My Wife's Neglect Ended Our Marriage

When I opened the bag, a limited-edition designer baby blanket lay inside.

My gaze darkened slightly.

Ever since I became a father, every gift Georgia gave me had something to do with the child.

It was clear—she wanted to bind me tighter and tighter to the role of “Lewis’s father.”

Not a husband. Not a man. Just the father of her child.

My phone buzzed twice in quick succession.

The law firm I had previously contacted had finally responded.

[We heard Attorney Greene had temporarily stepped back to care for his child—what a surprise to see you reaching out again.]

[With you joining us, our team will undoubtedly grow even stronger.]

[Looking forward to working with you.]

I replied with a polite message, exited the conversation, and saw a new friend request pop up.

The verification message was just three words.

[It’s me, Reniel.]

The moment I accepted, a message came through with a photo.

There were bloodstains on the towel, and the bedsheet was still damp with lingering traces.

[Your wife said I satisfy her more—and that she wants to give me her "first time" after getting a repair procedure.]

The implication was clear.

A freshly graduated kid, with nothing to his name, clinging to Georgia’s affection as if it were the whole world.

He thought she’d given him her “entire heart.”

And now he was desperate to prove himself. To flaunt his supposed place in her life.

Youth always has a way of charging headfirst into the fire.

And at that moment, I saw myself—years ago.

At sixteen, Georgia and I were the only two students from our small town to get into a prestigious high school.

Her parents, both teachers, were so proud they threw three days’ worth of banquets.

On the other hand, I didn’t even dare tell my guardians.

My biological parents died when I was eight, and I was taken in by my uncle.

Living under someone else’s roof taught me early on how to read faces and keep my head down.

That night, I still remember the smell of liquor in the room.

Three or four beer bottles rolled under my uncle’s chair as he toasted the factory manager, casting me a glance.

“My damn sister died too early, leaving me this burden to feed.”

“Good thing it’s a boy, and strong enough. Should fetch a decent price, right?”

“Of course,” the factory manager chuckled.

“Eighty percent of his wages will go to you, ten percent as an agent fee. Fair deal.”

Just a few drinks, a few crude words, and the path of my life was sealed.

So when Georgia excitedly found me and asked when I’d report to the new school, I stammered, unable to speak a full sentence.

Then the front door creaked open.

My uncle's voice came with a greasy smile. “This boy is in great shape. Just say the word and I’ll send him over.”

They looked me up and down like I was livestock.

“I’m not going to school,” I muttered. “I’m going to work.”

There was a long pause.

“Do you want to go?” Georgia asked, her voice quiet and uncertain.

My silence was her answer.

That night, she came back.

Under the cover of darkness, her eyes sparkled brighter than the stars.

“I brought money,” she whispered. “Let’s go. You’re going to school.”

My dying parents had begged me to obey my uncle, to be good.

But at that moment, I only wanted to grab Georgia’s hand and run.

In high school, I was mocked relentlessly for my accent, my old clothes.

Meanwhile, Georgia—bright, and outgoing quickly became friends with the city kids.

One day, sensing my unease, she pulled me into a corner.

“Emerson, if you don’t like me hanging out with them, I’ll stop. I’ll only stay with you.”

“Just don’t hate me, okay?”

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.

All my bottled-up emotions burst out.

I wept in silence while she waited patiently, saying nothing—just letting me pour out everything I had buried inside.

From then on, she always found me during lunch breaks. Sat beside me in the far corner of the cafeteria.

Every day, we shared a bowl of plain porridge that cost just fifty cents.

When classmates gave us strange looks, Georgia remained calm and unapologetically firm.