Chapter 1My Student Stole My Husband So I Married His Uncle

My student of three years blindsided me with a question.

“Professor, how does a woman manage to be completely oblivious when her husband has been cheating for six years?”

Scandal is always in the news, especially in my field. I told her to focus on her studies and stop gossiping about other people’s lives.

That same evening, however, a local city push notification popped up on my phone.

“Here’s a treat for my girls.”

“My man is 6'2" with a handle.”

In the video, the man, immaculate in a bespoke suit, had one large hand cinched around the woman’s impossibly small waist. The comments section exploded in shrieks of adoration.

“Those veins, those thick fingers! Sister, he’s definitely serving you right!”

I chuckled softly, ready to swipe the notification away.

But my gaze snagged on the diamond ring glittering on the man’s finger.

It was identical to the one I had spent countless nights meticulously designing and polishing myself.

I froze. I immediately forwarded the video, along with the adoring comments, to the man in question.

“Mr. Maxwell, why didn’t you tell me about your, uh, technological improvements?”

The account was blocked the very next second.

He came home later that night, his face set in a deep scowl.

“I married you, why are you always monitoring me!” he hissed. “You don’t need to worry. She won’t have a child. She gets nothing from me but love, and that should be enough for you.”

“Why can’t you just let me go?”

I’ve never been the type to suffer in silence. That same night, I called my lawyer and started drafting divorce papers.

The next morning, his room reeked of stale smoke, the floor littered with cigarette butts. He finally gave in.

“I’ll send her abroad, but first, I owe her a graduation trip.”

He vanished from my world after that. He didn’t even show up the day our daughter was killed in a car accident, the day of her small, private memorial.

I packed up Winnie’s belongings, bought a one-way ticket to the Alps.

Since you two are so in love, I’ll just leave.

* * *

“The court documents, please give these to Owen Maxwell, House Manager.”

I handed the legal papers to our house manager. After Owen said he needed to compensate Phoebe for a graduation trip and then promptly disappeared for two full years, I petitioned the court for divorce based on irreconcilable differences and two years of separation.

“Madam, you and the Master were so happy once. Is there truly… no room for reconciliation?” The house manager looked at me with a pained, reluctant expression.

My gaze drifted past him to the mansion I had called home for eight years. Cold. Barren.

Winnie’s birthday was in two days. In previous years, the house would have been bustling with preparations. Now, only a few lights were even turned on.

I remembered the video Phoebe had posted on social media two days ago. She was holding a cat wearing a tiny birthday hat. Phoebe was leaning on Owen’s shoulder, smiling. The caption read: “Birthday celebrations for my little baby~ So good to have someone who’s willing to be crazy with you~”

The comments were a chorus of “Perfect match,” “So happy,” “Such a great boyfriend,” and “Happy birthday, Kitty.”

A cat had a warm home, while my daughter was confined to a cold urn. And the other person in that video was her own father.

The irony was a razor slicing through my heart. My eyes welled up.

Winnie’s accident had happened five days earlier. I’d called Owen countless times. When he finally answered, all I got was a cold, flat, “Phoebe’s trip ends in a month. Whatever it is, it can wait until I get back,” before he hung up. The next time I called, I was blocked.

Thinking about Winnie, who had asked when her father was coming home just before she died—telling me she missed him—my heart was a clenched fist of agony, making it almost impossible to breathe.

The house manager was still looking at me with mournful eyes, trying to plead with me to stay. But I wiped the tears from my face, my voice firm.

“There is no going back.”

“And this, please give this to him as well.”

I slipped the diamond ring off my left ring finger and walked to the car without a second glance.

On the way to the airport, my phone chimed. A new video from the account I followed.

“Hating to leave Venice, ugh. Someone promised we’d come back next year!”

Phoebe was kissing Owen’s sleeping cheek. Even a still photo couldn't hide the dense sweetness between them.

I fell into a self-destructive trance, scrolling through Phoebe’s entire feed. Owen had taken her to see icebergs, the Northern Lights. He kissed her romantically next to historic landmarks.

A sudden, sharp ache pierced my chest. These were all things he had once promised to do with me.

The year we first got together, we impulsively bought a list of "100 Things Couples Must Do." We each wrote down three dream destinations and swore to go together. When we exchanged lists, Owen’s page was blank. Seeing my confused expression, the young man smiled, his eyes full of love.

“Lydia’s wishes are my wishes.”

I remember the profound love in that look even now. It was the same look he now gave Phoebe.

Antarctica, the Arctic Circle, Paris. They were the three most romantic places I could think of. But after we got married, he never brought them up again.

It turned out he hadn’t forgotten. He just wanted to experience them with someone else.

I was just about to hit the ‘Unfollow’ button when a message popped up, dragging me out of my spiraling gloom.

“Lydia, if you ever need anything, call me immediately. I will always have your back.”