Twenty Years of Marriage Reduced to One and Two Chapter 02

Twenty Years of Marriage Reduced to One and Two Chapter 02

I let out a tight, bitter laugh.

So that concern, that kneeling—everything he’d done just now—had been for this moment.

To make sure I wouldn’t go after her.

As if I would listen.

I stepped past him, grabbed the phone off the coffee table, and unlocked it.

Her face filled the screen—soft, smiling, almost shy.

The password was still my birthday.

But the pinned chat at the top… had changed to Corinne Hale.

Their messages flooded the screen.

Constant. Intimate.

Every single one of hers—he’d replied instantly.

Meanwhile, our chat sat empty.

The last message was from half a month ago.

Me: [Coming home for dinner?]

No reply.

The next day, after work, he’d sent a casual reply: [Got busy. Forgot.]

I knew he was working on a major federal project, so I stayed quiet.

I cooked, packed meals, had them delivered to the lab.

I thought I was helping him.

I never imagined… all that energy I tried to give him—he spent it on someone else.

Even his “busy” was spent sleeping with her in that lab.

Then their chats caught my eye.

Corinne: [You’ve ignored your wife for two weeks. You coming home tonight?]

Alaric: [Tired of her. Not coming.]

My fingers trembled around the phone.

Twenty years. The best years of my life—gone.

And all I got in return… was tired of her.

The words blurred through my tears.

I bit down on my tongue and forced my eyes open, reading every line.

Reading how the rigid man who quoted physics even in bed with me—put on costumes for her, played along with every fantasy she wanted.

Reading how the Nobel ceremony he refused to take me to—he brought her instead, letting her stand in my place and accept congratulations.

Reading the message where she asked, “Who do you like more? Your wife or me?”

And his answer came without hesitation.

“She’s worn out. Not even close to you.”

The words were brutal. Enough to turn the entire life I built with him into a joke.

My vision burned.

I handed the phone back.

The more I saw, the more ridiculous I felt.

“Maris,” he said gently, “I’m a man. I have needs. What happened with her… we just couldn’t stop ourselves.”

“I hope you can understand. Don’t make this a scene. Let’s end it here, okay?”

His voice was still soft.

Even his lies sounded sincere.

But I needed an answer.

I pointed at her profile picture, my voice hoarse. “Out of everyone in the world… why her?”

“Why the woman who killed your parents?”

My voice broke as I grabbed his collar.

“Do you remember they could’ve lived? That she ran them over again and again until there was nothing left?”

Alaric turned his face away.

After a long silence, he spoke.

“She was young. She didn’t mean it.”

“And… my parents shouldn’t have been out that late.”

I repeated those words in my head.

Then I laughed. Soft. Hollow.

Laughing at myself.

Back then, when his parents died, no relatives wanted him.

Corinne was afraid he’d press charges, so she broke him instead. Drove him into madness. Made him crawl on the ground, drink filth, bark like a dog—filmed everything and spread it.

I remembered what he looked like.

For twenty years, I never forgot.

Even after he recovered, I kept track of her.

Watched for her.

But I never expected—he’d forgive her first.

And sleep with her.

Every night he told me he was working late, he was with her, trying everything.

He claimed it was love. Then what were my twenty years? A joke?

Thunder rumbled outside.

At the same time, his phone rang.

He didn’t even look at me.

He picked up immediately.

“Alaric… my data got rejected. If I don’t fix it tonight, the whole project’s dead…”

Her voice was soft. Sweet. Fragile.

His throat tightened.

He was already heading for the door, grabbing his shoes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured. “Don’t panic. I’m coming.”

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like I didn’t exist.

I turned and blocked him.

“You’re not going.”

His brows drew together, irritation flashing in his eyes.

“Maris. This is her future. She’s not like you—useless. Move.”

The word useless hit me like a nail driven straight through.

I froze.

Didn’t even react.

His patience snapped.

He grabbed my collar and shoved me aside.

My wound slammed against the edge of the cabinet. Pain exploded through me.

“Alaric… that hurts…”

The words slipped out instinctively.

But the only answer I got—was the deafening slam of the door.