When Unspoken Love Becomes Evidence of Betrayal

When I was seven months pregnant, I noticed Smith had a new female friend.

They talked about everything, sharing an incredible, unspoken understanding.

Every day, Smith would buy two bouquets of rosesone for me, and one for her.

But there was never anything overtly out of line.

Until that woman asked him, "If you had met me first, would you have married me?"

Smith didn't answer. Instead, he smoked on the balcony all night.

Smith was completely distracted today.

He looked like he was about to say something several times, but then he'd swallow the words.

Finally, I spoke up, "Is something wrong?"

Smith sighed, "I need to go on a business trip, to the next city over. I'll be back tomorrow. But I can't leave you alone! Forget it, I'll send someone else!"

As he spoke, I watched him, seeing how earnestly he tried to convince me.

He met my gaze directly, not flinching.

He asked, puzzled, "What's wrong?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

I told him, "You should go."

"What about you, all alone?"

"I'll have my mom come stay with me."

Ever since I got pregnant, Smith had been incredibly attentive.

Especially as my belly grew, he was always worried about me being home alone. He canceled many social engagements just to be with me.

"What if something happens and no one's around?

"I'll be worried sick if I'm out anyway, so it's better if I just don't go."

Even if he absolutely had to go out, he'd at least wait for my mom to arrive, giving her countless instructions to take good care of me.

It got to the point where my mom would laugh, "She's my own daughter! Do you think I'd let anything happen to her?"

But today, he only hesitated for two seconds before nodding.

"Alright then, take care of yourself. I'll be back as soon as possible. Call me if anything happens!"

He left in a hurry, only grabbing a change of clothes before rushing out the door.

I sat still, not moving. Even when he turned back to look at me, I smiled and waved.

After the door closed, I still didn't move, but the rigid posture I'd held relaxed.

Smith was acting strangely. Everything about him was off.

But I didn't say a single extra word, nor did I ask a single extra question.

Because I knew where he was going and who he was going to see.

At first, I didn't know the woman's name.

I only knew her last name was Clement, and Smith called her Ms. Clement.

The first time I saw her was a year ago, before I was pregnant.

I was waiting for Smith at a new coffee shop downstairs from his office.

I hadn't told him I was coming, planning to call him around lunchtime.

But then he suddenly walked in.

The receptionist, who had been lounging lazily, straightened up.

Smith nodded to her, and she smiled, giving him an OK sign. It was an unspoken understanding.

I've always found that kind of unspoken understanding between a man and a woman terrifying.

It makes them both mistakenly believe they're destined to be together.

But at that time, the strange feeling only flickered in my mind, and I didn't think much of it.

Later, Smith saw me and looked surprised.

He asked what I was doing there. I said, "Waiting for you to have lunch."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't want to disturb your work!" I asked him, "Why did you come down?"

He rubbed his temples, sighing, "Work stuff, it's really annoying. Just came down to walk around and grab a coffee. Their cookies here are pretty good, you should try some."

As he spoke, he raised his hand, "Ms. Clement, another order of cookies, please!"

Meeting the woman's questioning gaze, he smiled and introduced me, "My wife!"

They were both completely at ease that day.

Smith introduced me naturally.

Clement greeted me openly, even comping our order.

Smith said the coffee here was authentic and quite good the one time he tried it, so his company's afternoon tea was now ordered from this place.

That's how they got to know each other.

Back then, I thought they were just a simple shop owner and customer.

I didn't know that those delicious cookies weren't actually for sale at their shop.

Nor did I know that Clement would text Smith, asking him:

"If you had met me first, would you have married me?"

Smith texted me at ten o'clock that night.

He said he had just finished working and arrived at his hotel.

He said he was too tired to video call me today.

He told me to take care of myself and call him if anything happened.

I replied to each message, telling him not to worry, that I was fine.

I asked the coffee shop barista, "Where's Ms. Clement? She's not here?"

The barista, a simple and good-hearted guy, saw my familiar tone and smiled.

"She went out, just left! It's her birthday today, so she must be on a date with her boyfriend. She was carrying a huge bouquet of roses, so romantic!"

I nodded, got my coffee to go, and left.

This city is huge; finding two people is incredibly difficult.

But Smith had bought me a smartwatch with call functions.

I'd slipped it into his laptop bag before he left.

He bought it for me when I was four months pregnant.

I'm the kind of person who gets really severe morning sickness.

Up until my fourth month of pregnancy, my weight was decreasing, not increasing.

I didn't know I was already anemic, nor did I know I would faint in a mall due to poor ventilation.

Smith was terrified. His hands were still trembling when I woke up.

That watch was for monitoring my health and tracking my real-time location.

It was expensive, so its GPS accuracy was extremely high. Just like now, it had been at a hotel on the twelfth floor for three hours.

I didn't rush over that night.

My due date was only twenty-three days away, and I still had to prioritize myself.

I threw out the coffee, drank some milk, and lay on the soft bed, listening to white noise for sleep.

But even so, I couldn't sleep, just like that night over a month ago.

That was the first time I snooped through Smith's phone, because he was so agitated.

He cut his hand while peeling an apple for me.

He dropped and broke a glass while pouring me water.

He slammed his foot into the chair in front of him, his face dark.

His outburst made me scream.

He apologized, saying he was upset about something at work, that he didn't mean it.

But when I woke up in the middle of the night, I found his side of the bed cold and empty.

Smith had smoked on the balcony all night.

With a sinking heart, I unlocked his phone.

The chat interface hadn't been exited.

The person saved as 'Clement' had sent a message that afternoon.

"If you had met me first, would you have married me?"

Smith hadn't replied. Not a single word.

But that night, my heart died right there, in his phone.

I arrived at the hotel at 6 AM, with my marriage certificate and ID.

I placed everything on the service desk.

"Smith is my husband. I need to know which room he booked. If you can't tell me, I'll call the police."

I didn't have the energy to argue with anyone.

I was exhausted, physically and mentally drained!

The front desk person stared for a long time, their expression shifting from surprise to hesitation, then to pity.

"Please wait a moment, I'll check for you right away!"

They quickly gave me the room number and asked if I needed any help.

I smiled, shook my head, gently stroked my swollen belly, and went upstairs.

Smith didn't make me wait long.

I had only been standing outside the door for less than forty minutes when it opened.

Smith stood there, gripping the doorknob.

Behind him, a slender pair of arms wrapped around his waist.

"Smith, thank you for this night. I'll remember it forever..."

Forever what?

Her words were cut short as Smith frantically pushed her away.

He saw me and hurried towards me. But I tilted my head, looking past him.

Clement sat on the floor, her fiery red slip dress unable to conceal her pale legs.

She stared blankly at Smith's back, her eyes filled with sadness and hurt.

"Julian!" Smith's voice trembled when he called my name.

Mine too. My hands, clasped behind my back, wouldn't stop shaking.

I thought I was mentally prepared and could handle this calmly.

But in that moment, I found it hard to even stand upright.

"Where's the car?"

"Underground parking."

"Let's go!"

I braced myself against the wall and turned first.

Smith tried to help me. I growled, "Don't touch me!"

His hand flinched and froze, then he followed close beside me.

Clement caught up with us at that moment.

"Ms. Julian, you really don't have to act this way. There's nothing dirty going on between Smith and me!"

Her tone was neither humble nor arrogant, her face full of stubbornness.

Almost the instant her words fell, I slapped her.

"Smack!"

"Ah!" Clement screamed, "How dare you hit me?"

She raised her hand protectively, wanting to touch Smith's visibly reddened face.

Smith turned away, dodging her touch.

He looked at me pleadingly, "Julian, let's go home!"

Clement clenched her fists, glaring at me fiercely.

"Ms. Julian, if you have a problem, direct it at me. How dare you hit Smith?"

"Stop talking," Smith ordered.

Clement looked at Smith, disbelieving, "I'm helping you!"

"Shut up!" Smith snapped.

He didn't spare Clement a single glance, keeping his eyes fixed on me, and spoke again.

"Julian, let's go home!"

"Julian, I can explain."

"Yesterday was Clement's birthday. She doesn't have any friends here, so she just wanted me to spend some time with her."

"I just celebrated her birthday with her, nothing else happened."

"It was wrong of me to lie to you, and I apologize."

"I was just afraid you'd be angry, afraid you'd overthink things!"

"I was wrong. If you mind, I won't see her again."

"She's just a friend."

"Julian, please don't ignore me. Say something, okay?

"Don't scare me!"

Since we got home, Smith had said a lot. Explanations, apologies, self-reproach.

I wanted to speak, but my throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

I couldn't utter a single word.

I didn't know where to start, or what to say.

Finally, I managed to say, one word at a time, "Smith, let's get a divorce."

My words made Smith tremble violently.

He clenched his fists, closing his eyes tightly. When he opened them again, it was as if he had suppressed his furious emotions.

"Nothing really happened between her and me. We just had some drinks and talked."

"Julian, please don't be like this, okay? I know you're angry, I was wrong, I messed up, I'll accept any punishment."

"But you have to believe me, I didn't do anything to betray you!"

What exactly did he consider "betraying me"?

"You must have hugged, you probably kissed. You smell of her perfume. And here..." I pointed to his lips, "a bite mark!"

Smith flinched, his lips tightening.

I looked at him in despair.

"How much further do we need to go? Catching you red-handed in bed? You were in a room together, all night. How am I supposed to believe you?"

"Smith, how can I believe you?"

Smith slumped his head in defeat. He knelt on one knee before me, wanting to touch me but not daring to.

"Julian, I was wrong! I was foolish, I lost my head, but I swear, nothing more happened."

"I'm begging you, for the sake of all these years we've been together, for the sake of our child who's about to be born, please give me one more chance."

How laughable.

He knew about our years of shared history, he knew our child was coming.

Yet he still did all this, and he still hoped I would forgive him for their sake.

Layer upon layer of emotions, memory after memory, each one tearing me apart.

I looked around frantically, then my gaze fell on my own belly.

Tears fell uncontrollably, and my sobs sounded like a trapped animal.

Smith protectively reached for me, "Julian, what's wrong?"

His voice was like a match, instantly igniting me.

I finally burst into loud sobs.

"I want a divorce! I want a divorce from you!"