Smart Women Don't Divorce , They Become Widows

“But he still cheated, didn't he?”

The sight of her clinging to denial made my nose sting with tears.

“Mom, people change. Dad stopped being the man you knew a long time ago.”

“If you don't believe me, let's go get you a check-up right now!”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“What?”

“You don't believe me, right?”

I locked my eyes on hers and held them there.

“Then let's go find out.”

“Based on what happened in my last life, you're still in the early stages of stomach cancer. It's still treatable!”

“If the results come back clean, I'll never bring up divorce again.”

That convinced her.

I drove her to the hospital immediately.

Neither of us could have expected what was waiting there.

We ran into Deborah and my father, and standing right beside them was a boy my age.

Albert Walker. The illegitimate son.

My father was lovingly rubbing the top of his head.

“You, you — you can't keep skipping meals for work. Passing out today scared your mother and me half to death.”

Albert gave an embarrassed little laugh.

“Dad, I just wanted to take some of the pressure off you at the company.”

That single word — “Dad” — hit my mother like a bolt of lightning to the skull.

The color drained from her face, and she swayed as though the ground had shifted beneath her.

I reached for her arm, but she pushed my hand away.

She just stood there staring at my father, as though torturing herself.

“All these years, your father was never close to you.”

“I told myself he just wasn't good at showing it. I never imagined he was giving all his love to another child……”

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“No wonder he was always traveling for business when I was only two months pregnant.”

“No wonder Deborah said she was traveling abroad too……”

“They were together all along……”

“What a joke. I've been the fool, kept in the dark for over twenty years!”

Watching her shatter tore through my own chest.

But I didn't make excuses for my father.

Because only when every last shred of feeling was dead

could we win. Only then would this second life mean anything.

A few steps away, Albert had my father laughing with some flattering line, and Francis patted his shoulder with a look of warm, indulgent pride.

“That's my boy. Once this project wraps up, I'm handing the subsidiary over to you for good.”

“Sooner or later, the whole Lawrence Group will be yours.”

My mother stopped crying the instant she heard that.

She wiped her tears, and when her eyes came back up, they were ice.

“Lucy, you're right.”

“A smart woman doesn't divorce.”

“She becomes a widow.”

“I suffered through years of misery to build this life. Why the hell would I hand it over?”

Relief flooded through me.

I squeezed her hand hard.

“Mom, trust me — we still have a chance to turn this all around!”

“No one is taking what's ours!”

My mother was a woman of her word.

From that day on, she abandoned the idea of divorce entirely.

She took her medication and fought the cancer quietly, while devoting every free thought to how to deal with my father and Deborah.

Know your enemy, she said. That's how you never lose.

She hired a private investigator to tail them.

When the photos came back showing Deborah feeding my father greasy, heavy meals every single day — knowing full well he had high blood pressure — my mother's eyes went red with fury.

“Men are worthless.”

“I watched his health for years and got nothing for it. Meanwhile he's out there thinking her shit smells like perfume.”

This time, she didn't let the pain drag her down the way it used to.

The very next day, the dinner table at home was completely different.

Before, it had always been light, stomach-friendly dishes — three sides and a soup.

Now it was everything my father loved but my mother had always forbidden.

Braised pork belly. Steamed pork with preserved vegetables. Lard-tossed rice. Stir-fried fatty intestine……

Some nights she even added a late spread of grilled meat with ice-cold beer.