He Chose His First Love Over Our Daughter—So I Became a Global Jewelry Star

When I got home, my pillow and pajamas had already been moved into the children's room. The master bedroom door was half open. A woman's muffled crying drifted out. Harvey came out of the room. When he saw me, he pressed a finger to his lips. "Keep your voice down. Joyce just fell asleep." That name made me stop at the doorway for a moment. Joyce Cole was Harvey's first love. The one he'd once seriously discussed marriage with. He'd pursued me for nearly half a year. Before we married, my parents had asked him directly whether he'd truly cut ties with the past. Back then, he'd stood in front of them and said Joyce was already married. That they'd ended things long ago. I believed him. 5 years later, the woman he'd claimed was in the past was sleeping in our bedroom. I tried to trust that Joyce truly had nowhere else to go, that Harvey was only helping an old acquaintance. Harvey said Joyce had just ended a terrible marriage. After returning to the country, she had nowhere to stay and was afraid to be alone. It would only be a few days. "Why didn't you discuss this with me first?" "She just got off the plane. Her emotional state is very fragile. There was no time to go through formalities in a situation like this." I didn't want to say anything too harsh in front of a woman who'd just divorced. I simply told him to find her another place as soon as possible. He agreed. But that same night, Joyce had an episode in the guest room. She crouched by the door, gasping, barely able to form full sentences. She said the guest room window was too small. Every time the door closed, it reminded her of the times her ex-husband locked her in. When Harvey carried her out, her hands were still clutching his shirt. The only room in the house that had a spacious patio was our bedroom. "Let her stay in the master bedroom for now," Harvey said, "I'll take the study. You can sleep in Mia's room. She's still at my parents' place anyway, so it doesn't really matter." I looked at him. "That's our wedding bed." Joyce immediately offered to go back to the guest room. She yielded with her words, but her body shook even more violently, as if my refusal would send her back into a nightmare. Harvey's expression turned cold. "She's just staying a few days. It's not like she's taking your place. You already have me. She has nothing. Why can't you just let her have this?" "If the room doesn't matter, why do I have to be the one to give it up?" He had no answer. His face darkened. "She's sick right now. Do you really have to make a big fuss?" In the end, Joyce moved into the master bedroom. Harvey moved into the study. I took my pillow and slept in Mia's room. When Harvey carried her luggage up, she apologized to me profusely in front of him. But once he left, she stood at the master bedroom doorway for a moment, her gaze sweeping from the pillow in my arms to the children's room. Then she closed the door. She didn't say sorry again. She didn't treat me as the hostess of the house. It felt like she was looking at a person who was taking up space and would eventually have to leave. After the lights went out, I tossed and turned for a while. The Joyce that Harvey claimed was "in the past" had probably never really been past at all. I used to think being his wife meant he'd already made his choice. But in his eyes, that identity seemed to mean only that I already had enough. So no matter what was taken from me, I should be able to bear it. I gave him a few days. If Joyce moved out, maybe this could still be chalked up to a moment of poor judgment. But if she stayed, I'd have to take a serious look at these past five years.