Chapter 3

I bolted back into my bedroom, locking the door. I could hear Ethan complaining loudly outside.

"She’s so old, yet she still throws tantrums like a spoiled teenager. Does she really think everyone has to cater to her?!"

"Dad, stop coddling her. Look out for yourself. If it weren't for you, who else would clean up her mess?"

Julian sighed. "Don't say that. Your mother has had it rough all these years. If she hadn't given birth to you, she wouldn't have this medical condition. We need to show her more care."

But right after that, he muttered in a low, repulsed voice, "It really is nasty, though."

That one word—"nasty"—was his true voice.

And I had been fooled by him for my entire life.

I cried until the sky turned dark. Julian knocked on the door to call me.

"Vivian, I know you're not feeling well. I made dinner. Come out and eat something."

I wiped away my tears, my eyes scanning every corner of this house.

Finally, my gaze landed on the dining table.

Three bowls of plain instant noodles.

Julian smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry I'm holding you back. I wanted to make you a feast to cheer you up, but my body just can't take it. I can't stand the smell of cooking oil anymore."

For years, he had been doing this. He constantly dropped hints that he had developed a chronic illness because he split my labor pain back then.

If this had happened in the past, I would have said guiltily, "I'm sorry. I'll handle the cooking from now on."

But now, knowing his so-called "delivery side effects" were non-existent, I just stared at him blankly.

Ethan had his feet up on the dining table, busy ordering an expensive takeout feast on his phone while glued to a mobile game. He didn't forget to mock me: "Dad cooking for you is already a miracle. If you're in a bad mood, deal with it yourself. Eat the noodles and get over it. I don't want to see this depressing vibe in the house tomorrow."

A hypocritical husband and a cold-blooded son.

This marriage was utterly meaningless.

I let out a bitter laugh and looked straight at Julian. "Let’s get a divorce."

The room fell dead silent. Ethan finally looked up from his phone.

"Divorce? Where would you even go? Who else but Dad would ever agree to split labor pain with you? He sacrificed so much for you that his health is ruined, and you're throwing a tantrum over nothing?!"

"Plus, I'm about to get married! You dragging Dad into a divorce right now is going to ruin my reputation! Having a mother like you is the absolute worst luck of my life!"

Julian was stunned for a second, but he quickly recovered.

"You heard us?"

He didn't show a single shred of guilt.

"Vivian, that was just a story I made up to teach Ethan how to handle his relationship with Chloe. You didn't actually believe it, did you?"

He reached out to grab my hand, but I took a step back, dodging him.

For the first time, Julian's calm, unbothered face showed a crack of panic. He couldn't help but ask:

"Even if I didn't split the labor pain with you, have I really done so little for you over all these years?"

"Look at your colleagues and friends. Some of them split every single penny. Some husbands cause drama between their wives and mothers, tearing the family apart. Some couples are broke and miserable."

"But what about me? My salary paid for all our living expenses. You never had to worry about money, and I never forced you to live with my mother. Even if you did the housework, didn't I provide you with emotional support? How is raising our son not a shared effort?"

"Whenever you were too busy, as long as you asked, didn't I always help? Do you really have to draw such a hard line between us? Or are you just bitter that I'm doing well, and you want to force me to experience labor pain just to prove my love to you?"

By the end of his speech, he had successfully twisted the narrative to make me the bad guy.

I always knew Julian was incredibly silver-tongued.

He could make me feel like scrubbing the floors until my back ached was just a "great way to exercise."

At family gatherings, he would praise me so high that I would happily declare, "Being a traditional, devoted wife to Julian is my greatest happiness."

But that didn't mean I would let him gaslight me anymore.

I raised my phone and showed him the audio recording I had just sent to the Vance family Snapchat group.

"Julian, stop trying to scrub yourself clean. Why do you always have to compare yourself to the worst men out there?"

"Let's compare you to the decent ones. Go ask around—who else would think their wife's labor pain isn't enough and actively double it?"

"I never forced you to share my pain. What I hate is that you enjoyed the moral praise of being a saintly husband, while turning around and blaming me, the actual victim, for not being grateful!"