Chapter 3

I knew they had heard everything. They had stood outside the door the whole time. They heard every laugh and insult thrown at me.

But Gwyneth said nothing. She simply let Bryan pull me back into the room.

"So the birthday star got here early," Bryan said with a smile. "My fault. I couldn't leave until the nanny got Sam to sleep."

He slipped an arm around Gwyneth and glanced at me. "Gwen insisted on picking me up. She said a taxi would be uncomfortable."

His smile carried a quiet triumph, as if to say, "You might be her husband, but what does that matter?"

The room erupted in teasing.

"Since we were kids, Gwen has always spoiled Bryan the most."

"Once your child grows a little older, does that mean wedding bells are coming?"

"Don't forget to invite us to the wedding."

Amid the laughter and congratulations, they seemed to forget one thing. I was still Gwyneth's husband. And this was not an engagement party. It was supposed to be a birthday dinner she arranged out of guilt for me.

Their smug faces turned my stomach. Nausea rolled through me. I stood to leave, barely holding back a gag, but Gwyneth noticed.

She frowned at me. "This is your birthday party. What will it look like if you leave? It's just a stomachache. Bear with it."

The moment she finished speaking, Bryan coughed softly. Her attention snapped to him at once.

She helped him sit down, poured him a glass of warm water, and blew gently across the surface before bringing it to his lips. "Careful. It's still hot."

More teasing erupted around the table.

I closed my eyes. My birthday dinner had turned into a stage for them to display their affection. They chatted and laughed with their mutual friends like a real couple while I sat forgotten in the corner.

They had not even prepared a cake. The situation felt absurd and ridiculous, and this was the birthday party Gwyneth had prepared for me.

I swallowed every trace of anger and humiliation.

"Congratulations, Gwyneth Sullivan. In two days, I will be gone. Your husband's place will finally belong to the man you actually care about," I muttered.

…

That night, I did not leave. I stayed in the corner alone and watched the entire farce play out until the end.

Only after the gathering finally broke up did Gwyneth notice me.

"I'll take you home," she said.

She was my wife, yet the way she said it made the house we shared sound like a place that did not belong to her at all.

But before we could leave, Bryan walked over and slipped his arm through hers. "Gwen, I'm tired. I want to go back and rest."

Gwyneth pinched his cheek gently, her voice full of concern. "Did you stay up again taking care of Sam last night? Then we should go home first."

She walked out with Bryan.

I climbed into the bodyguards' car alone, feeling like a clown.

I touched my cheek. I expected tears, but none came. Perhaps when the pain grew deep enough, one simply stopped feeling it.

I could not understand it. If she cared so much about her childhood sweetheart, why did she marry me? Why did she have a child with me?

If she wanted the whole world to see how much she adored Bryan, why not divorce me? Why insist on keeping me and my child here, letting us endure their curses and mockery?

…

Sleep did not come easily that night.

The next morning, the doorbell woke me.

When I opened the door, Bryan stood there with his parents.

The moment Bryan's mother saw me, she let out a cold, mocking laugh.