Chapter 4 I Followed Him

At the hospital entrance, my husband climbed onto his battered secondhand scooter as if it were just another ordinary day.

Not wanting to draw attention, I slipped into a taxi and quietly instructed the driver to shadow my husband from afar.

…

Not long after leaving the hospital, he went straight into an underground parking garage. A few minutes later, he emerged in a luxury car.

Then, he drove to a hotel.

I got out of the taxi and tried to follow him inside, but the doorman stopped me at the entrance. "This hotel is members-only, ma'am. If you're not a member, you can't go in."

So, I had no choice but to wait outside.

Truthfully, the instant he glided out of the garage in that gleaming car, window down and utterly relaxed, the truth hit me. Still, I clung to denial.

…

More than three hours later, he finally came out with the woman from the restaurant beside him, smiling sweetly as she nestled against his side.

In that moment, everything became painfully clear.

He was no longer hunched over, and he was not limping either. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he looked polished, handsome, and full of life.

I stared at his face—every familiar line, every angle I knew by heart—and a chill swept through my whole body.

It was him. Nathan. My husband.

A laugh escaped me, then another. I laughed at myself, at him, at the absurdity of a world where something like this could be real.

He could don the mask of a struggling husband for his ailing daughter and me, only to shed it for extravagant feasts and opulent hotels with someone else.

Did he not see that a single night's extravagance could have eased his own daughter's pain?

I still couldn't stop myself from asking the security guard nearby, "Who is that?"

He looked at me like I was stupid. "You don't know? That's the Blackwood family's only heir. Old-money real estate."

I trailed them to a gleaming shopping mall, then slipped into a boutique glittering with luxury.

I watched Charlotte select handbag after handbag, each worth a fortune. Nathan waved away the price tags, buying them all with a careless flick of his hand.

Their bodyguards followed, arms overflowing with glossy shopping bags.

I shadowed them all the way back to the parking garage.

This time, they got into a different car—a Rolls-Royce. The bodyguards peeled off in different directions and quickly disappeared into the garage.

Yet the car lingered, idling in the shadows.

Curiosity tugged me forward, drawing me closer.

That was when I heard Charlotte's voice drift through the slightly open window.

"I... I can't keep being the other woman. I divorced my husband and came back for you. You have to give me an answer. Otherwise…" Her voice softened and turned breathless. "Otherwise, maybe we should just end this."

Her unsteady breathing tangled with her words, and I stood frozen where I was.

Then Nathan's voice followed, low and indulgent. "Baby, now's not the time for this. Trust me, I'm already bored with that woman. She's nowhere near as attractive as you are."

"Then. why are you still playing house with her?" Charlotte shot back, jealousy sharpening her tone.

He let out a soft laugh. "What do you know? That's the fun of marrying a poor woman like her. Watching her humble herself over a little money, watching her work herself half to death… You have no idea how entertaining that is."

I could not bear to listen any longer.

When I finally returned to myself, I was already home.

…

When Nathan finally came back, it was already 2 a.m.

The light snapped on, and he stopped cold.

I was sitting in the only armchair in our tiny 400-square-foot apartment.

For a moment, surprise flashed across his face. Then, he recovered quickly and forced a smile. "I picked up an extra shift today. They paid cash."

As he spoke, he pulled a crumpled hundred-dollar bill and a few smaller bills from his wrinkled jacket and held them out to me.

I nearly laughed at the sight—just 120 dollars.

There was likely not a single transaction that small on any of his real accounts. Who knew what lengths he went to, breaking larger bills just to keep up the lie?

"What's wrong?" he asked when I didn't take the money.

I didn't answer; I just looked at him.

We had lived together for five years. I knew every line of his face, every expression, every glance.

Even now, I still couldn't fully believe he had lied to me.

So, I asked him one last time, "Do you have any money? Emma's treatment is only thirty thousand short."

He hesitated for a moment. "I… I'll keep trying."

The same answer as always.

Silence settled over the room.

He seemed to think I was upset because I was worried about our daughter, so he started blaming himself all over again.

I cut him off. "Let's get divorced."

He froze, shock written all over his face, as if the idea had never once crossed his mind. "I really will work hard and make more money. Are you divorcing me over money?"

With every word, he twisted the blame until I sounded like the cruel one.

My throat tightened so badly it hurt. I fought back the tears before I finally forced the words out, "Your little game of pretending to be poor should be over by now, Mr. Blackwood."

I lifted my eyes and looked straight at him. "Unfortunately, I don't want to keep playing along."

My voice was raw as I added, "People like us can't afford the kinds of games you play."