Jackson didn’t come home that night.

It was the first time he’d ever stayed out.

I called him, frantic.

On the other end, he was flustered, stammering about a last-minute business trip, a project in another city.

I could hear his ragged breathing.

And something else.

The unmistakable, muffled sounds of intimacy.

“Clara, I… I’m at the airport, about to board, the signal’s bad… We’ll talk when I get back.”

He rushed off the phone.

When I tried to call back, it went straight to voicemail.

In the days that followed, Jackson stayed away, sending only a few texts.

He was busy.

I should take care of myself.

I asked when he was coming home.

He said there were problems with the project, it would take a few more days.

I never told him that the hotel had sent the five-night booking confirmation to my phone.

I lied to myself.

Maybe he just needed some time.

Maybe he’d come to his senses.

I loved him, so I chose to trust him, to give him one more chance, and to give myself one more chance.

But all I got in return was a more vicious betrayal and this final, cruel humiliation.

My gaze locked on the screen, cold and hard.

“Jackson, if you don’t come home now, then don’t ever come back.”

A hint of panic entered his voice from the other side of the phone.

“Clara, don’t be angry, I’m on my way back right now, just wait for me!”

I hung up, my face devoid of expression.

The incision from my surgery throbbed, and a wave of dizziness washed over me from the blood loss.

I collapsed onto the sofa and drifted into a restless sleep.

When I woke, the sun was streaming into the room.

It was empty.

He hadn't come back.

Of course he hadn't.

I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound.

A cramp seized my stomach, making me curl into a ball.

Just then, the front door opened.

Jackson walked in, a bright smile on his face, holding two full grocery bags.

A tiny flicker of warmth sparked in my chest.

Was it possible? Did he rush back to cook for me?

“Clara, I’m back!” Jackson’s eyes lit up when he saw me.

He held up the bags.

“Look, I bought some beautiful wild salmon. Salmon broth will be perfect!”

I gritted my teeth against the pain in my stomach and frowned.

“I just had surgery. I can’t eat fish.”

Jackson paused for a beat, then said sheepishly, “Oh… this broth… it’s for Zoe.”

My heart plummeted into an icy abyss.

“Zoe’s stomach is delicate, she can only eat bland things. This salmon broth, you have to add ginger, to cut the fishiness…”

Jackson chattered on as he unpacked the groceries, completely oblivious to the fact that my face had turned to stone.

“Jackson, why do you live in a walk-up? This is killing me.”

Zoe’s voice drifted in from the doorway, punctuated by a soft, deliberate cough.

She strolled in, complaining.

When she saw me, she froze for a second before plastering a gentle smile on her face.

“Oh, you’re here too. We can all have some salmon broth together in a bit.”

That's when I saw it.

The pale blue dress she was wearing was the one Jackson had hand-picked for me on our wedding anniversary.

I stared at them, a silent fury building inside me, but I couldn't form a single word.

Jackson seemed to sense the shift in the air, his expression turning uneasy.

He stammered an explanation.

“Clara, I was worried about Zoe being all alone, so I asked her to come over.”

“This is our home.”

I pushed myself to my feet, the post-op weakness making my head spin.

“Jackson, have you no shame? What do you take me for?”

“Why are you yelling?!”

Jackson slammed the fish down on the counter and stormed over to me, pointing a finger in my face.

“She’s not well! Do you know what it took for her to get here? Can’t you just keep your mouth shut for once?”

His self-righteous anger was so absurd it made me want to laugh.

A wave of nausea rose in my throat.

The pain in my incision felt like it was tearing open.

My vision went black for a second, and I almost collapsed.

“Clara!” Jackson yelped, but he only reached out to steady the arm of the sofa next to me.

He then immediately turned his worried gaze to Zoe.

“Zoe, are you okay? Don’t listen to her.”

I sank back onto the couch, powerless, my vision swimming.

My stomach churned violently, but I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to make a sound.

Zoe gently patted Jackson’s arm, her voice a soft murmur.

“I’m fine, Jackson, don’t worry. Clara probably just isn’t feeling well after her surgery. Her mood is understandable. I get it.”

“See? Zoe, you’re so considerate,” Jackson said, looking at her with pure adoration.

“Not like some people, who just fly off the handle at the smallest thing…”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and swallowed the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat.

“I’ve already put the divorce papers on the coffee table. Sign them,” I said, my voice raspy, leaning heavily against the sofa cushions.

Jackson froze.

Then, as if noticing the file for the first time, he snatched it up and flipped through it.

His face changed completely.

“Clara! What the hell is this?!”

He threw the papers at my face, his handsome features twisted with rage.

“You’re really going to divorce me over something this small?!”

I wiped the papers from my face and looked at him, my eyes like chips of ice.

I said each word with chilling clarity.

“Yes. A divorce.”

“Clara! You’ll regret this!”

Jackson was shaking with fury.

“Don’t think I don’t know what this is about! You’re just jealous of Zoe, so you’re taking it out on her! Let me tell you, she is a thousand times better than you, you’re just…”

“Enough!”

I shot to my feet again, the pain from my incision screaming, but I didn’t care anymore.

“Jackson, search your conscience. How have I treated you all these years? When have I ever done you wrong?!”

“But what about you? Have you been fair to me? Have you been fair to this marriage?”

The more I spoke, the more agitated I became.

My chest heaved, and the wound in my abdomen felt like it was splitting apart, sending black spots dancing in front of my eyes.

Jackson’s face was pale, his lips trembled, but he couldn't say a word.