The Past Is Prologue

1
Eighteen years into our child-free marriage, I discovered my husband wasnt child-free at all. He had more than one illegitimate son.
The woman was patient. She knew that while I had no children, his bastards still had a claim to his inheritance. Even as a mistress, her sons could one day carve up the empire we had spent half our lives building.
I thought about it. Over and over. A divorce would grant me the majority of our assets, but what was left would still be enough for them to live in luxury for the rest of their lives.
It was far too generous.
If that was the case, then we might as well lose it all together. I started with nothing; I could survive with nothing again.
But them? After theyve lost everything, could they still afford to raise those precious, golden sons of theirs?
By the time I discovered Rons affair, his eldest son was already running and jumping, and his youngest had just passed his three-month milestone.
The only reason Id been kept in the dark for so long was because Rons entire family had conspired to help him cover it up, creating a seamless web of lies.
The truth finally slipped out because Ron attended the party for his youngest sons celebration. Someone anonymously sent me a photo from the eventa picture of their happy little family.
I stared at my phone, my mind a complete blank for a few seconds. A surge of fury rose in my chest, but it was quickly suppressed by cold, hard logic. After years in the business world, I had unlearned the habit of acting on impulse. I wouldnt confront Ron until I had the full story.
I hired someone to do some digging. It took only three days for every secret Ron had buried to be laid bare before me.
Five years ago, he had started keeping a recent college graduate.
Four years ago, she gave birth to their first son.
Now, their second child was three months old.
No wonder his mother had stopped nagging me about children years ago. Id naively thought she had finally accepted our choice to be child-free. Turns out, she was already a grandmother.
Even with the undeniable proof of his betrayal, I forced myself to remain calm. His infidelity was a fact, and arguing wouldnt change a thing. The only thing to consider now was how to walk away from this without being the one who lost everything. In the world of adults, self-interest must always come first.
I spent the entire afternoon sitting alone in a tea house, replaying our eighteen years together. It was Ron who had first proposed being child-free. I never imagined he would be the one to go back on his word.
In the early days, we started our architectural firm from nothing. We had no connections, no support. Every step was a struggle. Now that we were finally on solid ground, the first thing he does is have children with someone else?
The irony was staggering.
That afternoon, I consulted with several lawyers specializing in divorce. The consensus was grim: we had no prenuptial agreement. Even though he was the at-fault party, forcing him to walk away with nothing was nearly impossible.
That path was a dead end. I needed another plan.
As I was thinking, Ron called. He asked why I wasn't home yet. I glanced at my watch; it was past nine. For all these years, despite having another family, he had maintained a perfect facade. Barring the occasional business dinner, he was almost always home before 9:30 PM.
That consistency was a key reason I had never suspected a thing. Id forgotten that a man who truly wants to cheat doesnt need large blocks of unaccounted-for time.
It was ten by the time I got home. Ron was on the living room sofa, flipping through an art book.
He looked up at the sound of the door. Even in his forties, he was still in impeccable shape, not with the softness of middle age, but with a quiet, refined presence forged by time. But I saw it clearlyan almost unconscious movement as he closed the book and tucked it into the crevice of the sofa cushions.
It was a detail I would have missed before. Now, it was glaring. Suspicion, once planted, finds evidence everywhere.
He walked over, his expression normal, and took my coat. His voice was gentle. "Working late? Trouble with a project?"
For a moment, I was lost. How could a person betray a marriage so profoundly and show not a single trace of guilt on his face? To hide it so perfectly for five or six years The man I shared a bed with had a depth of cunning that sent a chill down my spine.
Perhaps my silence was too long. A flicker of concern crossed his face. "Not feeling well?"
I looked away, forcing my voice to sound casual. "No, just a little tired."
After more than two decades together, Ron knew me too well. The slightest change in my demeanor never escaped him. Of course, the same was true for me.
I understood then. The leaked photo from the party wasn't an accident, nor was it his oversight. He was simply done trying so hard to hide it. The firm was stable. I had stood by him through all the hard years. Now, someone else was waiting to reap the rewards.
On what grounds?
I managed a few more perfunctory replies, making sure not to give anything away. Ron didn't seem to notice that I knew everything. His behavior was normal, though he checked his phone far more often than usual.
The quiet comfort of a middle-aged marriage is supposed to be a blessing. But some people are never satisfied.
Waves of frustration washed over me. I wanted to scream, to slap him across the face, to tear away the facade and demand to know why he had broken his promise. For a fleeting moment, I even considered paying him back in the same coin.
When the emotion finally subsided, I was horrified by that momentary version of myself. The guilty should pay, but punishing someone else should not come at the cost of your own integrity. Ron was already filthy; I refused to become like him.
I knew this calm wouldn't last, but shifting our assets would take time. A man whose heart has strayed is like cloth dipped in dye; it can never return to its original color and will only stain everything around it. The twenty years of love, the hardships we sharedthe moment I learned of the third person, it all became a sunk cost. The price of this marriage was too high, and I was far from being as detached as I appeared.
The gut-wrenching pain of it all was forcing me into a state of brutal clarity. Ron was rotten, the marriage was rotten, but the firm wasn't. Our lives were deeply intertwined; pulling one thread could unravel everything. This was far more complicated than a simple divorce could solve.
About two weeks after I learned of his affair, Ron finally sensed something was wrong. He lingered outside my home studio for a long time one evening before finally speaking. "Is... something on your mind lately?"
No matter how hard I tried to be calm, I could no longer bear to share a bed with him. I had used a minor disagreement as an excuse to banish him to the guest room for the past two weeks. My replies to his texts were clipped and brief.
He was always perceptive and had likely guessed the reason. But since I hadn't confronted him, hadn't started a fight, and hadn't gone after the other woman, he swallowed the probing questions on the tip of his tongue.
I rubbed my throbbing temples and decided to seize the initiative. "I was looking over the firm's accounts recently and noticed a few large payments for materials that don't add up."
I knew exactly where that money had gone, and as the one who approved it, Ron knew even better. The woman he was keeping had given him one child, then a second. Naturally, her material needs had to be thoroughly met. And Ron, successful and in his forties, had the capital to satisfy her.
He visibly stiffened. I saw his hand, hanging by his side, slowly clench into a fist. But it was only for a moment. He quickly regained his composure. "I authorized those withdrawals."
I lifted my eyes and looked directly at him.
He avoided my gaze, his explanation tinged with guilt. "Alex and I have been working on a few private projects these last couple of years. I didn't mention it because I didn't want you to worry."
Alex was his old college classmate; of course, he would cover for him. I didn't ask what the projects were, and he didn't elaborate. He just closed the door and left.
He had probably guessed that I knew about his other family, yet he showed no panic. It was as if he was certain I had no choice but to endure it silently. And even if I didn't, what could I do? Divorcing him now would be a relief for him. He would walk away with wealth and children, while I, nearing forty, would be left with nothing but my solitude.
But even so, there was no point in being shackled to a rotten man like him. I found it increasingly difficult to tolerate Ron's presence in my life as my husband, but the transfer of assets wasn't complete. We could only continue this tense, lukewarm stalemate. Perhaps he was waiting for me to come to my senses, or perhaps he was waiting for me to be the one to ask for a divorce. Either way, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
On the twentieth day after I discovered his betrayal, I met the woman he was keeping. She must have gotten wind of something from Ron because she had the audacity to provoke me.
She staged a "chance encounter" at my favorite bookstore, even choosing the window-side booth I always sat in. The file I had on her was filled with photos; I recognized her instantly.
She was young, around twenty-seven, dressed in an expensive but understated cashmere sweater, a designer handbag resting beside her. She had been well-protected, it seemed; there was a naive sweetness in her features, a look of almost clear-eyed foolishness in her eyes.
It suddenly made me think of myself at twenty-seven. Ron and I had been married for two years, crammed into a tiny, old apartment, living on meager salaries, my coats washed until they were faded. It was during those years that we scraped together the seed money for our firm. Sometimes, late at night, overcome with emotion, he would grip my hand and swear he would never fail me.
Those vows, I suppose, held some sincerity at the time. A pity sincerity is the first thing to wear away.
I pretended not to know her, picked out a book as usual, and sat at a table diagonally across from her, never once letting my gaze drift in her direction.
I quickly revised my initial judgment of her. She picked up a book, moved to the seat directly opposite me, and smiled with a look of pure provocation. "Mrs. Croft," she said.
Clearly, she knew who I was. So, not some naive girl who had been deceived, but a willing parasite. Was she here now, as the other woman, to openly challenge me?
Tsk. Did she have any idea that half of everything she ate, wore, and used belonged to me?
I closed my book, my gaze calmly sweeping over her body, which hadn't fully recovered from childbirth. "And you are?"
In the end, she didn't dare reveal her awkward identity. She fumbled for an excuse, claiming she had seen me at an architectural forum once. The lie was laughably clumsy.
I didn't respond, just watched her with a faint, unreadable smile. I wanted her to know that I saw right through her pathetic little games. A vine that spends its life clinging to others loses the strength to stand on its own against the storm.
Under my silent scrutiny, she didn't even last thirty seconds. She scrambled to her feet and fled, her retreating figure a picture of panic and disarray.
I felt a sense of sorrowfor her, and for the world that created her. So young, perfectly capable, she could have been anything, but she chose to be someone's breeding tool.
Whether Ron knew about this stunt or not, the fact that the woman he was keeping had paraded herself in front of me was his failure. I decided to officially put the divorce on my agenda.
Before I could act, my best friend spammed me with messages on WhatsApp. She was sending me screenshots of the other woman's social media, a daily chronicle of her flaunting her life. This was nothing new, but today's screenshots were different. She added a note:
[She's throwing shade at you.]
Everyone needs a few reliable friends. I had asked my best friend to follow her account long ago, so I was aware of her every move.
I opened the last screenshot. It was her latest post: a photo of a child running across a lawn, with a caption. The gist of it was: So what if some people are successful now? After working hard their whole lives, won't it all just end up belonging to my children anyway?
Oh, I'd almost forgotten. She had children, and I didn't. And her children with my husband, though illegitimate, still had inheritance rights.
This world is truly absurd sometimes.
I glanced again at the half-drafted divorce settlement on my desk. Even if I fought for every penny, I could at most walk away with seventy percent of our assets. The remaining thirty percent, plus the firm's substantial annual profits, would be enough to keep their family of four in luxury for generations.
Thank you for the reminder. It was a sudden, jarring wake-up call.
This wasn't good enough. It was far too generous.
I wasn't about to let anyone set foot on the path I had bled for, not without my permission.

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