Reborn The Factory Director's Wife Wants a Divorce

A bitter smile curved my lips.

I had seen this coming, yet a dull ache still throbbed in my chest.

Kneeling before my mother's grave, my mind drifted back. After Justin's parents died in that accident, it was Mother who had taken him in. She didn't just give him a roof over his head or food on his plate—she treated him exactly as she treated me, her own flesh and blood.

I still remembered the day Mother passed away. Justin had stood there, eyes bright, face flushed with emotion as he swore an oath.

"Ava, I will never forget your mother's kindness. I swear to cherish and protect you for the rest of my life."

Now, only a few years later, he had forgotten everything.

A cold gust swept past. I wiped the tears from my face. The bulky mobile phone in my pocket rang, breaking the silence.

"Come home." Justin's voice came through, hesitant and thick. "I have something to tell you."

Could it be news about the bone marrow donor for our son?

Hope surged before I could stop it. I hurried back to the house, breathless.

But the moment I walked in, Justin wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Ava, I have news." Under my expectant stare, he gritted his teeth and forced the words out. "The factory has a publicly funded project—a business trip to New York that allows accompanying family members. I've decided to take Brooklyn and Tommy."

The hope withered. Coldness settled deep in my bones. Bitterness rose in my throat, though I kept my expression blank.

Beside him, Brooklyn curled her lips into a smug smile, posturing as if she were the true lady of the house.

"Don't worry, Little Sister-in-law," she said, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "When we come back from New York, we'll bring gifts for you and Carter."

Justin looked at me, panic flickering in his eyes. "You know how it is. Brooklyn and Tommy... they've had such a hard life..."

That excuse again.

Just because they had "lived badly," I was expected to surrender every opportunity that rightfully belonged to me and my son?

Fortunately, I no longer cared. As long as he fulfilled his duty as a father and secured a bone marrow match for Carter, nothing else mattered.

"Okay," I said, feigning compliance.

Yet memories intruded unbidden. When the factory was just starting out, Justin had been desperate to go to New York to study new technology but had no funds.

I was the one who had scraped together every penny, borrowing from everyone I knew, just to give him that chance.

Back then, his eyes had been red with gratitude. "To have a wife like you... what more could a husband ask for?" His voice had trembled. "When the factory grows, I promise I'll take you to see the bustling streets of New York myself."

The factory grew. It became massive. He never mentioned that promise again.

Now, it didn't matter anymore.

Seven days passed in a blur.

I went to the school gate to pick up my son. From a distance, I spotted two figures standing out from the crowd. Brooklyn was preening in a fashionable coat bought in New York, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Justin.

As my son and I walked past, a neighbor pulled me aside, her voice lowered.

"Look over there. That's the director's wife everyone talks about. Isn't she pretty? She and the director are so well-matched."

People turned to look. If I stayed silent, I would look like the fool.

I offered a polite, detached smile. "Yes, they are quite well-matched."

Justin's expression darkened. He strode over and caught my wrist in a hard grip. "What did you just say?"

I calmly pried his fingers off my arm.

"Wasn't it you who said we shouldn't expose our relationship in public?"

He froze, stunned by my indifference. When he spoke again, his voice held genuine grievance.

"Ava, you didn't send a single letter in seven days. Before, if I was gone for even half a day, you couldn't wait to send three."

I pretended not to hear him. Just then, someone from the post station called out to me. An uncle and aunt from my hometown had mailed a package—half a bag of brown sugar.

My throat tightened. I knew how long they must have scrimped and saved to gather something so precious.

I accepted the package, clutching it protectively against my chest, and looked at Justin with wary eyes.

"Brown sugar is rare, but to a man like you, it's nothing. Don't even think about touching my sugar."

Disbelief flashed across his face, followed by a sting of pain.

"In your eyes," he asked, his voice low, "is that the kind of person I am?"