Everyone thinks Alice really loves me. After we got married, she immediately asked me to stay home full-time and manage the house. But when her ex came back to the country, she was the first to rush to the bar to confess her feelings. Everyone cheered her on, calling her a brave, modern woman pursuing love.

"Then what do you consider your current husband?" someone asked.

"Just a housekeeper," Alice responded, her voice dripping with allure.

"Two thousand a month—what housekeeper is that cheap?"

Laughter erupted from the private room, and even though I was standing outside, I couldn't help but laugh through my tears.

She once told me she loved me because I took care of her, but little did I know, I was just leftovers to her.

I asked Alice for a divorce after ten years of loving her. The reason? Last month, she gave me 500 less in my living expenses. Where did that money go?

She spent it on a pair of cufflinks for her ex.

I found one of those cufflinks in her car—an exquisite high-end brand, a tourbillon cufflink. The finely crafted tourbillon mechanism was encased in crystal glass, its gears slowly turning as the wearer moved.

I found these cufflinks just before Valentine's Day when I was cleaning up the room. They were hidden in an old closet, and when I saw them, I thought Alice, usually indifferent, was finally planning something special for Valentine's Day.

That night, I made a reservation for a candlelit dinner, sending her the address ahead of time. She didn't respond, didn't show up, and didn't answer my calls.

A friend sent me a screenshot of Alice's post on social media.

"Bro’s so romantic, usually rejects our bar invites, but on Valentine's Day, he secretly went with his wife."

The post showed two hands, bent just enough to form a heart shape. One hand wore the Cartier bracelet I had given Alice, while the other was clearly a man’s hand—long, slender fingers. I hadn't seen that post because she had blocked me.

I asked a friend and, without realizing it, he revealed the bar’s name. I went there and saw Alice with her ex, Joseph. They were so close, their faces nearly touching. I didn’t want to think the worst, but with how close they were, sparks were bound to fly.

Alice’s smile seemed different—warmer, more genuine. I had always thought her cool demeanor toward me was just her nature or because she was stressed from work. But at that moment, I realized—it wasn’t me who made her smile.

I walked into the private room, and Alice’s friend teased them.

"You guys are fast."

"Joseph got off the plane this morning, and here you are, together already."

Joseph's voice echoed.

"After ten years, it’s been tough, but Alice and I… we're meant to be."

The others laughed, and Alice's friend added, "She's great at work, independent, handles everything at home. I think she’s just as decisive in love."

"She's the modern woman, independent and strong," someone else commented. "Too bad your husband..."

The conversation shifted.

"Then what do you consider your current husband?" someone asked.

Just then, a waiter came in, and Alice’s answer was clear.

"Just a housekeeper."

Laughter filled the room. I stood outside, tears in my eyes as I laughed bitterly.

I didn’t go home that night. I waited for her outside the bar.

She saw me from a distance, whispered something to Joseph, and hurriedly walked toward me, getting into the car. She was impatient.

"Why are you here?"

I felt calm inside.

"You told me you were done with Joseph."

Alice frowned. "What are you thinking? Tonight was just a company gathering. Joseph's the new VP. We’ve formed a new department and have a new project. We need to get to know each other. Why are you overthinking things? Trust between a husband and wife is important, don’t you think? Besides, you don’t understand the business world. It’s competitive, with companies poaching people left and right. Stop overthinking and just leave me alone. You’re always focused on cooking; don’t try to act all high and mighty."

Her words, full of mockery, stung.

At home, she slammed the door to her study, seething with anger, though it was more about hiding her guilt.

I didn’t help her with her hangover soup, nor did I try to coax her into bed like I usually did. We were both giving each other the cold shoulder, silently competing to see who would crack first.

At 2:30 AM, the door to her study was forcefully pushed open with a loud bang. She threw the cushions and pillows from the couch at me.

"Isn’t my explanation clear enough? What’s with the long face? If you think it's annoying, well, I think it is too. I’ve been taking care of you, and you’re upset over a mere 500 less in living expenses? Nick, if this marriage is unbearable, just leave!"

"Fine," I calmly interrupted.

"What?"

I repeated slowly, clearly, "Let’s get a divorce."

She looked at me in disbelief, and a sneer crept up on her face.

"Again with this? You think if you leave me, I won’t survive? You’re the one relying on me. Don’t threaten me with divorce now and beg me later. How pathetic."

She raised her eyebrows, glancing at me with disdain. "Like a dog clinging to its owner."

Her words cut deep, and for the first time, I was truly shaken. I nearly cried.

But the real pain came when I had to face her family—the sharp words of my mother-in-law, the passive-aggressive remarks from my father-in-law, and the relentless comments from the whole family.

I pulled out the divorce agreement. "I don’t want anything from this marriage. I owe you nothing."

Alice snatched the divorce papers from my hands, her face turning pale with the alcohol in her system. But she couldn’t bring herself to beg me back. Instead, she gritted her teeth and signed.

"You’ve got guts," she said, her hand shaking slightly as she scribbled her name.

"Tomorrow, 9 AM. I’ve made an appointment," I added.

Her hand trembled once more.

"Nick, I hope you’re not the one who regrets this."

The sound of glass breaking came from her study, but I didn’t go to check. I stood on the balcony, staring at the dim sky, smoking a cigarette.

The glow of the cigarette tip flickered in the dark. I smoked half, the wind taking the rest.

I thought back to the day Alice and I started our relationship. Everyone said I was living off her. After my company went bankrupt, Alice insisted I stay home full-time while she supported us. She had to take care of her parents, as well as me.

People joked that if she ever got pregnant, she’d have to work until the last day.

At first, I didn’t mind the gossip. Alice said she loved the food I cooked for her, appreciated me taking care of her family, and that her career was thriving because I was her strong support.

But recently, she told me money was tight, that we needed to be careful with expenses.

I didn’t question her. I carefully budgeted for our family, scraping by.

But then I saw her shopping history, and I couldn’t ignore it any longer. She had been spending four or five-figure amounts on gifts for a man—luxury watches, cufflinks, custom suits—while I hadn’t even gotten a new watch in years.

I was the fool.

The cigarette burned out, and I was left with nothing but a bitter smile.