Chapter 1

Preston York, my husband, had just won a Carmine Design Award for a shopping mall he had designed. They had invited our family of three to attend the award ceremony, but right before we left, Preston canceled my flight ticket and insisted that Melanie Schofield should attend in my place instead. "You see, Mel had played a major role in this project, so she definitely deserves this honor, Samantha. You ought to know that this isn't just some casual get-together—it's a business event. You don't get business, and I can't risk you saying something stupid on stage and humiliating me," he said. Rowan York, our son, even supported Preston's decision. "Melanie is both beautiful and accomplished! If we have her by our side at the awards ceremony, then I can bring the photos back to school and show them off to my teachers and classmates! I'll have so much to brag about!" That evening, Melanie shared a video on her social media. It captured Preston standing on the stage of the awards ceremony, kissing Melanie fervently before proclaiming with emotion, "I would like to thank my lovely wife for this award. I love you so much, honey!" I double-tapped to like Melanie's post and immediately scheduled a divorce appointment for the following week. It was a year later when I stood on the same stage, all by myself, giving my acceptance speech. "I'd like to thank myself for winning this award." … Preston and Melanie held each other tightly in a passionate embrace on the television screen, while the entire audience at the award ceremony broke out in excited cheers. I tormented myself by rewinding and replaying that scene repeatedly with the remote, feeling a bitter sense of irony welling up inside me. I finally grabbed my phone and called one of my clients after watching the scene for the tenth time. "I've decided to take on Grandmark Group's new shopping mall project, Mr. Lester." Javier Lester replied almost instantly, "It's a huge honor to have a designer of your caliber back in the game! We'd be delighted to have you join us at Praxis in two weeks!" I calmly ended the call and then opened Instagram on my phone. It had been a whole week since the awards ceremony, and neither Preston nor Rowan had contacted me. I was, nevertheless, able to keep apprised of Rowan's daily activities by following the continuous updates posted by both Melanie and Preston. That evening, Preston posted a series of new photos on Instagram. In the first photo, the three of them were all smiling broadly in front of the medieval fortress wall. Their shadows were cast together on the ground, creating the unmistakable impression of a loving and unified family. In the second photo, Rowan was pouting and curled up in Melanie's arms, as though he were playfully seeking her attention—mischievous and endearing. I had never seen him behave like that in front of me. He had always been impatient before me, his gaze at me brimming with contempt. He looked at me as if I were a piece of filthy trash on the street, not his mother. In the third shot, Preston was gently wiping the ice cream from the corner of Melanie's mouth. It wasn't a photo like the others, but a video. I played the video and heard Rowan's voice in the background, full of genuine admiration. "Wow! You're so beautiful, Mommy! Daddy and I love you so much!" I was shocked to hear Rowan call Melanie "Mommy". I had endured ten months of pregnancy and risked my life to bring Rowan into this world, yet he was now happily calling that home-wrecker "Mommy". I suddenly felt a raging fire burning within me, threatening to swallow me whole. I felt my hand scalding from gripping the phone as I came to a painful conclusion—there was no longer a place for me in this family. Preston's friend left a comment on the post. "That's pretty bold of you, Preston! Aren't you worried that Samantha might get jealous?" Preston replied indifferently, "It's quite tiresome dealing with a jealous housewife. I'm just on a team-building trip with my staff." I had never heard of a team-building trip that would involve just a single employee, especially under these circumstances. I couldn't help but feel so embarrassed by Preston's flimsy excuse. Preston hadn't posted this much on Instagram since he was courting me ten years ago. He'd post ten updates a day about me, prompting people to post envious comments in the comment section. I was so mortified about it back then that I had to remind him to tone it down and be more mindful about the impression he was giving others. Preston merely shrugged it off, saying, "You shouldn't pay them any mind, honey. Their comments are merely a reflection of their own jealousy because they can't have what I have with you!" I was the most valuable person in the world to Preston back then, and he was unwilling to let me endure the least hardship. Yet, from the moment Melanie showed up, everything changed. He no longer posted photos of me on his Instagram, and Melanie's photos always showed up in various work-related updates. I sensed that something was wrong back then and told him to post a photo of us on his Instagram, only to hear his stinging reply. "It would be unprofessional to share a photo of my wife on my business account. You don't even have any makeup on, so you look so sallow and tired. You're not that presentable." Preston probably didn't even realize he had blurted out exactly what he was thinking. I remember how he used to hold my face so tenderly when we first started dating, as if he could never get enough of me, saying, "You're more beautiful than any heavenly being, honey. You're the only one I'll love for the rest of my life." I was so completely lost in my happiness that I never saw this coming, yet in only a few short years, Preston had begun to show growing contempt toward me. "You're not that presentable," he had said. That brief sentence lingered in my mind like a shadow I couldn't erase. I felt a sharp, stabbing pain every time Preston uttered that sentence. I no longer felt angry whenever I saw a stunning photo of Melanie on his Instagram; instead, a crushing sense of inferiority set in. I eventually became completely desensitized to it. I double-tapped to like Preston's post and then left a comment. "When are you going to come back home?" Preston never responded to my comment, though. I checked his post ten minutes later and noticed that he had already deleted the entire post. It was a perfect demonstration of a guilty conscience.