My Cheating Wife's Secret Family

The door swung open, and a face appeared—rosier and healthier than six months ago.

"Ruby, you're back..."

Smack.

My hand moved before he finished. I struck him hard across the face, catching him completely off guard.

Colin's expression cycled through shock and confusion before tears welled in his eyes.

Claire shoved me back immediately, shielding him with her body.

"Ruby Stephens, have you lost your mind? If you have a problem, take it out on me!"

Veins bulged on her forehead. Her glare was murderous—like she wanted to tear me apart.

I didn't hesitate. I slapped her too.

My palm stung from the impact, and my fingernails grazed her cheek, leaving angry red welts.

She froze, stunned into silence.

At work, I was known for being decisive and forceful. At home, I'd always been gentle, accommodating. In all our years of marriage, arguments were rare. Physical violence? Nonexistent.

Colin spotted the watch in my hand and stepped out from behind Claire, immediately adopting an expression of innocent martyrdom.

"Ruby, I only picked that out for Claire. If you don't like it, you don't have to accept it. There's no need for violence, is there?"

I sneered.

"I hit you because you deserve it. Did you think I'd throw away a watch worth hundreds of thousands over a single strand of hair? I'm not that stupid."

I shifted my gaze to Claire, eyes cold.

"I can't stop people from being cheap. But if you think you can fish a single cent out of my pocket, you're dreaming."

Colin bit his lip, expression shifting. Finally, tears trembling on his lashes, he turned to Claire.

"Claire, please don't involve me in your marriage anymore. My life is hard enough. I don't want to be a scapegoat for your arguments."

He sniffled, wiping his eyes. "I never thought about money or... hair. I might not be educated, but I have dignity. I have a child to raise. The innocent have nothing to hide... but if rumors destroy me, who wins?"

Claire seemed to snap out of her daze. She turned on me, defensive.

"Ruby, you've gone too far. Apologize to Colin. Now."

I gripped the watch so hard the metal edges bit into my palm. That sting was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

I had loved Claire for seven years. Married for three.

She consumed every memory of my youth. The acceptance letters, the first kiss, the way her eyes went hazy with wine at our wedding... I thought I knew every part of her.

I was wrong.

She glared at me, impatient for my apology—like a dog eager to please its master, desperate to comfort the man behind her.

I stared her down.

"You want an apology?" I scoffed. "In your dreams."

I spun on my heel, marched to my apartment door, and punched in the code.

The lock beeped. I stepped inside.

Immediately, something felt wrong.

The floor gleamed. The trash can was empty. The throw blanket on the sofa was folded with military precision, and fresh laundry scent drifted from the balcony.

Too clean.

Claire was not a domestic woman. She never mopped unless forced. Only took out the trash when it overflowed. Preached about hand-washing delicates but let them pile up until she ran out of clothes.

These trivialities had been constant friction in our marriage. We fought about it endlessly.

I remembered her defense vividly: "I'm carrying the weight of the entire Vance family, and I respected your wish not to have children. I never force you to do anything. What more do you want?"

So I'd compromised.

Swallowed my complaints. Tried to make time for housework myself.