My Ex Broke Down After My Son Turned Five

I stared at the diamond ring on the floor. It was the same style I had loved six years ago.

It was also the wedding ring I had begged William for a whole month, but he had never bought it for me.

As I silently studied the ring, William’s expression darkened.

One of his friends, standing nearby, looked frustrated and slapped William on the shoulder.

“You finally ran into Emma, so why are you still being stubborn? Don’t you remember the past six years? You would have lived or died for her!”

He turned quickly to me.

“Emma, when you disappeared without a word back then, William searched for you for six years!

“He renounced his vows and rejected every arranged marriage the Wells family pushed on him.

“He missed you so much he was about to lose his mind. Just agree already and marry him!”

If I had not lived through those pitch-dark days six years ago myself, I might have believed every word.

I touched the ring on my finger and smiled calmly.

“I don’t think so. We broke up six years ago.

“Isn’t that right, Mr. Wells?”

William clenched his rosary so tightly that it snapped. His face darkened.

He had not expected me to refuse him.

After all, I once shamelessly clung to him for three years.

During those three years, I tried every way to make it so that I would bump into him.

Rain or shine, I ran to his place to cook for him.

When he wanted to be intimate at night, I never refused and did everything I could to please him.

But in the eyes of his family and friends, that devotion turned into disgrace and shame.

After countless humiliations, William held my hand and stood before the Wells family.

He said, “Emma is the purest and most virtuous woman I have ever met. I am willing to go against my faith to be with her.”

William was an honest person, and I truly believed him. I thought he had fallen in love with me.

So when, night after night, he went to church to repent afterward, I treated it as proof of his love.

Then, two years into the relationship, one night I followed him with trembling legs when he left me in bed and went to church. I wanted to share the burden of his repentance.

Through the half-open door, I saw him kneeling. He was focused on a photograph of a woman, trying to relieve himself.

The orange candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows across her face. It was clearly his adopted sister, Stacy Wells.

At that moment, I finally understood. What William was repenting for was not the nights we spent together but the desire for Stacy he could not let go of, despite more than ten years of devotion to his faith.

That night, I held onto my pillow and cried until morning. He stayed in church and did not return to our bedroom.

The next morning, William changed into clean clothes and prepared to head out.

I stood at the doorway with swollen eyes and watched him. When he looked at me, he did not even ask why I was crying.