He Gave Me the Things His Mistress Didn't Want

Olivia posted an update on her Instagram Feed, "Finally, I'm able to see Mr. Hernandez's sleeping face out in the open."

It was complemented with a photo of Donald sleeping while lying on the bed. His messy hair and high nose bridge were catching the light.

I immediately liked the post and left a comment, "There is no need to rush showing off. Wait until our divorce, then you can flaunt him all you want.”

Less than a minute later, the post vanished.

Olivia sent me a private message. However, in her apology, there was a thinly veiled smugness, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Don't you know that women need to be a bit more gracious? If you can’t win back a man’s heart, at least don’t make him hate you.”

"I'll tell you what … seeing you're so pitiful, how about I let him come home to you tomorrow morning? You two barely meet each other once a week. You'd better make the most of it tomorrow."

I facepalmed and saved our chat screenshots without a hint of emotion. If we ended up in court, these would serve as evidence of Donald’s affair.

After I tossed Olivia's necklace into the trash, I started to contact divorce lawyers to discuss property division in a calm manner.

The lawyer asked, “Mrs. Hernandez, are you sure about this? Do you really want to file for divorce?”

"A husband and wife are bound by love for life. It’s always best to settle amicably. Once it goes to court, there’s no turning back," he advised.

I hesitated because I knew that divorce was not as simple as signing a paper. Even if I no longer wanted to stay with Donald, I still did not want to leave and burn the bridges.

The next morning, as expected, Donald came home. I did not ask him where he had been the night before and he did not seem too keen on explaining.

He quietly took a bowl, filled it with porridge, grabbed one of the meat sandwiches that was brimmed with filling from the table and started eating his breakfast.

He acted as if the last night's argument had never happened. He even casually remarked, “No matter where I eat, nothing tastes quite right. My wife’s home cooking is always the best.”

I had spent hours studying recipes and practicing dishes, all in the hope of getting him to eat just a little bit more. Yet in the end, all I ever got from him was a comment about how I smelled like kitchen grease.

I did not say anything.

When he noticed the necklace in the trash, he looked irritated.

I did not know what was going on inside his head but for some reason, he managed to hold back his temper and only mocked, “Are you still mad?”

“Well, I got kicked out of my own house last night and I’m not even mad. What’s your excuse?” he asked.

I didn’t bother to correct him. It did not matter whether he had left on his own or because I had pushed him out the door to spend the night at his assistant’s house.

I simply said, “I’m not mad.”

He scoffed. “You threw away her gift and you’re still saying you’re not mad?”

He shamelessly took the last meat sandwich. He did not even care that the breakfast that I prepared was only meant for one person.

“Throw it away if you want. It’s not like it’s worth anything," he sneered.

So, he knew that it was a cheap trinket.

Unfazed, he instructed me, “Even if you didn’t like the gift, you should at least have some manners. Olivia went out of her way to help me yesterday and she’s heard you’re quite the cook. She really looks forward to tasting them. How about you make a batch of sandwiches for me to bring to the office for her?”

I put down my spoon. “Do it yourself if you want it. I’m not making anything.”

He frowned. “She’s willing to let it go and you’re still hung up on it? It’s just a batch of sandwiches. It’s not a big deal to make them. You’re home all day with nothing to do, while she’s feeling hungry early in the morning.”

I replied coldly, “If she’s hungry, that’s not my problem. I’m not her mother.”

"Besides, if you have time to talk some nonsense, you'd have time to sign the agreement that I gave you last night." Then I handed him the divorce papers that I got from the living room.

Without even looking at them, Donald tore them up.

“Stop throwing this in my face! My patience with you has limits. Why can’t you just get along with my assistant?”

“Olivia is my assistant. It’s normal for her to be close to me. Besides, she helps a lot with work. You could learn a thing or two from her and make my life a little easier!”

He grabbed his coat from the sofa. “I can see that you’re not thinking clearly. I’m not discussing this with you right now. Figure it out when you’ve come to your senses.”

He left without a second thought.

That was because in his eyes, whether I did something or not, I was always in the wrong. I was nothing but a jobless sullen woman to him.

I knew I was not worse than Olivia but Donald refused and could not see that.

He had long forgotten all the struggles that we had faced together to build everything.