I Loved Him for Seven Years Until He Broke Me

Chapter 3 The Moment I Stopped Believing

Barefoot, I stepped onto the carpet, dragged over a chair, and climbed up to take down the wedding portrait of Julian and me.

The next morning, Julian came back with my favorite seafood risotto. The moment he walked in, he froze.

The room had changed. Even the bedsheets had been replaced. The white wall stood empty. The wedding photo that had once hung there was gone. It now lay face down against the wall.

Julian crouched down and picked it up, checking the frame carefully. "Sweetheart," he said, frowning slightly, "why did you take the photo down?"

"I was tired of looking at it," I said.

When he saw the photo was still intact, relief flickered across his face. He moved to hang it back up.

"The frame is too old," I said calmly. "I don't like it anymore. I've already arranged for someone to take it away. Just leave it." I paused, then asked, "Did you sort out the issue at work?"

At the mention of work, a flicker of guilt passed through his eyes. He set the frame aside and sat down beside me, his hands moving to knead my shoulders, his voice low and gentle. "Don't worry, sweetheart. When have I ever let you down?"

He leaned closer. The faint scent of body wash mixed with perfume drifted from him. And there, at the base of his neck, was a smear of lipstick he hadn't fully wiped away.

My stomach lurched again. I swallowed the urge to vomit and forced myself to speak evenly. "As long as everything's fine at work."

Julian seemed to notice something off. "Sweetheart," he said, studying me, "I feel like you've been acting strange since you came back from the hospital."

He hesitated. "Even this room… it feels unfamiliar."

So I played along. "I just lost the baby," I said softly. "I needed a change of environment. That's all."

At the mention of the baby, silence fell between us. After a long moment, Julian pulled me into his arms. His tears were warm as they fell against my neck. "Elena," he said hoarsely, "losing the baby hurts me too. We'll have another one."

I almost laughed at the sight. So this was what crocodile tears looked like—so calculated and insincere that, if he hadn't just come from another woman's bed, I might have believed him.

Maybe the baby had known. Maybe it had known its parents didn't truly love each other. So it chose not to come into this world.

I watched Julian cry in front of me and felt nothing, realizing that people were natural performers, and both Julian and I were no exception.

He attributed my change to grief, to the loss of the baby, and often told me to go out, get some fresh air, and clear my mind. Meanwhile, his messages became more frequent.

Julian: Sweetheart, something came up at work. I won't be coming home tonight.

While continuing to play the part of a loving wife, I quietly hired a private investigator to gather evidence of Julian's affair.

We met at a café. The investigator handed me a thick stack of documents.

Even though I had prepared myself, the contents still made my eyes sting. It felt like a needle piercing straight through my heart.

Julian was the one who had betrayed me. So why did it feel like I was the one swallowing the pain?

I looked at the photos. A young girl in a white dress stood beside him, her arm wrapped around his, the two of them looking like any ordinary couple. It was almost laughable.

In the next photo, she stood on her toes, her arms looped around his neck as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. There were countless images like that, each one suffocating.

The man I loved was in love with someone else. Wasn't that the cruelest thing of all?

My hands trembled as I reached for my phone and contacted a divorce attorney. These photos were enough to prove fault in the marriage. According to the agreement Julian had once signed, everything except the company would belong to me.