Chapter 4Divorcing My Cheating Wife From Golden Boy to Millionaire

It genuinely was an accident.

I mean, how was I supposed to know the wheel of my bulky rolling suitcase would catch the hem of her knit maxi skirt? I didn't even notice, dragging it along for a couple of yards until half the fabric unraveled right off her.

Her long skirt turned into a micro-mini right there on the sidewalk, and I ended up taking a hard slap to the cheek.

She went off like a bottle rocket, firing a barrage of insults at me.

Yet the only word that stuck in my head was pervert. That, and the way her eyes flashed—half furious, half pouting.

Her tear-filled glare looked devastatingly pretty. Even though she was livid, framed by those expressive eyes, it felt strangely captivating.

I took the slap and gave her a sincere apology.

They say fighting breeds familiarity.

We were in the same department, she was my upperclassman, and naturally, our paths kept crossing.

The more we interacted, the deeper I fell. It was only natural for feelings to develop.

Yet she was the one who confessed first.

During that time, my parents went through an excruciating, vicious divorce.

My mother's side piece had the audacity to show up at our house, flaunting the affair right in my father's face.

In a blind rage, my dad snapped, severely injuring the man with a kitchen knife. While the man landed in the ICU, my father suffered a total mental breakdown and jumped from the roof of our building.

Before he died, he wept bitterly, begging me never to trust a woman easily.

If Wendy hadn't been by my side through those darkest days, I never would have survived.

She helped me pack up my father’s belongings and organize the memorial service. She went with me to the hospital to confront my mother, only to be screamed at and cursed out. She stood by me when the side piece's family banged on our door demanding compensation, even using her own savings to help me pay off a chunk of the legal settlement...

"I'm so sorry for dragging you into this mess," I whispered back then. "You shouldn't have to hear them say such vile things about you. You're not even obligated to be here..."

We used to huddle close on the floor of the dim living room by my father's portrait, listening to the quiet murmur of the neighborhood and staring out at the pale moon, sitting awake until sunrise.

Back then, the words I said most often were I'm sorry.

After my father's violence, my mother's betrayal, and the creditor's harassment, an instinctive "I'm sorry" was all I had left.

Sorry for my father's crime, sorry for my mother's cruelty, and deeply ashamed of leaning on Wendy's kindness while feeling utterly worthless.

Yet she never seemed to care about any of that baggage.

She would always smile softly, her eyes crinkling. "It's okay, silly. We're friends, aren't we?"

Then, one quiet night, she fell silent for a long time before suddenly speaking up:

"You're right. Technically, I'm nobody to you."

A bizarre mix of relief, hollow disappointment, and shock gripped my chest. Had she finally had enough? Was she finally walking away from my broken life?

Then she continued,

"So... can I become someone to you? Like, your girlfriend? Or... your future wife?"

In that single second, I swear I heard fireworks going off inside my chest.

After we made it official, Wendy made me promise to check in with her constantly.

Outside of work hours, if I stepped out for more than an hour, she would call asking where I was.

If I didn't pick up the first time, she’d keep calling until I answered.

I once asked her why she was so hyper-vigilant. She just smiled brightly, giving me an entirely shameless excuse:

"Because I have zero sense of security!"

"A guy I used to know... loved pulling vanishing acts on me. That's why I'm like this now."

"Besides, checking in on you means I care. It means I'm worried about you, that I love you! If I ever stop caring, I won't bother asking you a single thing!"

She stated it as an absolute truth, and I took it straight to heart.

Later on, to give her peace of mind, I turned down countless networking dinners and nights out with friends, making regular check-ins a second nature.

Over time, though—whether out of trust or sheer indifference—Wendy stopped asking where I was.

Looking back now, maybe it was just like she said yesterday. She was simply... sick of me.