Married for 8 Years, He Cheated on MePart 1

In the eighth year of our marriage, my husband gave me ninety-nine roses.

Just as I stepped off the operating table, I made a phone call and calmly requested a divorce from him.

On the other end of the phone, his girlfriend apologized in a sobbing voice. "Ms. Quinton, it's all my fault for acting on my own. Please don't get angry with Mr. Quinton."

Henry gently comforted her for a long time and only said to me, "As you wish."

Then, half a month later, I met him again.

"Cook a bowl of noodles for me!"

Henry returned home in the early morning, but he did not see any meals for breakfast on the dining table as usual. He frowned unconsciously, gave me orders and walked to the bathroom.

When he came out of the bathroom with steam, I still watched the TV casually in the living room.

He took out a branded bag from his suitcase and said, "Look, do you like it?"

The pink bag seemed to be the favorite style of young girls.

In the past, he would coax me and take me to do anything I wanted to do. Now, he only relied on boring gifts to get by.

I was too lazy to take another look, so I switched the TV channel and asked him, "When do you have time to deal with our divorce?"

Henry was busy, so busy that he needed his female secretary to choose a gift for his wedding anniversary.

It was always me who had to cooperate with him in terms of working hours.

"Stop it, Jessica doesn't know you hate roses. I won't do it next time."

The man poured himself a small glass of whiskey and sat on the single sofa opposite, smiling.

Jessica Flynn was Henry's childhood sweetheart. She had adored him since she was a child. As soon as she graduated from a prestigious university, she rushed to be his personal secretary.

They were so close that they even stayed in the same suite when they went on business trips.

Actually, I did not blame Jessica for persistently following my husband.

A fly did not bite seamless eggs. If he did not give the opportunity, no woman could get close to him.

I yawned exaggeratedly and tears seeping out of the corners of my eyes unconsciously.

Henry thought that the matter was over after not hearing my reply for a long time. He asked his seven-years-old son's recent exam rankings. I shook my head and answered, "I don't know."

I did not mean to piss him off, deliberately not telling him. I really did not know.