My Marriage Died in the Operating Room

Hedy’s POV

On Debbii’s video, I recognized a decoration I knew too well.

I paced around the villa, my steps quick and restless, only to discover that the interior design in so many of Debbii’s videos was identical to this place.

A sudden realization struck me like lightning. My chest tightened as I bolted out the door.

From the villa next door came a voice—familiar, intimate.

There she was—Debbii—fluttering into Bryson’s arms like a lark, her laughter sweet and airy.

And Bryson, smiling with gentle indulgence, carefully caught her in his embrace.

“Why are you running so fast? Be careful with the baby in your belly,” he murmured.

Then, he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her belly. His eyes brimmed with affection.

For a moment, it felt as if my heart had been pierced straight through.

She had only been back in the country for less than two months, and yet… they already had a baby?

Or was it that, even while she was still abroad, they had already been entangled?

Had my marriage… been nothing but a lie from the start?

My emotions roared and tangled within me, but I bit down hard, forcing myself not to storm over and demand an explanation. Instead, stumbling and unsteady, I retreated into the villa.

Inside, I was greeted by an entire wall of memories—photos of me and Bryson, smiling together, locked in moments of intimacy…

Things he had personally made for me…

An entire wall covered in handbags and jewelry he had chosen for me…

Three thousand love letters, each penned by him!

But now, everything before my eyes mocked me, each piece of evidence sneering at my foolishness.

I couldn’t bear it any longer. With trembling hands, I tore our wedding photo from the wall and hurled it down, shattering it into pieces.

That night, Bryson did not come back.

Instead, Debbii bombarded me with countless videos of them together, flaunting their affection.

Even from outside the villa, their voices carried—sweet, intimate, unrestrained.

I clicked through each video, one by one, my hands shaking as I forced myself to watch. And then, piece by piece, I burned every trace of what I once thought was love.

Three thousand letters, three thousand photos, countless handmade gifts—it all took me the entire night to reduce it all to ashes.

Bryson only sent me one message.

[Debbii isn’t feeling well because of you. I won’t be coming back tonight. Think of it as me helping you make up for her.]

The words left me hollow, stripped of even the dignity of anger. All I felt was despair.

When dawn finally broke, everything that had once bound us was nothing more than a heap of gray ash.

My eyes burned red as I rose unsteadily to my feet, my body trembling slightly.

Just then, my phone rang.

“Ma’am,” a cold, professional voice said, “your mom’s hospital payments are overdue. The oxygen mask, medication, and machines have all been suspended. Please settle the fees immediately.”

A dark fog swept over my vision. My voice cracked and was hoarse as I asked, “Didn’t my husband pay yesterday?”

On the other side of the phone came a contemptuous laugh. Then the staff spoke with disdain.

“Ma’am, Sir Bryson is Miss Debbii’s boyfriend. You call him your husband? If that were true, why didn’t he pay on your behalf yesterday? Please don’t insert yourself where you don’t belong. Just come and settle the bill right away. Otherwise, your mom’s life cannot be guaranteed.”

When I heard that, my hand trembled so violently I nearly dropped the phone.

Just as I was about to rush out the door, Bryson appeared at the entrance, his body covered with red marks.

The breeze that swept in carried with it the sickly sweet scent of Debbii’s perfume clinging to him. My stomach lurched; I nearly retched.

“Where are you going?” he asked, pausing mid-step when he saw my pale face. For a brief moment, something like concern flickered in his eyes.

“Why are you so pale? Are you feeling unwell?” he pressed, reaching out a hand toward me.

With a blank expression, I avoided his touch. My voice rasped, raw from the night, as I asked, “You didn’t pay for my mom’s hospital bills yesterday?”

For a split second, shock crossed his face.

But almost immediately, a soft and delicate voice drifted from behind him.

“Hedy, don’t blame Bryson. Maybe the hospital staff made a mistake.”

Debbii leaned against him sweetly, her tone dripping with false gentleness.

Her eyes, however, sparkled with provocation as they met mine.

And in that instant, everything became clear to me.