out seconds before the truck exploded.
But the long period of pressure on my legs crushed the bones, and it took six long months before I could walk again.
It wasn't until a few months ago that I found out what had kept Ophelia so "busy" back then.
She was planning a welcome-back party for Edmund, who had just returned from abroad.
Meanwhile, I was stuck with post-traumatic rheumatoid arthritis, a constant reminder that flared up every time it rained.
With my words leaving her no room for excuses, Ophelia just stood beside Edmund, both of them quiet.
Just as she opened her mouth to try again, I cut her off. "I've got things to take care of. You take care of your first love."
With that, I continued my tracks, disappearing down the hallway.
Chapter 2In the office, my childhood buddy held the paternity test results. Worry was etched all over his face as he looked at me.
"Duncan, perhaps… you shouldn't look at this?" he suggested, almost hesitantly.
But deep down, I already knew what was coming, so I snatched both reports and compared them side by side.
The first one read: [0.00000001% chance of a biological relationship]
The second report: [99.99%]
It hit me like a ton of bricks—Ollie was Edmund's kid.
Looking at the report confirming I had no biological tie to the child I treated as my son felt like my heart was getting ripped right out of my chest.
I thought I was ready for this, but seeing it laid out like that made me tremble.
Honestly, I don't even recall how I made it home.
By the time I came to my senses, I found the floor littered with cigarette butts.
Ophelia walked in, coming back for some files, and her frown deepened at the sight.
"Ollie's still here. Don't smoke in the house," she scolded.
Seeing me in a daze, she shifted her tone, saying, "I've thought about it. Yesterday was my fault. I shouldn't have hit you."
"To make it up to you," she added, "I'll stay home tonight."
"Here, I bought you an apology gift," she offered, tossing a box at me.
I opened it up and found a tie clip, identical to the one Edmund had worn this morning.
A cheap freebie from when she picked up his shirt, I bet.
At that realization, bitterness surged through me.
Was this all I was worth to her?
Thinking about the damn reports made my hands shake again.
Once I got my breathing under control, I finally managed to spit out the words that had been clawing at my throat.
"Ophelia, let's get a divorce."
Her head snapped up, and her cold facade cracked. For a second, I could see her poised figure tremble.
"What nonsense are you spouting?" she blurted out. "You accepted my apology, and now you're talking about divorce?"
But just like that, she regained her composure, the arrogance creeping back in.
"Oh, is this your way of playing hard to get? Trying to make me chase after you?"
"I told you I'd stay home tonight to make things right."
"If that's not enough for you, stop bugging me. I've got work to do."
She tossed her bag aside, plopped down on the couch, and flipped open her laptop, burying herself in work.
The dim glow from the screen of the device cast a cold light on her face, making her look distant and detached—like snow on a mountain, untouchable.
For a moment, I found myself lost in thought, drifting back to our university days.
I remember the first time I laid eyes on Ophelia. It was a love at first sight.
She was a standout in the finance program, and I was a rising entrepreneur already running my business.
To win her over, I went all out, even chartering a plane to take her to meet the most prominent financial experts.
I poured all the resources I had into helping her chase her entrepreneurial dreams.
But right before our wedding, she told me she didn't want kids, which meant no intimacy for us.
Respecting her wishes, I held back for two years, leaving our bedroom cold and empty.
Then last year, she suddenly got passionate. She was crawling into bed with me at night, demanding my attention like I was her lifeline.
I was thrilled, thinking that after all these years, my devotion to her had finally touched her.
I doted on her even more, treating her like a queen.
Not long after, she dropped the news—she was pregnant.
I was over the moon and announced it to everyone that very night.
But looking back now, her sudden affection was just a ploy to legitimize the child she was carrying back then.
To her, I was nothing more than a walking bank account, and even talking to me was a favor.
Staring at the woman I once loved with all my heart, a wave of bitterness crashed over me.
Was this really the reward for all those years of my loyalty?
Chapter 3I wanted to speak up, but her phone buzzed before I could find the words.
She answered the call and abruptly stood up, grabbing her things and bolting for the door.
Just as she placed her hand on the doorknob, she seemed to remember something and glanced back at me.
"Edmund had an accident. I need to check on him. I can't stay with you tonight," Ophelia said, her voice a mix of urgency and guilt.
I managed a half-hearted smile and replied, "Go on. If something's wrong, you should be there."
Before I could say anything else, she was out the door.
Staring at the now-empty apartment, I suddenly felt a sense of release.
After she left, I began packing my stuff. I called my mother-in-law and asked her to come pick up Ollie.
By the time I zipped up my suitcase, the doorbell rang.
Opening the door, I was met with Ophelia's mom, her expression as cold as a winter wind.
"A full-grown man without a job, and you can't even take care of your own kid?!"
"We never wanted her to marry you in the first place. If she'd gone for a rich guy, none of this would be happening."
"Now I've gotta come out in the middle of the night to pick up my own grandson!"
She'd always looked down on me like I was just a weed in her garden.
What she didn't realize was that selling my company was what helped her daughter rise to where she is.
But explaining all that now would just be a waste of time.
I handed over Ollie carefully, but she kept on rambling.
"At least my grandson takes after my daughter. He's so handsome; he'll do something big one day. Unlike you, relying on a woman for a roof over your head."
Her words sliced through me, twisting my gut.
I couldn't help but say, "I'm about to divorce her, so save the insults."
She was shocked, staring at me like she couldn't believe the son-in-law she used to push around was finally standing up for himself.
With a raised eyebrow, she sneered. "Ha! A mooch like you talking about divorce?"
"Then hurry up and do it!" she continued. "Stop holding my daughter back from finding a real man."
With a slam that echoed down the hallway, she stormed off, taking Ollie with her.
I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm.
But I couldn't wait any longer; I pulled out my phone, ready to text Ophelia about meeting at the Clerk of Court's Office tomorrow to finalize the divorce.q
As I unlocked my screen, a notification caught my eye.
Edmund had just posted something. I clicked the notification, and my heart sank.
There was a photo of Ophelia gently blowing on a cut on his finger, her face full of concern and affection.
The caption read: [Cut my finger while fixing the pipes. Someone rushed over to check on me. Is this what being someone's favorite feels like?]
I stared at the screen and let out a sarcastic laugh.
I typed back: [Well, here's wishing you two a lifetime of happiness and plenty of kids!]
After hitting send, I blocked and deleted him from my friend list.
Then, I forwarded the divorce paper and the paternity test results to the family group chat, mentioning Ophelia.
[@Ophelia, sign the papers or I'll file for divorce. Your call.]