He Kept Me Poor,While His Mistress Wore My Heirloom

I pulled out my phone and searched for “Grandview Group”.

The first result was the corporate website. I tapped in, and right there on the homepage was a photograph.

Robert stood at the center of a group of men in tailored suits, wearing a deep navy custom-fitted one himself, his hair combed back without a strand out of place.

His face was angled slightly to the side, a faint smile on his lips.

The portrait of a successful man.

That expression was nothing like the bleary-eyed, stubble-covered man I'd seen before I left the house this morning. They could have been two different people.

I scrolled down.

Grandview Group. Core operations spanning real estate, finance, and cultural investment. Annual revenue exceeding $150 million.

Robert Gilbert, founder and chairman, named to multiple "30 Under 40" lists for young entrepreneurs.

I searched for “Valerie Henson” next.

A flood of retouched photos filled the screen.

Her Instagram bio read “Fashion Blogger” and “Lifestyle Creator”, with over a million followers.

Her latest post had gone up three minutes ago. The photo showed a hand gripping a Porsche steering wheel, the road south of the city stretching out through the windshield.

The caption read：“Great mood today. Took the car out for a spin and met an interesting lady.”

Back home, I sat on the worn fabric couch and stared at nothing for a long time.

The living room was small. The coffee table was something Robert had picked up from a secondhand market; one corner sagged, propped up with a folded newspaper.

The TV was a thirty-two-inch off-brand he'd bought years ago. It took half a minute to boot up.

The wedding photo on the wall had faded.

We hadn't had money back then, so we'd gone to a tiny portrait studio. The backdrop was a wrinkled sheet of fake scenery.

In the photo I was wearing a gown the studio provided. It was several sizes too big, clipped together in the back with binder clips.

Robert wore a white suit, his eyes crinkling with his smile, one arm around my waist.

He'd said to me then：“Summer, I promise I'll give you a good life someday.”

I believed him.

Now, looking at that photo again, his smile compared to the one on the corporate website was nothing short of a cruel joke.

A thought crept in. Back then, in that cramped rental in the old part of town, when he held me and said those things, had he meant any of it? Or had the whole thing been an act from the very beginning?

I couldn't figure it out. I didn't want to anymore.

A little after eleven that night, footsteps echoed in the stairwell.

Not heavy, not light, dragging slightly, as if whoever it was could barely keep going.

I'd listened to those footsteps for seven years and never once questioned them.

The door opened. Robert walked in wearing the same dusty old jacket he'd had on when he left that morning.

He spotted me sitting on the couch and visibly paused.

“Why are you still up?”

I didn't move. I hadn't turned on any other lights, just sat there in the dim glow, watching him.

“Couldn't sleep.”

“Robert, there are some things I want to talk to you about.”

He tossed his briefcase onto the shoe cabinet without looking, bent down to change his shoes, and didn't even lift his head：

“What's your problem now? I've been running around on a business trip all day. I'm dead tired. You think I have time to sit here and chat?”

“Where was this business trip?”

“I already told you. The next city over.” He straightened up, frowning at me. “I have to be up early tomorrow to catch a train. Can you be reasonable for once?”

Be reasonable.

I'd been hearing those two words for seven years.

He'd come home late from overtime. I'd tell him to ease up on the coffee because it was bad for his stomach. He'd say, can you be reasonable? I'm killing myself out there and it's all for this family.

He wouldn't come home on weekends. I'd call to ask where he was. He'd say, can you be reasonable? Networking is how I bring in more money.

He wouldn't touch me for months. I'd move closer to him in bed, and he'd roll over. Can you be reasonable? I'm really, truly exhausted.

I'd been reasonable for seven years.