Married for 8 Years, He Cheated on Me

A month ago.

On the night when he received a call from Jessica and hurried out to block the wine for her, I had unbearable abdominal pain and drove to the emergency department of the hospital by myself.

But I was told that I had been pregnant for more than two months and the baby had lost the fetal heart rate and had already been biochemically induced.

The most ridiculous thing was that when I knew that the baby was gone, I was relieved.

Getting off the operating table alone, I thought it was time to end it.

In the living room, Henry turned his back to me, held his wine glass tightly and his fingertips turned white.

He did not question why I did not contact him. He knew very well how many times I called him that night. Unfortunately, there was no answer.

"It's okay if it's gone. The fact proves that you can't be a good mother."

Henry walked to the study room and closed the door skillfully.

Eight years of marriage, I did not know how many quarrels and disputes had occurred. It had been countless.

I was always be the one who apologized and solved the problems.

However, this time, Henry never heard the humble knock on the door.

Half an hour later, he opened the door and searched through the huge house, but he could not see my figure again.

***

I was Henry Quinton's first love.

No one could have imagined that a rich young man with excellent character and academic performance and a cold and handsome appearance, would fall in love with a non-mainstream female gangster who smoked and went to the club house all day long, Renata Miller.

My first encounter with him was not good. In the stinky alley filled with smoke, a top student was asked for money by a young man from society.

I, happened to be passing by and someone whistled at me.

So, I rode my bike into the crowd, taught those hooligans a lesson and by chance, solved a life crisis for the introverted male student.

Since then, Henry had been clinging to me like a glue.

He waited for me to get out of school, followed me and could not be driven away.

He gave me roses, but I soaked it into the toilet with a cold face and then threw it back at his desk.

He personally made me a shockingly expensive lunch and I gave it to the beggar on the roadside.

My sisters made fun of me for having a rich and infatuated young boy.

Anyone could tell that he and I were not from the same world.

However, when I was beaten up by my alcoholic father and could not go to school, it was him who broke into my private house, picked up the dying me and rushed over to the hospital.

When the doctor helped me sew the stitches, he turned his back to me, his shoulders shook uncontrollably and the back of his hand kept rubbing against his face.

The doctor asked him helplessly and humorously, "It's not you who was injured, why are you crying?"

He said, "I don't know why, but I feel an excruciating pain in my chest."

He still stupidly asked the doctor, "Do I need to have an electrocardiogram check?"

In the ward, Henry was clumsily peeling an apple.

"I don't want to feel this bad anymore. Renata, please don't get hurt again. I beg you."

I ate the popsicle he bought and after saying yes vaguely, I glared at him fiercely. "Then do you want to be my boyfriend?"

That whole day, both of us blushed and could not say anything.

I told Henry a secret that no one knew.

Every time my dad got drunk and crazy, he would beat my mom and beat her to the point where she was half dead. But then, a broken rose would always appear in the house the next day as an apology.

So, if he wanted to break up with me one day, he did not have to say it. Just gave me one rose.

"Silly, we will always be together." The eighteen-year-old boy hugged me tightly and did not allow me to say anything foolish again.