My Husband’s Favorite Doctor Diagnosed My Downfall

Over time, our relationship deepened naturally and I began investing my own money into the company. Eventually, I acquired a 2% stake.

As the business grew, so did Barly’s wealth—and then he proposed. I accepted.

Three months before the wedding, he brought Aurel over from her hometown, saying it was to support her medical studies. To welcome her, he unilaterally decided to transfer my shares to her—without even discussing it with me.

That decision sparked our first major argument.

Looking back now, maybe that was the beginning of the cracks forming between us.

When I woke up, my face was damp with sweat and tears.

At some point, Barly had returned home. The sight of the suitcase I’d packed and left by the door infuriated him.

“What are you planning now?” he demanded. “Wasn’t the scene you caused at the company yesterday already enough? Now you’re stirring up more trouble?”

I splashed cold water on my face, then placed the spare front door key on the edge of the sink.

“I’m planning to move out for a while,” I said calmly. “Have you signed the divorce papers yet?”

“You seriously want a divorce?” His face darkened and his voice turned icy.

“All because of a fake medical report? I know it was fake. I don’t even care. I don’t look down on you.”

I didn’t answer.

It was absurd.

After eight years of being together, he didn’t even understand why I suddenly wanted a divorce.

After a moment, he spoke again.

“Did my mother call and say something to you? Just hold on a little longer. Aurel’s being evaluated for the ‘Most Beautiful Physician’ award right now. Once she wins, I’ll explain everything to the family for you.”

“No need.”

Once the divorce was finalized, I’d clear my name on my own.

If I really listened to him and waited like he asked, I’d probably end up hearing something like, “Let’s just forget it. People already believe it anyway.”

I knew Barly far too well.

My eyes drifted to the gift in his hand—a bottle of perfume from a niche foreign brand.

Barly let out a cold snort and tossed the gift at my feet.

“Aurel picked this out for you. She’s so much more thoughtful than you.”

I didn’t bend down to pick it up. Instead, I sneered.

That gesture? That gift?

He had the nerve to criticize me for lacking manners.

How ironic.

If I remembered correctly, this same perfume box appeared in one of Aurel’s instastory updates at the end of last month.

“Barly,” I said coolly, “you like to talk about manners. Have you ever seen someone give a sample as a gift? Have you ever seen someone throw a gift at another person’s feet?”

I casually used the umbrella by the door to lift the ribbon off the box, opened it and pulled out the tiny vial inside—0.2 milliliters.

“It’s already been used.”

Barly’s eyes flickered with guilt.

“The full-size version has a lighter scent,” he said quickly. “Aurel deals with patients all day, so a stronger fragrance wouldn’t be appropriate.”

I smiled.

I didn’t bother exposing his lie. I didn’t even open my phone to show him her old story post.

Before I left, I reminded him one last time.

“Just sign the papers already. Dragging it out any further is pointless.”

Almost as soon as I moved in with my best friend, Aurel posted a new story updates.

She even mentioned me by name—just to make sure I saw it.

[Why can’t good men ever find good women? If it were me, I wouldn’t let you struggle so hard between career and family.]

The photo she posted showed Barly, slightly tipsy, gazing blankly out of the floor-to-ceiling window at the city skyline.

For the next two weeks, her feed didn’t stop.

She gathered all the perfume samples from her apartment and gave them away to her coworkers and patients.

[Some people treat kindness like weeds. Others treat it like treasure.]