Throwing Away Our Seven Years Marriage for His First Love

On the third day of her hospital stay, Elena quietly completed the discharge paperwork on her own.

Her attending physician was a man of striking composure—calm, refined, with an air of aloof elegance. She thought he just looked familiar, but when she learned his name, she recognized him.

Giovanni Hamilton.

Over the past few days, the little girl in the next bed had noticed her melancholy and had been trying every possible way to cheer her up.

It was only later that Elena learned the girl was Giovanni's daughter, Tiffany.

Tiffany was as sweet-tongued as if her lips had been dipped in honey. She clung to Elena's arm like a tiny, precocious guardian, muttering indignantly, "Pretty sister, your family is way too mean! You're this sick, and they won't even come visit you!"

"But it's okay, I'll keep you company! You have to promise not to forget me, okay?"

When it was time to leave the hospital, Elena was still limping. Giovanni personally escorted her downstairs, offering a polite apology.

"I'm sorry, Tiffany is naturally lively. But I can tell she's very fond of you."

Elena shook her head, her mind drifting to her own children. A faint sadness crossed over her face.

"I actually envy you and your wife—for raising such a wonderful child."

Giovanni gave a soft laugh as he opened the car door for her.

"You misunderstand, Miss Torres. My work keeps me too busy; I've never married."

"Tiffany is a child I adopted from an orphanage."

"If you don't mind, may we exchange contact information? Tiffany specifically asked me to."

By the time Elena returned to the villa, the weather outside was heavy and humid, as if the sky had just been washed by rain.

Elena slipped her phone into her pocket—Giovanni's number now sat quietly in her contact list—and stepped into the living room.

Jackson was in casual home clothes, personally cooking in the kitchen, his gaze holding a warmth she had never seen before.

Beside him, Hillary wore a flowing white chiffon dress, exuding gentle, demure charm. Aaron and Maya leaned against her shoulders, sweet voices chattering away.

The scene of the "perfect family of four" cut deep into Elena's heart.

Just then, her phone rang.

"Miss Torres, your flight has been ticketed. Would you like to select your seat now?"

The moment she hung up, an abrupt voice cut in behind her.

"Flight? You're going abroad?"

The scent of Hillary's perfume clung to Jackson as he stepped too close. Elena instantly pushed him away.

"It's nothing—you misheard."

Jackson didn't press further. Later, while at the dining table, he answered a call, his brows furrowing as he ended it.

"Check what my wife has been doing lately," he instructed his assistant. "See if she's been meeting anyone... questionable."

"I can't shake the feeling she's hiding something from me."

Before he could say more, the sharp cries of a child rang out. Jackson strode quickly toward the sound, only to see a dish of buttered chicken—garnished with peanuts—on the dining table.

Maya's cheeks were flushed, a rash spreading down her neck, her breathing grew shallow as if she might suffocate.

Seeing him, she immediately complained,

“Daddy! I feel bad... Mommy gave me a bite of food, and after I swallowed it, I found out there were peanuts in it!”

Jackson's expression turned ice-cold.

"Elena, what's your excuse this time?"

"You don't even know your child's allergens? You're not even half as good to them as Hillary is. Are you fit to call yourself a mother?"

He waited for her usual pleas or protests—but none came.

Elena opened her mouth, but no words emerged. Only a quiet sigh escaped her throat before she gave a small, self-mocking smile.

"Then I'm not fit. Think whatever you want."

Her submissive acceptance bored Jackson. With a scowl, he grabbed his car keys and left without another word.

While he was away to get medicine, Aaron's eyes reddened as he burrowed into Hillary's arms.

"Aunt Hillary, if only you were my real mom... I don't want that bad woman as my mother."

Hillary drew both children onto her lap.

"Darlings, why do you dislike your own mother so much? Let Auntie stand up for you."

Aaron and Maya began counting grievances on their fingers, "Bad Mommy won't let me eat tasty snacks. She only lets us watch half an hour of TV a day and keeps restricting us."

"She says I'm too fat and makes me run every day. Even at mealtime, I can only eat until I'm seventy percent full."

"After school, she signed us up for all sorts of extra classes—she's just trying to get back at us. She's a witch!"

A flicker of cruelty flashed in Hillary's eyes.

"Darlings, if you trust Auntie, then here's what you should do..."