Her Family Protected the Assistant, I Ended the Marriage

At dinner, I offered my wife a piece of meat, and she flung the bowl aside, saying coldly, "You're actually filthy."

I froze, completely caught off guard.

"And you're unbearably pretentious."

She set down her chopsticks and went on, "Even if you’re obedient and willing to spend money on me, Victor could do the same."

"Perhaps even better."

"Like the roast goose Victor bought two days ago—spoiled as it was, it still suited me more than anything else on this table."

The contempt in her eyes cut through me as though I were some criminal on trial.

That’s when I realized why she suddenly turned so harsh.

It was because I threw away the roast goose my assistant, Victor Langford, had bought her.

I turned toward my parents-in-law.

They told me to throw it away. They should have defended me.

But instead, they just laughed.

At that moment, I knew I had no place in this house.

——

Today, their expression—watching like it was all theater—told me I’d been fooled again.

I sighed, looked at my wife, and said, "Clara, I’m tired."

Huh?

Clara lifted her chin, sneering. "What? Losing patience already? Always pretending."

She carried herself like a queen, towering above everyone.

"Since you’ve seen through me—"

I paused. "Then let’s divorce. Let’s free each other."

The room fell into dead silence.

Surprise flickered in Clara’s eyes.

Her parents stopped smiling.

"Come on, it’s only roast goose. A few words are enough. No need for divorce."

"Clara just lost her temper because she missed that goose. Why make such a fuss?"

They finally spoke, yet still refused to tell the truth—only shifting the blame onto me.

Always the same.

I’d had enough.

I didn’t want to explain anymore. I stood and went to pack my things. "Amelia Hart!"

"Are you insane?"

Clara grabbed a dish and hurled it at my face, shouting furiously, "Just because I said a few words, you want divorce?"

"What is our marriage to you?"

"Scumbag!"

Seeing her hysteria, I laughed bitterly.

"Excuse me."

"Who brings the opposite sex home every single day?"

"Who belittles their spouse daily for the opposite sex?"

"Tell me, am I the scumbag?"

At my questioning, guilt flashed across Clara’s eyes. She quickly snapped, "Stop with your filthy suspicions."

"Victor comes here often only because he’s grateful I gave him a job."

My father-in-law slammed the table, glaring. "You’re a man—can’t you show Clara some tolerance?"

My mother-in-law coaxed gently, "Amelia, don’t overthink. They know their limits. Hasn’t Victor stayed away these past two days?"

Good cop, bad cop—their tactic for eight long years.

"He hasn’t been here because Clara was on a business trip."

I glanced at the clock. "But right now, he should be at the door."

Just as I finished,

the door flew open.

Victor walked in smiling. "Clara, I heard you missed the roast goose, so I brought you another."

My parents-in-law froze, awkwardness written all over their faces.

Truth is, I had long noticed the pattern.

For six straight months, Victor came to our home at exactly 6:00 PM, Monday through Friday.

On weekends, he arrived at 9:00 AM.

Even his fingerprint was saved on our door lock.

Sensing the tension, Victor hesitated, then said, "Seems I came at the wrong time. I’ll head out now."