Chapter 3

3.

Right after Chelsea walked out, my phone buzzed with a direct message.

“Do you like the gift I picked for you? Pure emerald green. Fits a cuckold perfectly, don’t you think?”

I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned bone white.

When Mason had added me on social media, I naively thought it was for work coordination.

Now I realized the kid just wanted to flaunt his prize in front of my face.

I clicked onto his private story. Just as I expected, there was a fresh post.

The caption read: “She said she can’t live without me. I’m her only sun.”

The picture showed the side profile of a woman resting against car leather. Even though it only showed her slender neck, I recognized Chelsea instantly.

Her sun had been replaced. I was nothing more than the husband she had grown sick of.

I texted Chelsea three simple words: “Let’s get divorced.”

A second after hitting send, my ringtone blasted. It was Chelsea.

“If you don’t like the tie, I’ll exchange it tomorrow!” she yelled.

“Stop threatening me with divorce every time you’re mad! Pull this crap one more time, and you can pack your bags and get the hell out!”

This was the same girl who once sang love ballads all night outside my apartment building just to get me to notice her.

Now, for the sake of a young boy, she couldn’t even spare me basic human respect.

Before I could snap back, a young man’s voice filtered through the speaker.

“Chelsea, babe, I’m done showering. Go get cleaned up, I’m waiting for you in bed.”

Rage boiled in my veins. “Chelsea! Where the hell are you right now? Who are you with?”

The line went silent for a beat before Chelsea hissed under her breath.

“Mason has an upset stomach. I came over to bring him medicine.”

“I’ll be back soon. Stop being so paranoid.”

Without waiting for another word, she hung up on me.

A divorce. We had to get divorced.

The thought spread like wildfire through my mind.