Chapter 3

My words were cut off as David's personal assistant, Kate, walked into the gym.

She went straight to David, leaned in, and whispered something.

"An urgent call from the office," he stood up abruptly, his movements almost too quick. "I have to take this."

He left without even a glance in my direction.

I was about to follow when Sophia came running in, wearing that blue limited edition leotard—the one David promised to buy if she cooperated.

What new reward would she get after covering for him this time?

The door had barely closed when Sophia grabbed my arm tightly.

I didn't speak when Sophia showing his new leotard.

I looked at her face, still soft with baby fat, remembering how she used to fall asleep on my shoulder when she was two.

"An... My gymnastics teacher says my flexibility is really good," she started, then stopped short, leaving the name unfinished. "She says I could be a professional athlete someday."

But I understood. The voice that had been intimate with David on the phone, the figure wearing my old practice clothes in the footage—her name was Anna.

The child I raised was now actively covering for her father's lies.

David returned in under five minutes.

"Sophia's gymnastics coach, Ms. Miller. There's a survey about her progress after the overseas training. I need to go in."

"I accompanied Sophia to the training. Why are they contacting you?"

David paused briefly, then recovered his composure.

"Let me handle it. You just got back—you should rest."

As he picked up his car keys, his right hand habitually touched his earlobe—a telltale sign he always displayed when lying.

Looking at Sophia, I asked softly, "Do you like Coach Anna?"

"Of course I do," she answered quickly this time, as if forgetting her earlier evasion. "She's amazing. She can do every move."

"Her body is perfect too. Long legs, defined abs. Coach Anna says if I work hard, I can get a body like hers."

Her eyes seemed to sparkle talking about Anna.

I couldn't help asking, "Sophia, do you really love Mommy?"

"Of course! I love you most!"

Then she stood on her toes and kissed my cheek.

Her movements were smooth, almost rehearsed.

I couldn't tell if she meant it. And I didn't dare to dwell on it.

"I'm going to stay with Grandma for a few days," I said. "She hasn't been feeling well."

Sophia looked up, something flickering in her eyes. Was it reluctance? Or relief?

"For a long time?"

"Not sure yet."

Then I turned back into the bedroom to pack.

When I tugged off my wedding ring, it left a deep indentation on my swollen finger.

Opening the nightstand drawer to put the ring away, I saw three boxes of condoms placed neatly beside it—two of them empty.

I stared at those empty boxes, remembering how David and I had barely been intimate for over a year. The meaning behind those missing condoms was painfully clear.

While sorting through clothes, I found a paper bag tucked deep in the closet. I pulled it out. Inside were two brand-new lingerie sets. Black lace, thin straps. I checked the tags: 32B.

Not my size.

I held the lingerie up to the light. It was so small, so delicate, like a silent mockery of my postpartum body. So this was the size he was obsessed with—a size I could never return to.

I stuffed the lingerie back into the bag. As I turned, I heard Sophia's hushed voice from the living room.

"Mom is packing..."

"She's going to Grandma's for a few days. No need to hurry back..."

I didn't catch the rest. Standing at the bedroom doorway, I saw her quickly end the call after speaking, letting out a sigh as if completing a task.

That gesture was exactly like her father touching his earlobe when he lied.

As the door closed, I couldn't help but smirk.

This father-daughter pair really thought I knew nothing.

When I left, I took only the essentials: identification, design materials, a few simple clothes, and that paper bag of evidence.

The next day, I moved into the apartment Matthew arranged. The room wasn't large but tidy, with a big enough table to spread out design drafts.

Matthew came by that afternoon. He brought a stack of documents and a measuring tape.

"Finally convinced you," he smiled. "I was afraid you'd gotten too used to the life of a wealthy wife and given up on design for real."

"Never," I took the measuring tape. "Never again."

He opened the files, detailing the concept for the new brand, with a trip to Paris to meet fabric suppliers in a week. When I asked how long I needed to prepare, he said he'd give me a week.

"Not that long," I said calmly. "I just want to leave this place as soon as possible."

The first night in the apartment, I lay in bed, savoring everything that was mine.

Shedding the armor of "wife" and "mother" wasn't as terrifying as I'd imagined.

Three days later, David texted:

[Sophia says you're at your mom's? Is she okay?]

I didn't reply.

Another came the next day:

[Our anniversary is this Saturday. What would you like? I miss you.]

Again, I didn't reply, simply deleting the message.

I immediately emailed Victoria, asking about progress. She replied quickly:

[The evidence chain is solid. We can officially initiate divorce proceedings.]

In this marriage, David was at fault. I would make him pay.

That evening, I received an invitation to Sophia's gymnastics showcase. The time was clearly stated: this Saturday at 3 PM.

A small line at the bottom read: [Special guest coach Anna Miller will perform a demonstration.]

I hadn't expected to see David's mistress before leaving.

I would attend this showcase. I would meet the woman who destroyed my family.

Saturday morning, I scheduled a courier to deliver a package to David's office.

I prepared a deep blue gift box tied with silver ribbon. Inside were the signed divorce papers, that 32B black lace lingerie, and an empty condom box. On the card, I wrote only one sentence:

[Happy 10th Wedding Anniversary.]