Nouvelles Male POV Romance & Romans Cheating

I had just returned from a business trip. The moment I stepped through the door, I scooped my wife into my arms and rushed her straight to the bathroom for a steamy shower together. We were kissing passionately when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something: the toilet seat was flipped up. I froze. Seven years ago, my wife had read a post online claiming that when men pee standing up, bacteria splash onto the seat. She begged me to sit down to pee for the sake of her health. I have kept that promise. For seven years of marriage, that seat has never been up. A knot formed in my stomach, but the bathroom was spotless, so clean it looked staged, not a single stray hair anywhere. Then I noticed the shower temperature. It was set five degrees lower than her usual 43°C. Men like cooler showers. Women like them hotter… At that moment, I knew, Ruby Lynch had cheated on me.

For the 18th time, Tyra Stone calls off our wedding because I'm a beat too slow during the vows. She looks at me with utter disappointment. "You know I'm a perfectionist. Why can't you follow the wedding schedule exactly? If you can't keep up next time either, maybe you should just let your best friend marry me instead." My so-called best friend, Jeremiah Young, is known for being obsessively punctual. For some reason, Tyra has made him the standard I'm expected to meet. If I come downstairs a minute later than he does after work, she will drive off with him without looking back. If I arrive at the restaurant half a step after him on Valentine's Day, she will give him the candlelit dinner meant for me. If I reach the airport 20 seconds after him for our anniversary trip, she will cancel my ticket and board the plane with him instead. As a result, our wedding has been canceled 17 times. Each time, Jeremiah takes my place and goes through the entire ceremony with her. To ensure the 18th attempt finally goes smoothly, I fill the hall with countdown clocks and spend more than 200 nights practicing in secret. However, ten seconds before the vows are supposed to begin, Jeremiah jumps the gun and says, "I do." Tyra chooses to go by his timing. She ignores me as the hundred-something clocks around us chime in unison. For the 18th time, she calls off the wedding. It turns out the problem is never my timing. The problem is that I'm the groom, not Jeremiah. If that's what she wants, I'll give her the perfect wedding she's been blindly chasing. Tyra takes Jeremiah's hand again. "Watch closely. We'll show you one more time." I laugh and casually slip the wedding rings onto their fingers. "Save it. I hope you two have a long and happy marriage instead."

The OB-GYN clinic is almost closed for the day when Isaac Howard gets a male patient. He's young and handsome and looks to be in his early 20s. He seems to be a college student. Thinking he's here to start trouble, Isaac frowns. "This is the OB-GYN clinic. What's a college student doing here?" Out of breath, the young man replies, "Doctor, please wait a minute. My wife is on her way. She'll be here soon." "Is that so?" As a professional doctor, Isaac doesn't overthink it. He just asks, "So, what seems to be the problem with the pregnant patient? What's bothering her?" "We kind of went overboard this morning… Picked things up a notch. I was in class this afternoon when she suddenly texted me saying she wasn't feeling well. I was worried, so I skipped class to grab a spot for her." "What's the patient's name?" Isaac looks down to check the intake form. His fingers freeze the second his eyes hit the family section. In the patient name column, it reads, "Julia Gordon." What a coincidence. That's his wife's name, too.

I had been dating a photographer for seven years, yet I didn't have a single decent photo of myself. "I only photograph scenery, not people," Nina Jensen said. She even said her last relationship ended because her ex-boyfriend kept asking her to take pictures of him. So for seven years, I stayed quiet. I never asked or brought it up. That was until today, when I came across the latest post from my influencer friend, Julian Locke. [Let me show off my photographer. She's been taking amazing photos of me for seven years for free!] One of the top comments is: [It's an honor to photograph my muse.] The profile picture was completely white. The tone felt familiar, and it sent a chill through my entire body. Turns out, it wasn't that Nina didn't take photos of people. She just never wanted to take mine. 'Nina. If I don't exist in your viewfinder, from now on, you don't exist in my world either.'

Lily Peterson's childhood sweetheart, Sean Clements, ran over my 70-year-old mother in his car while he was drunk-driving. Because of that, Mom died on the spot. But Lily insisted on signing the letter of forgiveness for Sean. "My mother-in-law had planned on scamming Sean for more money, so she lay beneath the wheels on purpose. She should be the one taking on the entire responsibility." Not only did Sean get released as an innocent man, but he also received the ten-million-dollar payment given by the insurance company as compensation for his emotional distress. "Honey, I grew up with Sean since we were kids. I can't just sit by and watch his life get ruined by imprisonment! Can't you be more gracious and stop bringing this issue up?" After leaving the police station, Sean uploads a post on his social media feed in a high-profile manner. "Lily looks so gorgeous when she defends me in front of others! Childhood sweethearts will always be the closest people in life!" Lily leaves a like on Sean's post right in front of me. I remain eerily calm. "Let's get a divorce, Lily." She huffs coldly in return. "You just want me to console you, right? Tristin Foley, you're already 30 years old. Can you stop being childish?" I've already brought up divorce multiple times in the past. That's why Lily refuses to believe that I will leave her for real. But what she doesn't know is that I've snuck in a divorce agreement into the documents meant for the case closure registration, and she has personally left her signature there.

My wife’s twenty-two-year-old “charity case” put a box of condoms in front of her while every executive at our company watched. Our home security feed had accidentally appeared on the conference-room screen. “You promised me one wish if I got into a top master’s program,” he said. My wife smiled. “Yes.” Then he kissed her—and she kissed him back. That night, she begged me to forgive her. She even signed an agreement: if she cheated again, I would get everything. Less than half an hour later, I photographed them kissing outside our gate. But that wasn’t enough for her. Three days later, her lover stormed into my office, slammed his own forehead into my desk, and screamed that I’d attacked him. My wife believed him. “You’ll apologize publicly tomorrow,” she told me. “Then announce your resignation.” We had founded that company together. I had financed it. Now she wanted me humiliated and gone. “All right,” I said. “I’ll be there.” At ten the next morning, she sat at the head of the table. Her lover smiled from the back. I handed everyone a copy of the documents my attorney had prepared. My wife opened hers. Her smile vanished. “Ansel… you can’t do this.” I looked at the signature she’d given me three nights earlier. “You already agreed.”

Five years ago, I lost my memory in a car accident. Eira Jones had claimed she was my beloved. She saved me, cared for me, and we naturally got married. For five years, I managed every aspect of our home for her. As I tended to her every need with unwavering devotion, I was convinced I was the happiest husband in the world. But as I was about to tidy up the study, I overheard Eira and her childhood sweetheart talking. “Eira, these past five years, Vedran Clarus has been utterly devoted to you. He just hasn’t chewed your food for you! I’m getting jealous.” Eira kissed his cheek affectionately. “Silly boy, those chores are his responsibility. I’d never let you do them.” Furious, I burst through the door and accused Reed Harris of being a shameless homewrecker. But to my shock, he showed his marriage certificate to Eira. He declared that I was the third wheel in their relationship. As we shoved each other about, my head slammed into the bookshelf, and my memories returned. Apparently, I was the sole heir to the city’s wealthiest, the Grant family. I watched as Eira ranted accusations at me, and the fair-faced, pretty boy in her arms feigned hurt. I turned and dialed my childhood sweetheart’s number. “Elena Gibson, your fiance is being bullied!”

I went to the hospital to pick up prenatal vitamins for my pregnant girlfriend, Nina Pringle, but I saw her in a room instead. She was staring at her ex, Shane Miller, guilt all over her face. "I'm sorry. I really didn't expect to get pregnant. "I told you, I'm with Felix just to see whether you still care about me..." Shane didn't hold back. "So when are you finally breaking up with him?" She shook her head, something cold flashing in her eyes. "He's been messing things up between us for too long. I'll make him feel guilty—get him to give me whatever I want... whatever we need. Don't worry. I don't love him."

During our three years of marriage, my wife's mentally ill ex-husband, Daniel Chilton, had beaten me thirty-eight times. The last time, he mistook the vinegar on the kitchen counter for a highly corrosive cleaning agent and threw it in my face. I wanted to call the police, but Claire stopped me. "It's not a strong acid. Change your clothes and rinse yourself off." She looked at my soaked clothes, her voice weary. "Daniel thinks we're still married. Give me some time to explain, okay? Let me get him into treatment first." After a pause, she added, "There's something else. Daniel's kidney failure is getting worse, and he needs a transplant. Could you go to Harborview for an initial compatibility test?" "Lily still hasn't really accepted you. I want to spend some time with them first. Please be patient a little longer." I looked at her, feeling my heart sink. So she had never truly let go of Daniel. I didn't argue with her again. I simply opened a booking website and bought myself a ticket out of town. "Let's get a divorce," I said. "If you want to go back to Daniel and keep revolving your life around the two of you, then go ahead. Lily needs a mother, and I don't want to be the person who's always left waiting."

After Halle Anderson cheated on me and came back to me, I gave her three chances to cut ties with her lover. She grabbed the opportunity and spent those times with him. They had dinners together, did crafts, and she even spent whole nights with him. After that, she threw everything that was related to her lover away and held my hand again. “Believe me, I’ll never betray you again.” One day, I got into a car accident with an energetic young man. He angrily gave someone a call, and I heard my wife’s best friend’s voice coming through. “Halle, I’m telling you to not go. You’ve used up all three chances. Grant will definitely divorce you if you do so.” Immediately after, I heard Halle say fearlessly, “Grant’s an orphan. He’s been deprived of love his whole life, so he’s even more terrified of divorce than I am. “Just keep this a secret. I know where to draw the line. This is going to be the last time.” I lay in a pool of my blood and felt cold. It turned out that this confident young man standing before me was the lover Halle was protecting. Twenty minutes later, Halle, who had promised to come back to me for good, arrived at the hospital in a rush.

While taking photos at a scenic spot, I move around three or four times to find the best angle. I point the camera at my girlfriend, Ruby Sutton, and loudly repeat three times, "Look here!" But she seems not to hear me, staring at something in the distance instead. Then, my friend, Joel Ziegler, clumsily takes out his phone and calls out to her. "Look at the camera!" Ruby quickly poses and gives the camera a loving smile. A young couple sees the photo on Joel's phone and starts teasing them. "Wow, your girlfriend must really love you. You can see it in her eyes in the photo!" Joel's ears turn bright red, and Ruby clears her throat awkwardly. I look down at my camera and see that I only captured a third of her face. It looks like a photo taken by paparazzi. Since we were kids, they'd habitually ignored me, assuming I had no opinions of my own. When we were teenagers, they'd always excitedly choose where to go, taking it for granted that I would come along. Now that we're grown up, the two of them decide to study medicine, expecting me to agree and enrolling me in a medical program. Later, they become the "ER's top duo" at the hospital. Yet no matter how hard I work, I can only become a nurse. When I look up, the two of them are already walking side by side toward the next spot to take photos. They probably assume I will follow. Instead, I turn around and walk in the opposite direction. All this time, I have always been the one trailing behind them. But there comes a day when I no longer want to keep up.

Penelope Rivera's little boy toy, Theodore Schneider, is throwing another tantrum. She slides the divorce papers across the table toward me. "Just sign them for show. It's to keep Teddy happy." I clench the cuff of my suit and nod in silence. I sign my name in one swift stroke. As I'm walking out, I hear one of her girlfriends teasing, "Samuel's way too easygoing. Does he actually do everything you say?" Penelope takes a graceful sip of red wine and smirks. "Wanna bet?" They bet that I will quietly go through with the divorce at the courthouse, even if my eyes are red with tears. Listening their laughter, I rub my thumb over my phone screen and reply to the message I've just received. "Will you marry me?" it says. "I will."

In order to take care of my wife, Mildred Dale, who kept going into lunatic episodes thanks to the side effects of a car crash, I spent all of my assets and ten years of my life taking care of her. Whenever Mildred went into an episode, she'd hurl everything she could get her hands on at me. At the same time, she'd scratch every inch of my body with her nails. But when she sobered up, she'd hug me while wailing at the top of her lungs. All of my friends advised me to file for a divorce, yet I'd always remember the fact that Mildred had pushed me from the incoming car and hit her head, resulting in her current condition. But everything changed when Mildred beat me up to the point that I sustained grievous injuries. Heck, my soul was already floating near the ceiling at that time. That was when I saw Mildred arranging her childhood friend Hank Weaver's collar carefully. "Why are you crying? He's already dead. Shouldn't we celebrate this occasion instead? "But my heart breaks for you, Mildred. You've pretended to be a lunatic for ten whole years just to swindle every cent out of his account!" Mildred kissed Hank on the lips. Then, she uttered icily, "I've been enduring that cowardly fool for ten long years. Now, I no longer have to be with him." It turns out that Mildred and Hank had painstakingly staged the car accident just so they could put on such a perfect act. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Mildred is diagnosed with mental health issues.

I had been on a business trip overseas for less than six months when I suddenly received a call from the hospital. "Mr. Jones, your wife is having a difficult labor. Should we proceed with a C-section or try to continue with a natural delivery?" The words hit me like a bolt of lightning. I stood there, frozen. When I left, my wife had not shown any sign of pregnancy. How could she be giving birth less than six months later? I quickly dialed her number. The moment the call connected, I heard her cries of pain. "Honey, what's wrong?" From the other end of the line, I could hear a nurse urging her to push harder. However, my wife forced her voice to sound calm. "Sweetheart, I just slipped and fell a moment ago. It's nothing serious. You should keep focusing on your business trip. Don't worry about me." As I listened, the faint sound of a baby crying filtered through the phone. My grip tightened so hard around the phone that it nearly cracked. "Is that so? Then, get some rest," I said calmly. After hanging up, I immediately called my father, the richest man in the country. "Dad, Rebecca's cheating on me. She's in the delivery room right now, having another man's child. Stop all investments in the Harris family immediately. I want her thrown out with nothing to her name."

After a Thanksgiving dinner, my childhood friend, Calvin Sheafe, suggests playing Truth or Dare. When my wife, Tiffany Kramer, loses a round, she reluctantly chooses Truth. "When was the last time you felt nauseated?" Calvin asks with a teasing smile. "Where were you?" "10:00 pm last night. In bed," Tiffany answers without the slightest hesitation. The mood turns awkward, and a few of my friends glance my way. Tiffany and I grew up in the same neighborhood and got married soon after graduation. We'd agreed not to have children, and our marriage had always seemed happy and stable. That is, until we get into a huge fight before Thanksgiving. Tiffany has already made plans for us to spend Thanksgiving with her parents, as we've spent every holiday with them since they moved four years ago. But this year, I want to return to my hometown, Birchford, instead. When I insist on going back, Tiffany and I have a massive argument. Trying to lighten the mood, another friend jokes, "You've been married for seven years without kids. Don't tell me there's a little surprise on the way!" "Of course not." Tiffany sneers. "A woman only has a child for a man she truly loves." I shoot to my feet, and the gathering ends on a sour note. I assume Tiffany is still angry at me. But while smoking in the stairwell, I overhear her talking to Calvin. "I can't take it anymore. If you hadn't gone overseas back then, I wouldn't have married him. He kept chasing after me like a pathetic simp, and I ended up marrying him out of spite! "I never thought marrying a simp would still leave me feeling so wronged." I freeze, the cigarette ash burning into my palm. We've been married for seven years. Yet in all 2,557 days of our marriage, she has never loved me—not even for a second.

Sandra's ex-boyfriend had cancer, yet he still found the energy to keep pestering her. So I anonymously sent him a sum of money to make him leave her alone. But when Sandra found what I'd done, she threw the bank card in my face and shouted, "Why would you humiliate a dying man with money? He's already pitiful enough!" I looked at her calmly. "You're my wife. You shouldn't be worrying about another man."

After I discovered Chelsea Stone’s infidelity, I ended the relationship without giving her a chance. I packed my luggage bit by bit. She watched me, then suddenly said, “Jensen Scott, do you know what was the most boring thing about you?” I paused and turned around. She blew out a puff of smoke and smiled in a flirtatious way. “You were so boring. You did not even know how to sweet‑talk in bed. It was so uninteresting.” I walked away with my things, and I held back my tears. Three years later, I ran into her in the hospital corridor. She wore a white coat, and the medical record book in her hand almost slipped when I bumped into her. Our eyes met. She looked me over, and her tone turned playful. “Oh, is this not my blockhead ex‑boyfriend?” I smiled and did not reply. As I left the hospital, she stepped in front of me and lowered her voice. “Three years have passed. Have you learned how to sweet‑talk in bed?” I raised my hand and showed her my wife’s ultrasound report. “I have, but not to you.”

At the bachelor party on the eve of my wedding, everyone starts playing "Never Have I Ever". When it's Zander Carlson's turn, he bluntly declares, "I have a child." Before I can even recover from the shock, my fiancée, Clover Sorrell, chimes in, "So do I." As soon as she finishes speaking, she pushes the penalty drink toward me without batting an eye, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. She goes on, "Since we're already talking about this, I'll be straightforward. Drink up. I slept with Zander. He wanted a child, and as his best friend, I felt I should help him. He, my parents, and everyone else here already know about it. "The child is already three years old. I conceived him around the time your father passed away. As long as you can be mature and let this go, our wedding can still go ahead." The private room falls completely silent. Not a single person looks surprised. Even my best friend, Samson Silva, joins in to smooth things over. "Come on, Ezra. It's only natural. It's just one child. Everyone knew about it. We didn't dare tell you because we were afraid you'd get upset." At last, I understand. They all knew Clover was involved with Zander, and even my closest friend had been keeping it from me. After coming clean, Clover reaches out her hand with an outrageously confident expression. She expects me to swallow my grievances like I always have. But this time, I'm done putting up with it.

At our baby's one-month celebration, my wife, Emilia Hayes, decides to hold a vote. Anyone who thinks the baby should take my last name votes A. Anyone who thinks the baby should take her first love, Alex Mitchell's, last name votes B. Every relative and friend at the table votes for Alex. And yet, when Emilia's family is at its lowest, I am the one who gives her the money to start her business and helps put her younger brother, Elliot Hayes, through college. Elliot, who used to proudly tell everyone I am part of his family, laughs the loudest. "Ryan has been devoted to Emilia for 15 years. There's no way he'd risk losing his wife and son over a last name." Emilia notices my discomfort and frowns as she defends me. "Don't say that. He has his pride too." Then she places our baby in Alex's arms, takes his hand, and asks, "Have you decided what to name the baby?" My mom, Winona Williams, looks at her grandson with tears in her eyes. Afraid I'll really lose my wife and baby, she forces a smile. "It's okay if your first child takes his last name," she says. "You can always have another baby later." I open my mouth to argue. But watching my mother lower her head alongside everyone else just to keep my family together makes me realize there is no point. What they don't know is that tomorrow, along with the application to change my son's last name, I'll also be serving Emilia with divorce papers.

My wife, Sienna Fairchild, has one ironclad rule. Every Monday, she has dinner with her brother-in-law. During that time, she turns off her phone and blocks every message. Nothing, no matter how urgent, takes priority over their little family gathering. Then one day, our daughter falls down the stairs at preschool and breaks her arm. I call Sienna over a dozen times, but not a single one goes through. With no other option, I call her brother-in-law instead. "Abby got hurt at school. Can you have Sienna come to the hospital?" The other end goes quiet. Just when I think the call has been dropped, Sienna's voice comes through. "My whole day belongs to them. Don't bother me unless it's actually important." The line goes dead. I stand frozen, staring at my daughter crying on the hospital bed. She looks up at me with red, tear-filled eyes. "Daddy, does Mommy not want me anymore?" I choke back the lump in my throat as exhaustion washes over me. Maybe it's time to find my daughter a new mother.