After My Husband Fell In Love with His Secretary

At first, I thought I might be overreacting. After all, there are only thirty days in a month and billions of women in the world. It wasn’t so strange that the dates coincided with my ovulation period. It could’ve been a coincidence.

But no matter how much I tried to convince myself, a growing sense of dread gnawed at me. I had to test it—just once. I had to know the truth.

And now that the ugly truth was staring me in the face, strangely, I felt calm.

“Ding.”

The account updated again.

This time, it was a screenshot of a video call. The screen showed the secretary’s pale, exposed skin and the chiseled muscles of a man’s chest and abs. The caption read:

“Late-night surprise! Boss called me on video! Look at those muscles—so sexy, right? Tomorrow in the office, I’m going to... hehehehe~”

I stared at the image, feeling cold wash over me. My hands moved without thinking, quickly taking a screenshot and saving it.

I remembered the last time I tried to video call Ethan while he was away on a business trip. How did he respond?

Oh, right. He scolded me for being an "inconsiderate housewife" who didn’t understand how precious his time was. And yet, I had confirmed with his secretary beforehand that he was resting in his hotel with no other plans. But Ethan had still been furious—so furious, in fact, that he fired that secretary for sharing his schedule with me.

I never contacted his new secretary after that. I didn’t want to risk getting someone else fired because of me.

Until today.

Today, I stumbled upon this account and now everything made sense. Ethan’s heart had strayed long ago.

I stood frozen in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection as if I didn’t recognize the woman staring back. We had known each other for ten years, been married for five and somehow, in the blink of an eye, I had become a woman he found so repulsive that he felt sick even being near me.

When did that happen? When did I become this "old fat woman" in his eyes?

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Ethan returned to the bedroom. There was a smug smile on his face, the kind that told me he’d just had his ego stroked.

He barely glanced at me before he said, “Tomorrow morning, I want homemade pan-fried buns. The stuff you buy outside is dirty. Get up early and make enough for two and bring it to the office.”

For two? I blinked and then the realization hit me like a punch in the gut.

He wanted me to make breakfast for him and his lover.

My husband, the man I had walked through fire for, was asking me to wake up early and make a meal for the woman he was cheating on me with.

I felt something inside me shatter, a part of me that had held on to the hope that maybe, somehow, we could fix this. But now, it was beyond repair.

I turned to face him, my voice eerily calm. “Didn’t you once say that pan-fried buns are too greasy and only for the lower class? You used to kick me out of the house if I so much as mentioned them. When did you suddenly develop a taste for them?”

Annoyance flashed across Ethan’s face and his tone immediately sharpened. “Why are you talking back? Just do as I say. You have a pretty comfortable life staying home all day. Your job is to take care of me, Emily!”

In the past, I would have trembled at his tone, rushed to apologize and done everything I could to avoid his anger. But tonight, I didn’t flinch.

Instead, I smiled—cold and detached. “Must be hard for you, dealing with me every day, this ‘old fat woman,’ as you like to call me. Ethan...” I paused, meeting his eyes directly. “Let’s get a divorce.”

The next morning, I made breakfast for one.

Ethan came down and frowned at the table, glaring at the soy milk and doughnuts I had prepared. He hated that combination, always said it was too plain for his taste. He knocked on the table impatiently.

“This is the only time I’m letting this slide,” he growled. “Don’t let it happen again.”

I didn’t say a word. Even in the past, when I’d been sick with a high fever, he would drag me out of bed to make him coffee. Now, all I did was nod silently.

He stormed out the door, but before leaving, he angrily threw a porcelain sculpture to the floor, shattering it into pieces. It was a souvenir from our honeymoon, a memory from a time when we were happy.

He was sending me a message. He could destroy everything we once held dear, just like that. And if I kept pushing him, he could do the same to our marriage.

Last night, when I had first mentioned divorce, Ethan had been stunned for only ten seconds before he recovered, scoffing at me.

“Divorce? Over breakfast? Are you out of your mind, Emily?” he spat. “Do you even know how many women would kill to be in your position right now? I’ve given you a life most people can only dream of and you have the nerve to ask for a divorce?”

He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Don’t forget, you still owe me a child. Who do you think you are to demand a divorce when you can’t even give me that?”

His words were meant to hurt, to break me down as they always did. I saw the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes when he noticed my face falter. But this time, the cracks were different.

Two years ago, his father had been diagnosed with cancer. The doctors said he only had a year left to live. At the time, I was two months pregnant and that child became the hope that kept his father fighting through the treatments.

But then I lost the baby.

And after that, everything crumbled. His father’s condition deteriorated rapidly and he passed away just months later. Ethan never forgave me. He blamed me for not being able to protect our baby, for making his father die with unfulfilled regrets.

I bore his hatred silently, day after day. But he, the so-called victim, seemed to forget that no one suffered more than a mother who had lost her child.

That morning, after he left, I went to the gym and hired a personal trainer. Over the last two years, I had gained some weight while preparing for pregnancy, but I wasn’t the "old fat woman" Ethan made me out to be.

After sweating out the pain, I began to think about life after the divorce. I started updating my resume, preparing to re-enter the workforce. I couldn’t be isolated from the world any longer.

As I browsed job listings, my phone rang.

“Hello, is this Mrs. Parker? This is Mr. Parker’s secretary, Chloe. He has a dinner meeting tonight. Could you please bring his light blue Hermès tie to the restaurant? And don’t take too long.”

She hung up before I could even respond.

Chloe knew who I was, but the arrogance in her voice was unmistakable. She wasn’t trying to hide it; she wanted me to know her place in Ethan’s life. She expected me to fight, to make a scene.

But that was exactly what she wanted—to push me out of the picture.

And if that’s what she wanted, then so be it.