I Sang to Save Him, He Fed Another Woman

My husband Ethan insisted he had a serious illness and needed money for surgery$200,000 short.

I got a job as a singer at a nightclub, performing until 2 AM every night.

One day I was called to sing in the VIP suite on the top floor.

I pushed the door open to find a circle of people through the smoke.

Ethan had his arm around a woman's waist, head thrown back in laughter.

The second his laughter stopped, he saw me standing in the doorway.

He released Luna, the cigarette frozen between his fingers.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here singing to earn money. Money for your treatment."

The corner of Ethan's mouth twitched. He didn't respond.

Luna spoke up first:

"Didn't Ethan divorce you ages ago? I heard you're a terrible singer. Where do you get the confidence to sell your voice here?"

The people in the room laughed. He didn't stop them.

Luna stood up and walked over to me, lowering her voice:

"Actually, half the money you earn singing gets transferred to my account. I'm pregnant with his child. Consider this money your gift to the baby."

I nodded and picked up the microphone.

"What song would you like?"

"One hundred per song. Charged by the song."

My voice was so steady even I found it unfamiliar.

Someone jeered and requested a love song. I opened my mouth and sang, not missing a single note.

Ethan raised his glass to his lips but never actually drank.

Luna leaned against his shoulder, smiling as she spoke.

"Not bad. Though singing love songs in a place like this is kind of pathetic."

I finished the last song, set down the microphone, and headed for the door.

In the hallway, my coworker Fiona handed me six hundred dollars.

"Mr. Reed's table didn't settle the tab."

I counted it and put it in my pocket.

Fiona saw my expression and handed me a bottle of water.

"Melody, if you can't handle this, don't force yourself."

I twisted open the cap and took a sip.

"I can handle it."

Ethan came after me, grabbing my wrist.

"You don't need to work in a place like this."

His tone was condescending, irritating.

I looked down at his hand, tightly circling my wrist.

"Don't you need $30,000 a day for hospital fees? I haven't saved enough yet."

His pupils contracted.

I was too calm. So calm that all his prepared lines fell flat.

He ground out through clenched teeth:

"I'm not sick. You must know that by now."

I looked up at him.

"Yes, I know."

This calmness provoked his anger, his voice dropping lower and harder.

"Luna is pregnant with my child. Either you accept her moving in, or you sign the divorce papers. Give me your answer within a week."

I slowly pulled my wrist from his grip, the movement gentle.

"Okay, I'll think about it."

I turned and walked away, my pace neither fast nor slow.

In the backstage changing room, my fingers started to tremble.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and clenched them into fists to hide the shaking.

I remembered the day I gave Ethan the antique bracelet my grandmother left me.

I slid the bracelet off my wrist and placed it in his hand.

My hand had trembled that time too.

Not from heartache, but from fear he'd notice how reluctant I was and feel guilty about it.

Later he told me the secondhand shop only gave him eighty thousand.

Now I knewEthan had given it to the woman pregnant with his child.

I got home at 2 AM.

Sitting on the edge of the bed eating pasta, I looked down and saw the silver ring on my ring finger stuck at the knuckle, unable to come off.

I twisted it a few times. It wouldn't budge.

I went to the bathroom and ran it under cold water. The ring finally slipped off, dropping into the sink with a soft clink.

I fished it out, dried it, and put it in a drawer.

No hesitation. No second look.

My phone lit up.

Ethan sent a message: Stop working at the nightclub.

I stared at it for a long time.

Stop working at the nightclubnot because he felt bad for me, but because he found it embarrassing.

I locked the screen without replying.

The next day I went to the dance center as usual to teach children piano.

A five-year-old girl hit a wrong note and looked up at me timidly.

I bent down and smiled, saying it was okay, take your time.

I maintained that smile until the bell rang and the last parent picked up their child.

The second I stepped out of the classroom, every expression vanished from my face.

I saw Luna.

She stood at the entrance of the dance studio, holding a bag of fruit.

"Miss Harper, Ethan said you've been working hard lately. I came to check on you."

She casually glanced at my coat, her lips curving slightly.

I didn't take the fruit.

Her eyes immediately reddened, her voice fragile enough to be scattered by the wind.

"Don't blame me. He pursued me. I refused many times, but..."

She touched her lower abdomen.

"The child is innocent."

I didn't look at her stomach.

My gaze fell on her right wrist.

A bracelet.

The one my grandmother passed down to me. I thought Ethan had sold it for treatment money.

Now it rested securely around another woman's wrist.

Luna followed my gaze and unhurriedly touched the bracelet.

"Oh, this? Ethan gave it to me. He said it's an antique and told me to be careful with it."

I stared at the bracelet for three seconds.

"He's right. It is an antique. Be careful not to break it."

I turned and left.

I rented a small apartment and moved out of what used to be my home that very night.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I opened my phone's photo album.

I touched his smiling face on the screen with my thumb, then placed the phone face-down on the bed.

Something cracked open in my chest.

I pressed my hand against it, not letting any sound escape my throat.

On the third day, Ethan asked me to meet at a coffee shop.

When he walked in, I was already sitting in the corner, the Americano in front of me untouched.

He sat down and pushed a document toward me.

"Sign it. You get five hundred thousand. That's enough."

I laughed coldly.

"I sold my family heirlooms and gave you $600,000 total. You're dismissing me with five hundred thousand."

He frowned.

"Those old things of yours were appraised and aren't worth that much..."

"Grandma's braceletyou had Luna wear it on her wrist. And my mother's ring too."

His fingers tapped the table twice. For a moment he avoided my eyes.

He glanced out the window, then quickly looked back.

"The past is past. Sign. I'm not shortchanging you."

I didn't sign.

As I stood to leave, I left the untouched Americano behind.

"I'll think about it some more."

He called out behind me.

"Melody Harper, are you reluctant to let go of this marriage, or just your pride? People already know you're singing at nightclubs. Your students' parents will hear about it sooner or later. When that happens, you won't even be able to teach. Have you thought about the consequences?"

I stopped, my back to him.

"Are you threatening me?"

Two seconds of silence. He didn't answer.

I pushed the door open and left.

That night Fiona booked five rooms.

By the third room my voice was already hoarse. I sipped some honey water and continued.

Fiona leaned against the backstage doorframe watching me.

"If you don't rest that voice, you won't even be able to speak clearly, let alone sing."

"Fiona, how many more rooms today?"

The fourth room was full of Ethan's friends.

Someone recognized me. They raised their glass halfway, then stopped, whispering to the person next to them.

Then came a knowing laugh.

I gripped the microphone tighter and finished the entire song.

As I left the room, my knees buckled. I braced myself against the hallway wall.

Fiona caught up and squeezed the bulging veins on the back of my hand.

"When was the last time you ate a proper meal?"

"I ate at lunch."

"You only had two pieces of toast."

She handed me a sandwich.

When I got back to the apartment in the early morning, there was a takeout bag by the door.

Inside was a burger and mushroom soup, still warm.

This was from the place Ethan always ordered from.

I picked up the mushroom soup and took a sip.

The warm liquid rolled into my stomach, wrapping the hollow space with a layer of warmth.

My eyes suddenly stung unbearably.

I set the bowl down abruptly and pressed the back of my hand hard against my eyes, holding it there for over ten seconds.

The heat subsided.

I picked up the bowl again and finished it sip by sip.

This was his cruelest trait.

When he hurt me, he was decisive and cold. But then he'd casually offer a little warmth, leaving me unable to tell which version was really him.

On the fourth day I went to the bank to withdraw money.

The balance on the ATM screen froze at $347.

I stood in front of the machine staring at those numbers. Nothing left.

Walking out of the bank, I received a call from an unknown number. The caller claimed to be Luna's best friend.

"There are some things you should hear."

At the coffee shop, the woman who called herself Nina wore designer clothes, coffee cup in hand.

"Melody, do you think Ethan just made a momentary mistake?"

She pulled out her phone and pushed a screenshot of a chat log toward me.

Ethan told Luna: "Give me a little more time. I'll handle her."

The date was three months ago, even earlier than when he told me he was sick.

I finished reading the screenshot without saying anything.

She put her phone away.

"Luna told me that Ethan stopped loving you a long time ago. Marrying you was just an impulse. After meeting Luna, he finally understood what real love feels like."

She lowered her voice, her fingernail tapping the table.

"Stop dragging this out. It's better for everyone."

I stood up.

"Thank you for telling me."

Walking out of the coffee shop, I stood by a lamppost for a long time.

Three months ago, he said he'd get me a proper ring for my birthday this year.

On the fifth day, I went to find Marcus Smith.

He was helping in the kitchen of his new restaurant. When he saw me come in, he froze.

"Melody? How did you... you've lost so much weight."

No small talk. I asked directly.

"Ethan faking his illnesshow much do you know?"

Marcus dropped the cloth in his hand.

As he bent to pick it up, he avoided my eyes.

"...Who told you?"

I didn't answer, just looked at him.

He wouldn't say much, but his mouth moved faster than his brain, mumbling out:

"Ethan didn't come up with this idea himself. That woman Luna..."

Before he could finish, his phone rang.

Ethan's name popped up.

Marcus answered the call. His expression changed. He glanced at me and hung up hastily.

"Melody, go home. Stay out of this."

Not his own idea.

If someone pushed him into it, why didn't he tell me?

Didn't I even deserve to be treated honestly?

On the sixth day, one day before the deadline, Ethan sent a message: Tonight at 7, the usual place. Bring your answer.

The usual place was a Japanese restaurant we frequented.

When I arrived, he was already seated.

"You still remember I love salmon."

His tone was flat, revealing no emotion.

Always the same trickoffering a knife with one hand and candy with the other, leaving me unable to tell if he had a heart or not.

"I don't agree to the divorce. You faked illness and deceived me for three months, spending all my savings. What you owe me can't be settled with a piece of paper and five hundred thousand." My attitude was firm.

His face darkened, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

"You think dragging this out benefits you? Everyone knows you're singing at nightclubs now. Your students' parents will find out any minute. Have you thought about the consequences?"

This sentence struck my softest spot.

The restaurant door opened.

Luna walked in with two of Ethan's friends, her tone perfectly surprised.

"Oh my, Ethan, you're here? We were passing by and saw your car."

Her gaze swept to me, immediately switching to anxiety and retreat.

She turned to Ethan, eyes brimming with tears, voice so delicate it was nauseating.

"Didn't you say you were working late tonight? I even brought you some pastries at the office..."

The two friends' gazes bounced between Ethan and me.

Ethan paused for a moment.

He looked at me, then at Luna.

He stood up, walked to Luna's side, and draped his coat over her shoulders.

"It's cold outside. Go home first."

He protected her in front of everyone, then turned to me and said:

"I've said everything I needed to say. Let me know when you've decided."

Then he walked out supporting Luna.

Through the closing door, I heard her say softly outside:

"Ethan, I really didn't mean to come here. Don't be angry..."

His response was just two words.

"It's fine."

Early on the seventh day, I went to the dance center to teach as usual.

When I opened the piano room door, the director was already inside waiting.

"Miss Harper, three parents called yesterday to complain, saying you work at nightclubs. This is a children's training center. The parents have concerns. Take some time off."

My fingers tightened on the edge of my lesson plan.

I nodded.

I pulled my teaching materials from under the piano bench and took out a box of candy the children had given me last week from the drawer.

Walking out of the piano room, a parent in the hallway who was dropping off their child pulled the child's hand and deliberately went around me.

I knew how the complaints came about.

But too many people had handed over knives. I couldn't tell who was who anymore, and I didn't want to.

My last financial pillar had collapsed.

I went to three places looking for work.

The supermarket cashier position wasn't hiring.

The restaurant kitchen had me try out that day. I washed dishes for five hours until my hands were so waterlogged you couldn't see the fingerprints.

The housekeeping company said I could train first, but I had to pay a three-hundred-dollar deposit.

My entire net worth: three hundred forty-seven dollars.

When I left the restaurant, it was raining.

I didn't have an umbrella, so I stood under an awning waiting.

A black sedan stopped by the roadside. The window lowered halfway.

Ethan looked at my swollen, pale hands and rain-dampened hair. His brow furrowed.

"Get in the car."

I didn't move.

He got out and held the umbrella over me.

"Melody Harper, why put yourself through this? Sign the papers, take the money, and move on. You don't have to suffer like this."

He didn't feel bad about me suffering. He just found my suffering an eyesore.

I walked out from under his umbrella into the rain.

"Ethan, you faked illness for three months and made me earn money for you."

"I sold all my heirlooms, and you gave them to another woman."

"And now you're telling me I don't have to suffer like this?"

Rain ran down my eyelashes. I couldn't tell if it was rain or something else.

But my voice made him take half a step back.

"You didn't choose the rules. But if you want to end this, fine. Except this time, I set the terms."

He reached out to pull me back.

I stepped aside to avoid him.

His hand froze in midair for two seconds, then slowly lowered.

That night, Professor Helen Wade called.

"Melody, check online right now. Someone posted a video of you singing at the nightclub."

I opened the link.

A secretly filmed video: Award-winning piano teacher reduced to nightclub singerthe truth behind the story is heartbreaking.

The comments section exploded.

Some cursed me for having no self-respect, some mocked the pianist turned hostess, some dug up my old award photos and put them side by side with current footage for comparison.

I read all the comments and turned off my phone.

My body was trembling, but my face showed no expression.

Fiona sent a message: "Melody, the video wasn't leaked by anyone from our club. I'm investigating. Don't come to work. Lay low for a while."

My last source of income was gone too.

Early the next morning, Luna sent me a message.

"Melody, those comments online are too harsh. I already had Ethan take care of it. Don't take it to heart. Do you want to come stay at the house? I prepared the guest room for you."

The house.

She was talking about what used to be my home.

Guest room.

I was being invited to stay in the guest room of my own house.

I put down my phone and walked into the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror.

I'd lost nearly twenty pounds. I barely recognized the person in the mirror.

Ethan called, his voice unusually urgent.

"I had the video deleted. Are you okay?"

"Ethan, did you have someone post it?"

Three seconds of silence on the other end.

I waited for those three seconds.

"Whether it was you or not, thank you for deleting it."

I hung up.

Those three seconds of silence were the answer.

He probably didn't post it, but he didn't stop it either.

That night I opened my phone's photo album and scrolled from the first picture to the last.

All photos related to Ethan.

Photos of us together, him secretly photographing me playing piano, me photographing him sleeping, selfies of us toasting at a small restaurant.

Over two hundred photos.

Select all. Delete.

The photos disappeared one by one.

After clearing my phone, the screen was so clean there wasn't a trace left.

I opened my messages and sent Ethan one final text.

"I agree to the divorce."

I also took out the silver ring from the drawer and left a note:

"Returning this to you!"