He Regretted it After He Found Out I Didn't Love Him

During the time my house was leaking, Martin White's assistant, Grace Smith, posted a nine-photo collage of her cream-themed home renovation on her social media. Her caption read, "Thanks to my boss for gifting me this home with full renovation included. He was so patient with my preferences. It's like a perfect one-to-one recreation."

I glanced at the pile of renovation materials next to me—all premium stuff. Among them were tools and sealants I thought I might use to fix my own leaks.

In one of the photos, Grace and Martin had their cheeks pressed closely together, radiating intimacy.

I left a comment, "The renovation looks amazing. I bet you won't have to worry about leaks."

Moments later, Martin messaged me privately, "Delete that comment. Don't bring bad luck into a newly renovated place. Grace bought that house herself. Her post was just for publicity, so don't read into it."

——

The leaks had been ongoing for days, and despite Martin being in the construction business, he always ignored my requests for repairs. Now, the whole house was waterlogged, and my daughter and I had barely any dry floor space left.

However, Grace's social media was flooded with people admiring Grand Decoration Company, with comments like, "Are these real photos? I want this style for my home too!"

"When can you check out my place? Could you come by this week?"

I hadn't even finished scrolling when my daughter, Angela, called me over.

"Mom, the study just started leaking too, and I think the computer is broken. We can't even sleep here tonight. What are we going to do?"

I handed her an umbrella and hastily gathered a few clothes.

I took her to the neighbor's and paid them to look after her for the night.

She's in elementary school and can't afford to miss sleep with early mornings.

The rain had been frequent lately, and my house had leaked every rainy season for over ten years, to the point it was falling apart.

I kept telling Martin that the place was uninhabitable, but he always brushed me off, calling me melodramatic even in my thirties.

When I tried to patch it myself, it only got worse over the years.

And when I hired someone, he'd accuse me of sabotaging his business image, saying, "Who's going to hire me if our own house has leaks?"

Yet here he was, gifting a new house with renovations to his assistant, who had only been with him a year, wasn't he?

Our walls were peeling, floors stained, the kitchen had terrible ventilation, and the toilet was constantly clogged. Not to mention the red spray paint left by debt collectors outside.

Years ago, Martin was swindled into a business deal that left him deep in debt, which I only learned about after our marriage and during my pregnancy.

But since we had been married and had children, we could only make do with what we have.

Debt collectors were constantly showing up, and there were times I was on the verge of breaking down.

We had started from scratch—I sold fruit on the street while he did hard labor. Now, he had a respectable business, and I thought we'd finally made it through.

But how could he buy a house for someone else while my daughter and I were barely surviving?

Martin claimed it was Grace's house bought by herself, but she hadn't even had a place to live before she started working here.

I'd even paid for her initial rent.

How could she afford a house in just one year?

I dug out two coins and took the bus to his company, determined to have a clear conversation.

But as I reached the entrance, I saw Grace talking to Martin.

"Martin, what if your wife misunderstands? Maybe I should pay you back? It was fifteen thousand in total, right? I can manage."

Martin smiled, patting her head affectionately, "If I said the house is yours, it's yours. If she asks, just say you signed an IOU. She won't know the difference."

My heart sank.

For years, my daughter and I had scrimped and saved. I'd eaten spoiled fruit with pickled veggies and stale bread to save a few coins, always thinking of his hard work and never begrudging him.

Even Angela felt sorry for him. She would write homework for classmates to earn a few coins, which she handed to him in full.

I was filled with grievances that were stuck in my heart, and my chest felt like it was stuffed with a ball of wet cotton.

I almost couldn't breathe.

I saved the video I just recorded.

By the time I looked up, they were gone.

I wiped my unending tears and messaged Martin, "Find your own way to pay off the debt. I'll be taking care of our daughter on my own."

His response came in a raspy, mocking voice, furious and biting, "Are you out of your mind? Whatever you're trying to pull, don't think you can use our daughter to get to me. I'm not buying it."

I replied, "The house and renovation for Grace—it was all your money, wasn't it?"

"Can you not believe every rumor?"

"Oh? And she even wrote you an IOU, didn't she?"

I could hear his irritation mixed with a thinly veiled guilt, "Have you gone crazy? Stop making trouble."

I sent him the video I'd recorded, "From now on, we owe each other nothing. Divorce. Your debts have nothing to do with me. Return all my money."