My Wife Married Our Adopted Child, I Found My Own Hapiness

Six years after my release from prison, I opened a steamed bun shop in the north of the city. Life was just getting back on track.

But one ordinary afternoon, I stumbled upon a male blogger's "confession." In the video, he proudly talked about his entire process of marrying into a wealthy family. How he gradually kicked the first husband out. How he achieved his current perfect life by conquering women.

"Why should the newcomer surpass the old? Because I can fight and grab the chance. Remember, everyone, the one who isn't loved in a relationship is the mistress. Fake, high-minded old men are destined to never find happiness."

I thought his values ​​were wrong and clicked "not interested." But while kneading dough that afternoon, it suddenly dawned on me. What he was talking about seemed to be my story with Rachel Godman, my ex-wife.

——

The video was blurred, so it wasn't very clear. I casually scrolled through his homepage list. Sure enough, I saw Rachel's back in the pinned video.

Strangely, on that well-maintained hand, however, adorned the diamond ring from our engagement. Rachel wasn't a frugal or sentimental person. Perhaps her business hadn't been doing well these past few years. I just smiled it off.

Just as I was about to block her, the curtain was lifted. A heavy chill swept over me.

I put down my phone and casually called out, "The steamed buns are sold out this morning. If you want some, we'll reopen after four in the afternoon."

The person didn't move, standing in front of the door, blocking half the light. Finally, a familiar voice called out in my ear, "Steven, it's me."

I looked up and the familiar figure was shrouded in the winter gloom. I was stunned for a moment, offering a polite yet distant smile.

"I said the steamed buns are sold out." I replied casually.

Rachel didn't reply. Her gaze swept over the simple little house, landing on my rough, cracked hands. I didn't know if it was my imagination or what. Rachel's breath seemed to pause for a moment. She looked at me, her tone filled with shock and disbelief.

"Steven, all these years... you've been living here?"

It seemed like she was surprised. Surprised that I could knead dough and steam buns with the same hands I use to play the piano and paint. She hardly believe that the once proud and dazzling Mr. Portman would be willing to live such a hard life.

It also seemed like a test. Testing whether I would still cling to her like before. Or whether I would cry and beg her to come home. But facing Rachel's intense gaze, I remained silent.

After what seemed like an eternity, Rachel spoke again, sounding unsure and a little resentful, "I saw Thomas's video. What happened back then... I'm sorry. If you want to come back..."

"No need." I cut her words.

I continued kneading the dough, not even looking up, "I'm living very well now."

Rachel became anxious at not getting a definite answer. She unconsciously raised her voice, "What about Luke? You're just going to let your son live this miserable life with you?!"

My kneading hand paused. I lowered my head and spoke calmly, "Luke is dead."

Rachel frowned. "What about your mom and dad? Don't they care about you?"

I threw down the dough and looked up at Rachel, "My parents are dead too. I'm not selling buns today. You can leave now."

Seeing my attitude, Rachel became angry, "Steven, I know you hate me for what happened back then. But can you please not joke with the lives of your loved ones?"