Chapter 3

"If we're getting divorced, then we'll go to the courthouse tomorrow. We'll split the assets 50-50, and Brian stays with me."

After our conversation fell apart that night, Rachel stopped pretending to be kind. She dropped her gentle mask and began following the advice from the online post, giving me the silent treatment.

Every day after work, she came home and ignored both me and Brian completely. She'd change her shoes, wash up, and then lock herself in the study. The whole routine flowed effortlessly.

Living under the same roof, Brian and I might as well have been invisible to her. She wouldn't even spare us a glance, let alone play with or take care of her own child.

I cooked three meals a day and set them on the table. Rachel wouldn't even look at them before ordering expensive takeout. When the food arrived, she'd feast on it right in front of us. Afterward, she'd leave the trash on the table without cleaning up, then head straight into the study, cold and indifferent.

I watched her childish yet cruel performance coldly, quietly collecting evidence of her neglect and indifference.

What truly broke my heart was what happened half a month later.

Late one night, Brian suddenly developed a high fever and wouldn't stop crying. His little face was flushed bright red. Panicked, I spent the entire night carrying him around the living room, trying to soothe him.

Rachel, who had remained silent the whole time, suddenly yanked open the study door and shouted at me furiously, "Can you make him shut up? I have work tomorrow. Are you trying to ruin my life?"

Suppressing my anger and disappointment, I asked for help, "Our son has a high fever. Can you lend a hand?"

"If he's sick, give him medicine or take him to the hospital. What's the point of asking me? I'm not a doctor!"

She wouldn't even bend down to look at her feverish child. Instead, she picked up a blanket and pillow from the couch, walked into the guest room, and slammed the door shut behind her.

The dull click of the lock shattered the last lingering hope I had for our marriage—and for Rachel.

That night, I carried Brian to the hospital alone, taking a cab in the middle of the night and staying by his bedside until morning.

The next day, I quietly bought several miniature hidden cameras and installed them in the living room, hallway, and other areas without blind spots.

From then on, every act of neglect toward Brian and every instance of emotional abuse toward me were thoroughly recorded.

After putting Brian to sleep that night, I opened the post again as usual. Sure enough, there was a new update.

"I've been giving him the cold shoulder for two weeks. He's up every night taking care of the kid. He looks completely drained. I think he's close to his breaking point. It's time for the final move."

The comments were just as malicious as ever.

"Keep it up, OP. Drag it out a little longer. It won't be long until he hands over custody."

"Stay-at-home husbands have no backbone. He can't keep this up forever. Victory is yours."

There were also plenty of people calling her out.

"This post made me so angry that I can't sleep. How did someone like you end up with such a good husband? Just let him go already!"

"OP, have some decency. How can you be this cruel to your own child? Don't be surprised if you end up alone with nothing."

Rachel replied to every criticism with hostility and spite.

I scrolled through the page expressionlessly, taking screenshots and screen recordings of all her posts, the comments, her account profile, and her IP information. I made sure to collect every piece of evidence.

A few days later, on a Saturday morning, I was feeding Brian when Rachel suddenly wheeled a large suitcase out of the bedroom. She was fully dressed, her expression cold.