Chapter 2 Cheating Harlot

"According to you, I have amnesia. For all I know, you could be lying."

Josephine arched her eyebrow, disappointment swimming in her eyes. "A decent person knows how to be grateful. Just because you've lost your memory doesn't mean you can forget everything my mother did for you."

Her voice grew colder with every word. "Do you really think this negotiation means anything? You never had a choice."

She had clearly prepared for my refusal. "The surgery is today. You're going whether you agree or not."

A group of nurses barged in. She took a syringe from their hands and injected anesthesia into my bloodstream, and it was a few times more than normal dosage. I tried to struggle, but she ignored me.

"Do as I say, and I'll make it up to you after it's done."

That reminded me of what she had said earlier. So this was what she meant when she said I still had my uses. This woman truly thought I was an idiot who could be kept in the dark.

For a week after the forced donation, Josephine stayed with me all the time, keeping a close eye on my vitals and taking care of my every need, acting as if her affair never happened. Everything inside me told me she had changed, however.

The day I was discharged, she brought me home. Only then did I see how much the house had changed.

Our wedding photo was already taken down, replaced by a family photo of her and Henry. She was smiling gently in the photo, holding a small baby in her arms. It was a side of her I had never seen before.

She did not notice the look on my face. Calmly, she said, "Thanks to you, Mom's surgery went well. Henry and I have talked. You can stay here, and we'll treat you like family."

How ironic. Family.

I lowered my head. The marriage certificate carried my name. This house belonged to me and her. Yet now, she made it sound as though that man had become the owner.

While I was spaced out, Henry moved some boxes out of the main bedroom.

"Cleaned out all the trash, Josephine. He can stay in the storage room. It's not like we have any extra space." He kicked the boxes and met my eyes. There was a challenge in his gaze.

I looked at the boxes. The most conspicuous of them was a picture frame covered in a white cloth. That was my wedding photo. All the high heels, dresses, and necklaces I had bought for Josephine were now stuffed into boxes and treated like garbage.

A dusty ring box sat in the corner. I picked it up, and my eyes began to sting. "This is trash too?" I opened the box and inside sat a ring. The diamond in the center barely had any gleam left.

I proposed to her seven years ago using the same ring, and she had only worn it once.

Josephine seemed to remember this ring, and she pursed her lips before tossing it into the bin. "The house is crowded. There's no room for things like that."

Her matter-of-fact attitude stabbed me again. I moved into the storage. That night, I sat on the bed for a long, long time, flipping through the hidden divorce papers like a machine.

I wanted to just sign the papers and cut off all ties with her. But I had dated her for five years and married her for seven. I had spent too much time and poured too much of my heart into this relationship.

I really, really hated to see it go to waste, and that feeling was suffocating me, then the sound coming from the room next door snapped me out of it.

The main bedroom's door was ajar. Through the narrow gap, I saw what was happening inside. And my stomach turned cold.