Stella trembled with rage—as if her world had collapsed—and slapped him hard.
I continued, my voice was cold, "No wonder after we registered our marriage that day, you rushed off saying you had something urgent. Turns out you were going to comfort her."
"And on our wedding night—did you spend the first half with me, then use some 'emergency at work' excuse to go keep her company?"
Stella couldn't take it. She broke down and ran out.
Gerald didn't even glance at me.
He chased after her, and didn't return all night.
I didn't care.
I was used to it.
My work involved late-night scientific research; my schedule was always nocturnal.
And that became the perfect cover for years of his cheating—something I never suspected.
On his laptop, I prepared a divorce agreement.
Just as I finished, a WhatsApp notification popped up.
[Mr. Vasquez, should I continue arranging night shifts for Madam? Her medical results weren't ideal.]
My heart tightened.
The message was from my direct supervisor.
I opened the chat.
It wasn't long, but every message was the same—Gerald repeatedly instructing him to give me night shifts.