His Mistress Did Me a Favor

My husband has changed recently.

He stopped wearing cologne, saying it has too strong a scent.

He's constantly on his phone now, smiling at the screen for no reason.

I figured it outhe's in love.

After I put the two kids to sleep, I received a message from his little girlfriend:

The unloved one is the real homewrecker. I'm telling you to divorce Ethan right now. I'm already pregnant! He's crazy in love with me.

I smiled, pretended not to see it, deleted the message, and blocked her.

He's just cheating. It's not like he went bankrupt.

Besides, his affair is actually a good thing for me.

I never expected the mistress to show up at my door, flaunting her pregnant belly:

"If you won't divorce him, I'll just move in and stay here."

"When I'm in postpartum recovery, you'll have to take care of me too."

My expression remained calm. Facing her provocation, I showed no emotional reaction: "No need."

"Ethan will hire you a postpartum nurse. He's got plenty of money."

I pulled out my phone, about to activate the robot vacuum to clean up.

Then I worried the mistress might fake a fall and blame me, so I stopped, sat across from her, and called Ethan:

"Your little girlfriend showed up here with her pregnant belly."

My husband rushed home from the office in a panic.

His hair was windswept and messy, his face stripped of its usual refined composure.

When he entered, standing in the foyer, guilt flickered across his features.

Along with displeasure at his young girlfriend's impulsive visit.

The mistress stared at me in shock.

She hadn't expected me to be this calm: "Aren't you angry?"

"Your husband cheated on you, and you're calling him to deal with me?"

I ignored her.

Instead, I turned to my husband: "Handle this. Don't let her cause a sceneit'll be bad for the company."

"From your phone call, it sounds like you left something unfinished at the office?"

"I'll go take care of it for you."

As I walked past my husband, he grabbed my wrist.

His mouth opened and closed, as if searching for an explanation.

Searching for a reason I could accept, one that would also defend the pregnant mistress standing in our home.

I gently pushed his hand away: "No explanation needed."

I took the car keys from him. "Don't worry about the company matters. I'll handle them."

"Don't forget to turn on the robot vacuum."

I closed the door behind me.

I could faintly hear his young girlfriend making a scene inside.

My footsteps quickly carried me to the car, and the sounds from inside faded away.

The company was built from scratch by my husband.

Back then, I was his secretary.

Because I was fair-skinned, beautiful, and good at my job, he took notice of me.

He pursued me for a long time.

Engagement, marriagewe became the model couple in everyone's eyes.

At first, he would create romantic gestures, run his fingers through his hair before going out.

When we went shopping together, he'd dress up specially, saying it made him feel worthy of being with me.

He'd reply to my messages instantly.

If I didn't respond to him, he'd send me message after message.

He worked out every day, saying he wanted to maintain his abs for me to touch.

When I worked at the company, he'd feel sorry for me, pull me aside, and tell me just sitting there watching was enough.

Just sitting there and watching was already hard work, he used to say.

That's what he said when he loved me.

Later, he stopped loving me.

When there was work at the company, he'd dump it directly on me. When I made mistakes, he'd scold me mercilessly in front of the employees.

Going out with me, he lost all patience. He'd stare at his phone, throw on whatever clothes, no effort in his appearance.

So recently, when he suddenly started dressing up again and doing push-ups at home,

I knewhe'd found someone new to love.

"Ms. South."

In the conference room, a senior executive stood and nodded at me.

I began cleaning up my husband's mess.

As the sky gradually darkened, my husband entered the office, closed the door, and kept watching me cautiously.

He said: "I picked up the kids."

I threw myself into work.

Although it was his company, I benefited too.

Every bit I earned meant more money I could spend.

More security for my two children.

Seeing I wasn't responding, my husband pulled over a chair and sat beside me:

"I'm sorry. It was my fault."

"I never thought she'd come straight to you. I told her not to do that."

"But she insisted on finding you, using her pregnancy as leverage, demanding I divorce you."

I paused.

Turned my head to look at him: "So do you want to?"

My husband shook his head without hesitation: "No."

"I really love you. With her, it was just a moment of impulse."

I smiled slightly: "Then just handle it yourself."

His expression was extremely anxious.

"You're... not angry?"

Before I could answer, he quickly added: "I know you must be furious."

"It's my fault. I'm sorry. What do you want? A house, a car, a house for your parents, or company sharesanything, as long as you want it."

Looking at his guilty expression, I said:

"I'll take the shares."

"Not for mefor our two kids. To give them security."

My husband's face filled with even more guilt. He held my hand and cried for a long time.

I honestly didn't understand.

He was the one who cheated. What was he crying about?

My husband owned eighty percent of the company shares.

Because he'd built this company from the ground up.

Later, when the company needed to go public, he was forced to distribute some shares.

He was smart, with keen instincts.

Whatever he did, he made money.

That's what I valued about himeven if he went bankrupt, he had the ability to rise again.

He transferred twenty percent of the shares to me.

Gave each of our children ten percent, and promised: "There will never be a second time."

"I know you're worried about the kids' inheritance rights. I've already had my lawyer draft a will. In the future, our children will inherit the majority of my assets. Her child... will inherit a smaller portion. Is that acceptable?"

My husband asked me cautiously.

I honestly couldn't understand what he felt guilty about.

Guilty, yet still doing the things that betrayed me.

Better not to feel guilty at alljust be brazen about it.

After all, it was his money.

He could give it to whoever he wanted.

Did he really think that if I told him not to give shares to the mistress's child, he wouldn't do it?

I went along with his performance: "Okay, whatever you say."

This compliance made him much more comfortable.

His facial expression visibly relaxed.

I thought for a moment and said: "Just don't let it affect the company."

That night, the mistress sent me a text message, taunting:

[Don't think Ethan isn't divorcing you because he loves you. It's just because a divorce would hurt the company!]

[Eventually, he'll definitely divorce you! Even if he doesn't, my child will still have inheritance rights!]

I deleted the message again.

Pretended I hadn't seen it.

Because her child would never have inheritance rights.

If the mistress didn't provoke me, I actually didn't care about his private romantic life.

We'd been married for ten years. The passion had long since faded.

Our son was in middle school, our daughter about to graduate elementary school.

The two children already took up most of my time and energy.

But the mistress had to go find my eldest son.

I learned about it when my son called me, saying some woman claimed to be his stepmother.

I rushed over immediately.

I could be indifferent about everything else, but not my children. Never my children.

When I arrived at the school gate, the mistress stood beside my son, smiling triumphantly at me.

I walked over and stood in front of my son:

"What do you think you're doing?"

The mistress crossed her arms in front of me: "Just letting your son get to know his future stepmother."

"What's wrong with that? Ethan just isn't divorcing you yet."

"He promised me he definitely will later."

It involved my son, and potentially the company's reputation too.

After all, this was an expensive private school.

The students who attended here came from wealthy families.

Several business contracts had been established through connections made via my son's classmates.

Quite a few people were already looking in our direction.

I was angry: "Get lost."

Seeing me angry, the mistress backed off instead, laughing:

"I never thought Ms. South could lose her temper."

"I thought you were made of paperthat nothing could make you angry."

I was somewhat provoked, and said coldly:

"If you don't leave now, I'll have someone drag you to the hospital for an abortion."

She panicked: "You wouldn't dare!"

"Ethan won't let you get away with it."

I raised my chin, lowering my voice threateningly:

"If you don't get lost, the media will show up here instantly and expose you."

"You tell mewhat's more important, you or the company's reputation?"

The mistress panicked.

She glared at me resentfully.

I knew she wouldn't let this go, but she also wouldn't dare act rashly.

She was in it for the money.

If my husband's company ran into problems,

she'd lose her meal ticket.

And my husband would hate her.

After the mistress left, I turned to look at my son, my expression complex.

My eldest son gestured with his eyes for me to get in the car.

Once in the car, he said: "We need to protect my sister. I'm afraid that bad woman will hurt her."

I nodded.

I didn't expect that at dinner that evening, he'd bring it up:

"Dad, someone came to find me today and told me to call her stepmother."

My husband immediately guessed who it was, his expression uncomfortable:

"She's crazy. Ignore her. It won't happen again."

My son nodded calmly: "Okay."

"I don't want my sister to know."

My husband fled in embarrassment. My son and I exchanged glances without words.

Actually, I'm quite materialistic too. Because I only love money and my children, I'm emotionally stable in my marriage.

I don't care about my husband's private life outside.

But the thing is, my husband is actually a very good man.

He doesn't drink, works hard, even helps take care of the kids.

And he respects me.

On his office desk, he's always kept a ceramic cat I made from clay.

When we were dating, we visited a ceramics shop, and he wanted something I'd made with my own hands.

So I made him a cat.

A red-painted cat. The color has faded now, but it still stands firmly on his desk.

My daughter loves stickers. Every time she sits in his car, she puts up a few.

Even though she's in elementary school now, if anyone touches those stickers, he gets upset.

There's also a little shoe hanging there.

That little shoe, pink and crocheted from yarn.

When my daughter was just a few months old, I crocheted it for her to wear for fun.

Later, one went missing.

He was so disappointed that he just hung it in his car as decoration.

My husband is recognized as a good man.

Everyone praises how lucky I am to have found such a good man.

At every social event, his appearance makes people's eyes light up.

Either with jealousy or with envy.

Especially recently, since he started his romance with the mistress, he's been paying attention to his appearance.

Wearing white dress shirts on top, the semi-transparent kind.

Faintly revealing his newly developed abs.

Tight-fitting dress pants, a belt highlighting his waistline.

Red-soled leather shoes.

When he walks toward me, there's actually something seductive about it.

Since he stopped loving me, he rarely initiated intimacy.

I suppose this time, he felt guilty.

And I wasn't crying or making a scene, so he wanted to use another method to appease me.

After an entire night of appeasement,

I was indeed satisfiedthe mistress had trained him well.

But we were only halfway through

when he was urgently called away by a phone call from the mistress.

Before leaving, he looked especially guilty and uncomfortable.

But I could already feel him going soft inside me.

It was indeed uncomfortable, but I wouldn't criticize him:

"Go ahead. We can continue when you get back."

He felt even more guilty.

Yet guilt didn't stop his feet from moving.

He still left.

It seemed my husband was really invested in the mistress.

He wouldn't be coming back tonight.

I kind of missed him already.

Before long, the mistress sent me several photos.

They were explicit images of them in the bathroom together.

I replied: [You're pregnant. Aren't you afraid of a miscarriage doing something this intense?]

She cursed at me angrily several times. I blocked her again.

Actually, my husband being like this made me feel relieved.

He used to be too goodso good that I'd have nightmares at night.

I'd feel anxious.

Anxious that a gold-digger like me had actually landed a good man.

Now he'd finally cheated.

The heart that had been anxious for so many years finally calmed down.

Because my two current children weren't even his.