Chapter 3

A month later, on my birthday, photos of him getting intimate with Jessica in her office went viral.

The double betrayal felt like a dull knife slicing my throat. I violently coughed up blood.

I used all my strength to write a long expose, bribing media outlets to try and destroy both their reputations.

But Ashton crushed all my struggles with one simple move.

He produced a forged psychiatric evaluation and announced to the world that I was mentally unstable.

At the same time, he paid a fortune to send Jessica to a top overseas university, saying at a press conference:

"She is an exceptional woman. I look forward to her return after graduation."

I became a joke.

And Ashton, after the spotlight faded, gently took my hand.

His tone helpless yet indulgent, like comforting a child who didn't understand:

"Nora, last time you threatened me with your life, I was very unhappy. Sleeping with Jessica was just a little lesson for you."

He sighed:

"I've been patient with you. I haven't found anyone new for a whole month, but a man's nature—you can't stop it."

"I thought since you two were such good friends, you wouldn't make such a scene. I'm disappointed."

"If you pull this again, don't say I didn't warn you."

The day after he said that, he found a college student.

To show off his affection, and more importantly, to warn me.

He sold our original studio apartment.

That place held all our memories from when we were young.

In that tiny studio, we once shared a single cup of instant ramen, dreaming about our beautiful future. He said he'd never let me down.

I got on my knees and begged him. I could give up everything, just please keep that apartment.

But I failed.

The apartment money became Chloe the college student's allowance.

After two months with Chloe, he moved on to Lily, a restaurant server.

My mental state was deteriorating. I went back and forth between therapists and an acupuncture clinic.

I often ended up looking like a pincushion.

Until one day I came home early and found Ashton with someone in our marital bed.

This wasn't the first time, but it was the first time I witnessed it myself.

I attacked him like a madwoman, attacked that woman, and beat her badly enough to send her to the hospital.

To get revenge for his new lover, Ashton had me committed to a psychiatric hospital.

Three days of electroshock therapy.

The day I came home, the bedroom door was locked. I could hear his heavy breathing inside:

"Nora, wait outside for a bit. We'll be done soon."

I waited from daylight until late into the night.

When Ashton came out, I'd already slit my wrist with a knife.

I woke up in the hospital. He was at my bedside with dark circles under his eyes.

He gripped my hand tightly, his voice trembling:

"I'm sorry, Nora. I went too far this time."

"But how could you gamble with your life like that?"

"If you really can't take it anymore, you can ask for a divorce. I'll give you satisfactory compensation."

Eight years together—saying we hadn't suffered would be a lie.

But he suffered much more than I did.

We didn't eat well, but at least I could eat my fill.

He was always hungry, collapsing at construction sites, collapsing on the street, collapsing right in front of me.

That year I was so afraid he'd starve to death because of me, I threatened to break up, went on a hunger strike.

That was the first time he cried, begging me not to leave:

"Nora, don't go. If you leave, I really won't make it."

Now, lying in the hospital bed, I gently touched his face and asked seriously:

"Ashton, do you still love me?"

He squeezed my hand hard and kissed my palm over and over:

"Silly girl, how could I not love you?"

During my hospital stay, he seemed to transform back into the Ashton who used to love me most.

We held hands, hugged, kissed, gave ourselves to each other.