My Love for my Ex-husband Never Came Back

After receiving a prenatal injection, I received an anonymous video on my phone.

In the video, a man sang nursery rhymes with a little boy wearing a birthday hat.

He dabbed a bit of cream on his finger and smiled as he smeared it on a woman's nose. Then he bent down to kiss it away.

My phone slipped from my hand to the floor, and I trembled all over uncontrollably.

The scar on the inside of the man's wrist was an old one, left from the time he saved me.

Around his neck hung the pendant I had fetched for him from a famous church to ensure his safety.

When I returned home, the expansive riverside apartment felt empty.

The housekeeper brought some herbal soup meant to stabilize my pregnancy. She sighed and placed it on the table. "Mr. Stewart has a social engagement this evening and won't be home for dinner."

It was the tenth night he had used this excuse not to come home.

I removed the diamond ring that symbolized our love and called the lawyer, Martin Higgins.

I didn't want to wait any longer. My husband, Bruce Stewart, had given his tenderness to another woman and was not worth my love.

...

When the call connected, I mustered all the strength I had to keep my voice from trembling. "Martin, I want a divorce. Please draft the divorce papers for me."

The voice on the other end was as calm as ever. "Miss Payne, it is not the time to act on emotion. You need to gather substantial evidence of Bruce's infidelity. Otherwise, you'll be at a disadvantage in the property division. Especially since you're currently unemployed and entirely dependent on him."

I hung up the phone and collapsed onto the sofa.

My eyes fell on the jade bracelet around my wrist.

It was the only keepsake my mother left me.

The smooth, warm touch of the bracelet made me remember that hellish rainy night six years ago.

A crazed assailant broke in and sought revenge against my father, a police officer.

My parents lost their lives to protect.

I held my two-year-old daughter tightly, but her body grew cold and lifeless.

Just as the blood-stained knife was about to pierce my heart, Bruce Stewart dashed in.

He used his body to shield me from the deadly blow.

The knife went through his wrist, and his warm blood sprayed across my face.

I stared at him and forgot to scream or breathe.

When the police burst in, I hear his weak yet resolute voice. "Vera, don't be afraid."

His words became my sole reason to survive.

That day, I lost everything but clung to Bruce as my lifeline.

As soon as he woke up in the hospital, wrapped in bandages, he held me tightly.

He vowed to spend his life protecting and caring for me.

After his discharge, I was terrified of losing him again and went to the most famous church, bowing repeatedly as an act of devotion to get him that pendant.

Because he had risked his life saving me, I kept all my grievances to myself.

I forgave him for coming home increasingly late. I forgave him when he had an unfamiliar perfume scent on him. I forgave him when his patience with me ran thin.

Even when he repeatedly used work engagements as an excuse not to come home, I found excuses for him.

He was too tired, and the pressure at work was immense.

But who was the guy in the video, smiling so gently and lovingly?

At two in the early morning, the door lock clicked softly.

Bruce was back.

He saw I was still awake, and concern flashed in his eyes.

He quickly walked over and held me tightly. "Vera, did you have a nightmare again? Don't be afraid. I'm here."

He sounded exhausted, yet it was still gentle, which I had known for years.

A delicate gift box was placed on the dressing table. "It is our wedding anniversary today. I bought you a gift."

As usual, I leaned against him gently and drew comfort from the little warmth he offered.

But my nose caught the unmistakable scent of perfume that wasn't mine.

I fought the nausea rising in my stomach and didn't confront him.

Bruce seemed truly exhausted and quickly fell asleep.

I watched his sleeping face and trembled as I picked up his phone.

I unlocked it with his fingerprint.

The top message on WhatsApp was from a woman named Rosalyn Barton.

I clicked on her profile picture and found it was the woman from the video.

Countless scandalous photos and explicit messages bombarded my eyes.

"Dear Bruce, you're amazing. I love you so much."

"Honey, when will you have a divorce? Our boy and I have been waiting painfully."

"Sweetheart, Caiden called you 'Daddy' again today. When will you come see us?"

The latest message was sent just half an hour ago.

"Honey, you were incredible tonight. Let me know when you get home."

Accompanied by a "love you" emoji.

I bit my lip hard and refused to make a sound.

Tears silently fell onto the screen.

I trembled as I backed up all the chat records, the photos, and the transaction records before sending them to my email.

After doing everything, I deleted the sending history and cleared the traces. Then I carefully put the phone back in its spot.

I lay back beside him and stared at his face. He was so close, yet I felt cold all over.

He had sworn to protect me forever. But he made me feel utterly unfamiliar and repulsive.

The following day marked the anniversary of the deaths of both my parents and my daughter.

Bruce drove me to the cemetery. He was holding my hand tightly on our way.

His touch used to be my only comfort and strength.

But it felt so intense that it made me want to take my hand back now.

Just as we arrived at the cemetery gates, Bruce's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his gentle expression shifted slightly at that moment.

He quickly released my hand and stepped aside. He spoke in a low voice, yet I could still hear him clearly. "Don't cry. I'll be there soon."

The tone of urgency and concern was something I'd never felt from him before.

Bruce returned with a guilty look on his face. "Vera, something emergent happened in the company. There was an accident at the construction site in the southern suburbs, and someone died. I have to handle it right away."

I looked at him quietly. "Do you remember what day it is today? Are you going to lie in front of my parents and our daughter?"

A flash of panic and guilt quickly crossed Bruce's eyes.

He emphasized it. "Vera, this is truly urgent. It's a matter of life and death. Please don't make a fuss. You can go in and visit their graves alone. I'll ask the driver to pick you up afterward."

With that, he turned and walked away briskly, leaving me at the cemetery entrance.

I stood before the three cold tombstones and slowly placed my daughter's favorite strawberry candies one by one on her grave.

Tears finally fell, blurring my vision.

I recalled the time when Bruce was first adopted by my parents. He was small and frail, timid and insecure.

My father taught him to read and write. My mother fed him. They had helped him become who he was now.

He once expressed deep gratitude to my parents and vowed to treat me well forever.

I remembered our wedding day when he swore in front of my parents.

"Don't worry about Vera. I will never fail her. I will die a miserable death if I do."

The vow still echoed in my ears, yet the man who swore it had betrayed me in the most brutal way.

Just then, my phone vibrated abruptly.

It was from the same anonymous number.

I received no taunting words, just a video.

I trembled as I opened it.

It only showed two entwined naked bodies.

The background sound was a woman's seductive moans and Bruce's passionate groans. "You little temptress, such a seducer. You lied about Caiden being sick and worried me to death. Just wait. I will punish you today."

My heart hurt so much that I could hardly breathe.

It turned out his "construction site accident" was just an excuse to rush into the arms of this temptress.

He couldn't even wait to pay respects to my family.

I closed the video and gently touched the cold photo of my daughter on the tombstone.

My other hand rested on my slightly rounded belly. "Sweetheart, I have a baby now. We won't forgive him, will we? We will never, ever forgive him."

After leaving the cemetery, I hailed a taxi to the old apartment in the city center.

That used to be the home I shared with my parents. After Bruce and I got married, we lived there. The tragic incident had happened there.

Over the past six years, I had suffered severe post-traumatic stress disorder and deep depression, so I dared not set foot there.

Bruce feared that it would trigger my memories and worsen my condition if I revisited there, so he bought a luxurious riverside apartment to help me start anew.

Everyone praised him as a devoted husband who was so nice to his depressed wife and a good guy.

I used to think the same.

Now, looking back, I realized how laughable it was.

Bruce and I were getting divorced.

Before leaving this city, I wanted to return and take one last look at the place that held all my happiness and all my sorrow. It was like a formal farewell.

As the taxi turned into the alley of the old neighborhood, my heart clenched suddenly.

A black Maybach was parked downstairs. It was unmistakably familiar to me.

Wasn't Bruce supposed to be handling the emergency at the construction site in the southern suburbs?

His urgent matter was there?

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. I thought I had run dry of tears for him.

Yet when the harsh truth confronted me once again, tears ran down uncontrollably.

With trembling hands, I dialed Bruce's number.

The phone rang for a long time before he answered. His voice sounded husky with desire. "Vera? What's wrong?"

I struggled to suppress the lump in my throat and tried to keep my voice as calm as possible. "Bruce, I... I miss Mom and Dad. I'm almost downstairs at the old apartment. I want to go up and take a look."

Instantly, the sound of clattering dishes and a sudden commotion erupted on the other end of the line.

Bruce's tone shifted to extreme panic. "No, Vera. Don't go up. You're pregnant now. You are not well. What if seeing things stirs up emotions and harms the baby? We've been through so much to have this baby. Please, be good and listen to me. Go home now. I'll be right back after handling things here."

His voice was filled with urgent concern. He seemed to genuinely care for the baby and me.

But I could only feel irony. "I'm just downstairs. I'll take a quick look and leave."

Without waiting for his response, I hung up the phone and quickly hid in the shadow of the alley wall.

In less than three minutes, the door to the apartment building opened.

Bruce emerged, holding the little boy from the video.

He was clutching Rosalyn with the other hand.

The three of them rushed out and looked flustered.

I saw clearly that Rosalyn was actually wearing a silk dress with intricate embroidery. It was my mother's favorite one.

And the little boy held my daughter's beloved rattle.

It was my home, my parents' home, the place where my daughter passed away...

But it had become the love nest of my husband and another woman.

Bruce's supposed "fear of triggering my memories and worsening my condition" and his excuse of not wanting me to go back to a place of sadness turned out to be just a convenient excuse for keeping his mistress hidden away.

I raised my phone and snapped dozens of photos of the glaring three people and the Maybach's license plate.

Watching them get in the car and flee, I leaned against the weathered wall. I couldn't support myself and slowly slid to the ground.

So, when the heart was truly broken, it became numb to pain.