The Assistant’s Child and My Wife’s Lie

One month after our wedding, my wife got drunk and slept with her male assistant.

Later, she brought him to our home, tied him up and made him kneel before me. He kept apologizing even bowed down to me until his head was bleeding.

I thought she was truly remorseful. My heart softened. I chose to forgive her.

But at the company’s anniversary celebration, in front of hundreds of guests, my wife made an announcement that shattered whatever was left of us.

“I’m pregnant with Andrew Watson’s child,” she said with a radiant smile. “And this child will be the heir to the Gruman group.”

After the banquet, she knelt before me once again and confessed, her voice trembling.

“Mike Andrew is an orphan… and he’s just been diagnosed with cancer. This child is his only blood relative. I couldn’t bear to…”

She reached for my hand, eyes pleading.

“Don’t worry—he doesn’t want formal recognition. The baby can carry your name. He’ll only visit from time to time.”

I looked at her, hollowed out. “And then?”

She hesitated, then spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Andrew has been anxious and scared. He wants me to stay with him every day… You understand, right?”

“Of course,” I replied blankly. “I’ll visit you on weekends. Once the baby’s born, we’ll sort things out.”

Kate Gruman’s expression softened into a smile. She leaned in and brushed her cold lips against my cheek.

“Mike, I knew you’d understand.”

She picked up her luggage and walked out the door without another word.

I took off my wedding ring and dialed a number.

“Hi, old classmate, she’s divorced and abandoned now. Do you still want her?”

——

Then I started packing. Around me, the wedding room still shimmered with celebration—bright flowers, delicate lace, photos of happier times. A bitter taste rose in my throat.

Our innocent first love in college. The sweet, everyday life after graduation.

I really thought we were different. From lecture halls to wedding vows. But life has a way of proving you wrong.

Tears welled up and I shut my eyes tightly to hold them back.

Just as I was wheeling my suitcase toward the door, Kate called.

“Mike, come to the Romhs Villa right away. Andrew’s feeling unwell and anxious,” she said, her voice a mix of urgency and annoyance.

I looked at my hands—hands that had once saved lives in operating rooms. One day, those same hands might be used to treat my wife’s lover.

The divorce wasn’t finalized. I turned around and went.

The villa door was wide open when I arrived.

Inside, Kate was holding Andrew in her arms, gently comforting him. Her voice, her expression—so tender, so soft. I had never seen her look at me that way.

“Be good. Drink this calming soup. I simmered it for three hours, just for you.”

I had told myself not to feel anything. But the bitterness rose again.

She had once lived like a queen—everything handed to her, not even needing to lift a finger.

And now, she was in the kitchen, making soup for another man.

I drew in a deep breath and stepped inside.

She stood up quickly when she saw me, then instinctively reached out to support Andrew’s waist.

“Still dizzy? Mike’s here. Let him take a look.”

She turned to me.

“Mike Andrew’s been having chest tightness and dizziness. Please, check him.”

Andrew clung to her arm, leaning into her completely.

“Brother… I told her I’m fine. But Kate insisted you come.”

His voice trembled.

“I feel so guilty. I hate myself for destroying someone else’s family. But I…”

He broke down in tears.

Kate immediately soothed him, her voice full of love and reassurance.

“Andrew, I’ve told you—it was my fault. I drank too much that night. You’re not to blame. You did it for the child.”

She smiled and gestured around.

“See? I redecorated the room. Our wedding photos, your favorite roses… This will be our home now.”

Only then did I notice.

The room was filled with photos of them—laughing, walking together, eating, even one where he carried her across a sunlit lawn.

Their life was already built.

And I was no longer part of it.