When She Asked for Half My Husband, I Left

Chapter 3

Stephen slipped a gold bangle with a tiny rose window design from a small jewelry shop onto Emma's wrist.

It was my favorite style, the exact one I'd been gushing over for ages. I'd fallen head over heels for it the second I laid eyes on it, and immediately showed him the product video. He'd promised he'd buy it for me. Well, he bought it all right. Turns out it was now wrapped around Emma's wrist.

Back at our wedding, Stephen had sworn he'd never let anyone hurt me, never let me suffer even a single slight. Emma had been right there beside us, chiming in to agree wholeheartedly. Back then, I'd been so stupidly happy I thought I had the whole world in the palm of my hand. Now? I feel like I've been made a total fool.

"Do you remember what day it is today?" I asked Stephem, my voice eerily steady.

"Yeah, I know," he said, grinning as he turned soft, adoring eyes to Emma. "It's my 300th day dating anniversary with her."

For a split second, every sound in the world cuts out. Stephen was never a romantic guy. Every single one of our anniversaries, I was the one who planned everything from start to finish.

I picked the spots to visit, picked out gifts he would like, booked the fancy restaurants for our celebratory dinners. This year, I'd intentionally not said a word about it, and he never brought it up once. I was a little let down, but I still pulled myself together.

Work had been crazy lately, I'd been pulling long hours at the company and barely had time to be home. But today, I'd slaved away to make a whole table of his favorite dishes, just wanting to surprise him when he walked through the door.

Turns out they were the ones who had a huge surprise waiting for me instead. The same man who was so painfully unromantic throughout our entire marriage was actually counting down the days for another woman.

Celebrating three hundred lousy days with her. Five whole years of marriage, and it couldn't even hold a candle to three hundred days of fooling around with her.

"Wrong answer," I said with a cold, sharp laugh. Before he could react, I swung my hand and slapped him across his cheek. "Here's your prize—a slap across the face."

"Are you out of your damn mind?" Stephen roared, his face flaming red where I'd hit him. He reared back, fist clenched, ready to shove me hard.

"Today is our wedding anniversary," I snapped, holding my ground, not flinching an inch. "Every single year you say you'll remember it next time. I've been slaving away since dawn today, cooked a whole spread of your favorite food just waiting for you to come home."

When he saw the icy, unforgiving look in my eyes, a flicker of guilt crossed his face. He opened his mouth, ready to apologize.

"Ow, my stomach hurts," Emma whimpered, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"What's wrong? Is your stomach acting up again?" Stephen covered her hand with his own and started gently rubbing her belly. Then he turned to me, snapping in urgency. "Hurry up and do something!"

Since she was having a gastric flare-up, I didn't want anything bad to happen to her, so I headed to her bedroom to rummage through the snacks I'd stashed there for her. But all the snacks I'd bought her just that Monday were gone without a trace.

"Stop looking. I threw all that junk food out! No nutritional value at all," Stephen said as he continued to order me sharply. "Boil her a bowl of noodles instead, and put extra vinegar. She's been craving sour stuff lately."

Disgust curdled in my throat. But this was an emergency, so I turned and walked to the kitchen.

What I saw there made my blood run cold, inch by inch. The kitchen trash can was stuffed full of the food I'd cooked the day before—pot roast, grilled asparagus, and a whole container of pasta.

The seal on the container hadn't even been peeled off. It had gone straight into the trash, completely untouched.

"What's this supposed to mean?" I fished the container out, held it up in front of them, and demanded an answer.

"Emma said she was sick of this kind of food, so I threw it out and ordered takeout." Stephen scowled at me. "Can you get your priorities straight? Now's not the time to nitpick over this stupid crap!"

"I am this petty." I kept my voice perfectly calm. "You two will never eat another bite of my cooking again. Figure it out yourself."

He grumbled under his breath and pulled out his phone to order takeout, but it was the middle of the night, and barely any shops were open. Only a few grilled skewer and fried chicken places were still running, and that greasy garbage was way too harsh for someone with a bad stomach.

He had no choice but to make the noodles himself. He was clumsy as hell, burning his fingers multiple times in the process, yelping and yanking his hand back every time he grazed the hot pot edge.

My gaze drifted to the slippers he'd pulled on the second he stepped inside. They were a matching couple set with Emma's.

Last month, she had used the secondary card I'd given her to pay for an order: two pairs of those cute matching couple slippers. I'd even teased her back then that her mysterious 'Mr. S' had the exact same shoe size as Stephen.

He always forgot to change into house slippers at home when he was busy. Our housekeeper had complained multiple times that the floors were a pain to mop, so I had no choice but to give her a raise. Yet here, at Emma's place, he was following the rules like a perfect little gentleman. The man who'd never even touched a kitchen utensil at home was right here, cooking noodles for her in her place.

It didn't take him long to finish. Bright red burn marks spotted his hand.

"This is bad, no flavor at all." Emma took a single bite and scrunched up her face like she'd eaten something sour.

"Just eat a little to tide you over, okay? I'll take you out for something tasty as soon as the sun comes up," he replied.

Stephen didn't even bat an eye at his hard work getting brushed off like that. Back home? That man would preen and demand praise just for taking out the trash. It was sickening to see how two-faced he was, acting like a totally different person with each of us.

The bowl she was eating out of, by the way? I was the one who'd gifted it to her.

"Don't use my card ever again." I pulled out my phone and showed her I'd just unlinked the supplementary card I'd given her.

Emma froze up anxiously, clutching at the hem of Stephen's shirt.

"It's fine, what's mine is yours. Spend as much as you want," he said the words instantly, no hesitation at all.

"All that money is our joint marital property, and I can sue to get every cent back," I said, my voice like shards of ice. "I'm divorcing you."

"Divorce?" Stephen repeated, like he'd just heard the stupidest joke imaginable. "We've been married for five years. You think you can survive without me? I can make sure you leave this marriage with nothing."

"Oh? If word gets out that Mr. Gray is such a petty, classless loser who stiffs his own wife out of everything, I bet your company's stock will take a huge hit, don't you think?” I reached up to the shelf to grab the recording device I'd hidden there earlier.

Ice flooded my veins. I broke out in a cold, clammy sweat. The memory card was full. None of his earlier threats had been recorded at all.