My Wife Loved Him, Until the Truth Destroyed Her

Maya and Hannah stood protectively beside Alexander and his son, the four of them forming heart shapes with their hands for the camera.

They stood close, smiling brightly, a picture-perfect image of a warm, loving family.

Suddenly, a reporter pushed to the front, microphone raised.

“We’d like to invite Mr. Hill to appear on our TV station’s special program featuring top-scoring families. Would you be willing to share your parenting experience?”

Alexander glanced modestly at Maya. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s appropriate. After all, I’m just the godfather…”

Before he could finish, Hannah cut in, firm and loud.

“Who said you’re just a godfather? In my heart, you’re a thousand times better than my real dad! You have to go on the show, Dad!”

Maya nodded in full agreement.

“Ivy is right. This is an honor you’ve earned. When the time comes, she and I will go with you to record the show.”

That one sentence sliced through me like a blade, swift and merciless.

I turned off the livestream, my fingers trembling as they swiped over the screen again and again before finally closing it.

The driver, noticing my expression, misunderstood my silence for something simpler. He offered a kind voice of comfort.

“Brother, don’t be too hard on yourself. Every child has their fate. No matter how good other people’s kids are, they’re still not ours.”

I forced a smile but couldn’t bring myself to say it, that the top scorer everyone envied was the daughter I had raised with my own hands.

After stepping out of the car, the rain slapped against my face. I couldn’t tell if it was rain or tears. Either way, everything tasted bitter.

Back home, I peeled off my soaked jacket and walked into the study.

This room used to be our battleground.

From elementary school to high school, I stayed up with her in this very room every night.

The walls were still lined with her award certificates. The shelves still held the hundreds of mistake booklets I had compiled over the years.

I pulled one out at random and flipped through it, each page filled with my handwriting.

Every test error she made, I had sorted and analyzed. I pinpointed her weaknesses and created targeted exercises, one after another.

I had even self-studied the entire high school curriculum, so that I could answer her questions without delay.

My fingers brushed over the now-yellowed pages. What once stood for love now felt like a monument to my foolishness.

Inside the desk drawer lay a family photo of the three of us.

Hannah was still a child, nestled between Maya and me, all of us smiling like the world had never known pain.

Back then, who could’ve imagined it would come to this?

I grabbed the photo and all the mistake booklets, tossing them one by one into the fireplace.

Flames roared to life. Eighteen years of dedication, twenty years of marriage—let it all turn to ash.

"Dylan! What are you doing?!"

Maya’s furious voice rang out from the doorway.

But I didn’t stop. I kept feeding the fire.

Hannah rushed in and caught sight of the burning materials. Her face changed instantly.

"Dylan, are you insane?! Those are my mistake books! That’s everything I worked for in my senior year!"

"My godfather’s going on a TV show soon. He was going to use those! Are you really that jealous? You’d burn them just to humiliate him?"

For a brief second, I thought she was angry because she recognized the effort I had poured into those books.

But no—she only cared that her godfather now had nothing to show off with.

"Yes, I’m crazy!"

"I made those mistake booklets. I have every right to destroy them!"

Something flickered in Hannah’s eyes. Her rage stalled just for a second.

"So what if you made them?" she snapped. "The one who really helped me get into Tufts University was my godfather, not you!"

"I can’t believe how petty you are over something so small! No wonder Mom looks at you with disgust every time!"