Chapter 1

I found a half-burnt cigarette butt and a pair of shredded stockings in our master bathroom trash can.

To prepare for having a baby, I hadn't smoked a single cigarette in a whole year. As for stockings, my wife, Darcy, had always refused to wear them for me.

She used to say only perverts liked that sort of thing.

I pulled out my phone to call her, only to see a photo posted by her childhood best friend.

Inside a luxury sports car, she was cuddled up in his arms, wearing sparkling rhinestone-studded stockings.

I put my phone down, no longer caring where she was.

Much later, with red, teary eyes, she asked me, "Alec, why don't you care what time I come home anymore?"

01.

Late at night, when nausea hit my stomach and made me dry heave, I spotted the half-smoked cigarette butt in the trash can.

It was resting right on top of a pair of shredded stockings. The unmistakable white stains told a vivid story of how intense their battle had been.

Even from a distance, I could smell the musky odor rising from the bin. The realization struck me like lightning.

For our fertility plans, I had stayed clean of nicotine for an entire year.

Darcy had constantly used having a "high-quality baby" as an excuse to avoid any intimacy with me.

And sexy stockings... she had never once worn them for me.

There was only one explanation. Yesterday, while my father was in critical condition, Darcy had brought another man into our home.

My hands trembled as I took out my phone to call her.

Then I saw the message she had sent earlier.

"Alec, don't you have anything better to do with your life? Can you stop watching my every move?"

Yesterday, when my dad was dying, Darcy had promised to go to the hospital with me.

Yet she had completely forgotten, sending me this venomous text instead.

What was I to her, really?

I tried to text back, but a huge red exclamation mark popped up on my screen.

Darcy had blocked me.

At the exact same moment, I saw an Instagram post by her childhood friend, Wyatt.

In the photo, my wife was nestled against Wyatt's chest. Their eyes were locked, fingers tightly intertwined, practically dripping with lust.

And on her legs was that exact pair of glittering black stockings―a style I hadn't even dared to dream she would wear for me.

The caption was short and sweet.

"Us."

A self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. To Darcy, I meant absolutely nothing.