My husband, the man I thought loved me deeply for a decade, cheated on me. Not once, not twice, but three separate times.

Everyone said Julian loved Anya more than his own life.

He pursued her for ten years, spoiled her for ten, and would ache for hours if she even frowned.

Yet, this same Julian betrayed her, not once, but three times.

The first time, he was drugged by a rival at a corporate gala and ended up having a one-night stand with a college student.

The day I brought up divorce, he shipped the girl overseas overnight.

Then he stood under my apartment window, letting the rain soak him for three whole days and nights.

He pleaded, "Anya, I messed up. Just forgive me this once."