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In the fifth year of my marriage to Blake Holland, his former love, Joy Lincoln, returned. Our once peaceful marriage was shattered, and irreparable cracks began to form.
Blake Holland started frequently breaking our plans. On the day I won a significant award in design, I eagerly anticipated celebrating with him, but he rushed off because of a phone call from Joy Lincoln. On my birthday, before I could even make a wish over the lit candles, Joy Lincoln’s call caused him to abandon me again. On Valentine’s Day, I waited for him for four hours in the romantic private room I had reserved, but he never appeared. Later, I saw on Joy Lincoln’s social media that he was with her, stargazing on a mountaintop.
But what remains most etched in my memory is our wedding anniversary. That day, I waited alone in our empty house, desperately hoping he would return so we could spend the special day together. Instead, I received a message from Joy. After reading it, my heart turned to ash. I made the resolute decision to go to the hospital and abort Blake’s and my child. I swore to myself that would no longer love him; he was no longer important to me.
During the surgery, the anesthesia plunged me into unconsciousness. I vaguely heard the doctor sigh, “She looks glamorous, but she’s actually pathetic.” The nurse coldly retorted, “What’s pathetic about her? The one who isn’t loved in a marriage is like the mistress. She’s just reaping what she sowed.” Was it truly self–inflicted? After what happened on our wedding anniversary, everyone knew I was a wife unloved by her husband, an obstacle in Blake and Joy’s path to love. That wedding anniversary night also marked my ninetieth day of pregnancy. Blake had mentioned well in advance that he would host a lavish banquet. I meticulously prepared, donned a custom–made gown, and eagerly anticipated the arrival of a blissful moment. At the banquet, luminaries from all walks of life congregated, and a custom–made, nine–tiered cake was wheeled in, the champagne shimmering in the glasses. Just as we were about to cut the cake, Joy appeared.
Joy is
my cousin, and her past romance with Blake was common knowledge in this city. Back then, they were the quintessential college sweethearts, and Blake had orchestrated countless romantic gestures for her. To celebrate Joy’s birthday, he rented out the entire amusement park; when Joy was ill, he scoured the city for her favorite congee; and he even gifted her a luxury car as a graduation surprise. Everyone assumed they would walk down the aisle together, but they abruptly broke up, after which Joy moved abroad, and Blake married me.
