Chapter 1

After five years of marriage, my wife’s childhood friend posted a property deed on his Facebook Feeds.

He captioned it:

“Thanks to my boss lady for transferring the house to me.”

I stared in shock at the deed with my home address on it, and I commented with a simple “?”

My wife, Seraphina "Sera" Jade, immediately called to scold me:

“He’s a single dad; he’s so pitiful. I only transferred the house to help his daughter with school later; it doesn’t affect our living situation.”

“How can you be so heartless, showing no sympathy at all?”

On the other end, I could hear the sad complaints from her childhood friend, Jasper "Jazz" Caldwell.

Half an hour later, he posted again, tagging me.

This time, he flaunted a brand-new Luxury Mercedes-Benz.

“Paid in full. As the saying goes, where a woman spends her money, that’s where her heart is.”

I knew this was a gift from Sera to placate him.

But this time, I decided I was going to divorce her.

……

When Sera came home, I swallowed a capsule of medication with a slice of birthday cake.

This was the medication I had to take after my gastric tumor removal.

It was my birthday, and I had prepared a cake, waiting for Sera to return home, wanting to tell her that I had undergone surgery while she was away on business.

I waited until 7 PM; she didn’t answer my calls or reply to my messages.

The moment I commented on Jazz’s post about the property deed, Sera called me back, launching into a tirade.

I tried to explain, but she hung up and blocked me. I was so furious that my stitched-up wound felt like it was tearing open again.

Sera glanced at the medication and the cake on the dining table, frowning:

“Whose birthday is it? Yours?”

I silently put the medication away and tossed the cake in the trash, calmly saying,

“Not mine, it’s for a friend.”

She sighed with relief:

“I remember your birthday is on September 28th; today is only the 8th.”

Five years of marriage, and Sera had always mixed up my birthday.

Ironically, she seemed to remember someone else’s birthday just fine.

Sera sat next to me and handed me a small toy car:

“Jazz asked me to give you this; he was scared by your sarcasm today, and you need to apologize to him.”

The toy car had a Mercedes-Benz logo on it.

It was probably a promotional item from the car purchase, with a noticeable grease stain on it.

I replied flatly:

“I don’t want it.”

Sera frowned, displeased:

“What are you being so proud about? He was scared and came to make amends, and you can’t even apologize to him?”

Seeing that I wasn’t budging, Sera tried to pull me up to call Jazz.

She yanked me up with such force that my injured leg bumped against the cold coffee table.

That was the same leg Sera had burned a week ago.

She had been walking out of the kitchen with a pot of scalding porridge, distractedly replying to Jazz's messages, and had accidentally spilled it all over my right foot, burning the skin badly.

Seeing blood seeping from my right foot again, Sera panicked:

“I’ll take you to the hospital.”

I didn’t refuse:

“Okay.”

As soon as I got into the car, the Bluetooth speaker came to life with Jazz’s soft, playful voice.

“Welcome back, my boss lady! Work hard to earn more money for me to spend!”

Sera's expression shifted slightly:

“Jazz left that in my car last time; I threw it out.”

“No need.” I replied indifferently.

The car quickly fell into silence.

Sera looked at me, surprised:

“Aren’t you angry?”

I pursed my lips.

I used to care about Jazz a lot.

Now, I didn’t even care about Sera; how could I care about her little puppy?

“Just drive; it’s getting late.”

We only needed to make a U-turn and drive a mile straight to the hospital, but Sera's phone rang. When she answered, a smile appeared on her face.

I recognized Jazz’s voice as he sweet-talked her into taking him for a ride in the new Mercedes.

“There’s a little urgency with Jazz; I’ll drop you off here, just cross the street, it’s only fifty meters.”

Sera didn’t even want to turn around; she couldn’t wait to see Jazz.

I glared at her coldly:

“I can’t walk.”

Sera’s expression turned cold:

“Can’t you be less dramatic? You’re hurt, not disabled!”

She opened the passenger door and forcefully dragged me out of the car, telling me to call her when I had my medicine sorted.

The car sped away, splashing dirty water all over my injured foot.

The sky started to drizzle lightly, leaving me soaked and looking a mess.

Fifty meters felt like a marathon; after just a few steps, I was drenched in cold sweat.

The wetness aggravated the pain from my freshly stitched abdomen, and my leg buckled as I collapsed onto the crosswalk.

Numerous cars sped by, and if it weren't for the kind security guard at the hospital helping me up, I might have been hit by one.

Finally back from the hospital, I lay down, and Sera stormed in:

“Didn’t I say to call me when you had your medicine sorted? I waited for you at the hospital entrance for a whole hour, and your phone was off the entire time!”

I stared at her blankly.