Chapter 4
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I'd reserved a table at the restaurant where we'd had our first date, planning to share news of my pregnancy. But as I was leaving home, I spotted him on a street corner, pressing a woman in a red dress against the wall, kissing her passionately as they moved down the block.
That woman was Rachel Lawrence.
I sat alone in our empty house from dawn until dusk. At nine, Samuel returned holding a velvet box containing exquisite cufflinks—from the same collection as the brooch I'd seen pinned to Rachel's collar.
"Winnie, happy tenth anniversary." He smiled and leaned in to kiss me, but I turned away.
"Where were you?" My voice was glacial.
"Something came up at work. If it bothers you, I won't go next time." He lied effortlessly, his expression never faltering.
The thread that had held my heart together for ten years finally snapped.
Like a madwoman, I screamed and smashed everything breakable in our home.
"Why are you lying to me! How could you do this to me!"
Images of my father's suicide flashed before my eyes. I couldn't bear it—the only light in my darkness had been tainted by the very betrayal I most despised.
Samuel held me tightly as I broke down, kneeling amid the destruction, crying and apologizing repeatedly.
"I'm sorry, Winnie, I'm so sorry... I was just confused for a moment..."
"I swear I've ended it with her. Please don't be like this. I'm begging you, please?"
I was too foolish—I actually believed his lies.
Afterward, Samuel no longer openly associated with Rachel. I desperately tried to forget everything and return to normalcy. Until I received an anonymous package from Rachel.
Inside were intimate photos of them in various compromising positions, alongside an ultrasound report.
"Your husband is quite the character. He claims he's cut ties with me, but behind your back, he treats me like royalty. Oh, by the way, I'm carrying his child."
I confronted Samuel with the evidence, but he merely rubbed his brow irritably.
"Winnie, Rachel is different from you. She's had a difficult life, and it's not easy for her in the entertainment industry. I just feel sorry for her."
"I've told you before—my heart belongs to you. My body just occasionally... slips. Can't you be more understanding and stop making such a fuss?"
I stared at him as if seeing a stranger, ice spreading through my veins. This wasn't a loss of control—it was deliberate indulgence. Not a momentary lapse—he was savoring it.
I hired a private investigator to expose and destroy Rachel, but Samuel suppressed all evidence. He leveraged his connections and resources to elevate Rachel to A-list status.
Eventually, he froze all my accounts and took away my financial independence to force me out.
"Winnie, you have nothing without me. Why fight it? As long as you behave, the position of Mrs. Sanders will always be yours."
Every day beside him felt like a living death. I developed chronic insomnia, uncontrollable tremors, unexplained vomiting, and sudden emotional breakdowns. I could no longer paint—the only skill I had to support myself.
I compulsively bit my wrists until they bled, obsessively scrolled through Rachel's social media, searching for traces of Samuel in every photo, trying to pinpoint when their affair began. From anonymous accounts, I hurled vicious curses at them, wishing them both dead.
Though I hadn't broken the glass, I felt like I was walking on shards daily, my soul bleeding out.
Until I stood outside the hospital with my diagnosis of late-stage stomach cancer and encountered Samuel escorting Rachel for her abortion. She claimed she'd "unfortunately lost the baby."
I was emaciated, my face death-pale. They were the perfect couple—radiant and glamorous.
"Winnie, what's happened to you?" Samuel frowned, his eyes carrying a trace of condescending pity.
In that moment, my tears finally broke through. Fear of death overwhelmed my pride. I was terrified of ending up like my father—forgotten and alone.
I desperately needed to grasp onto something—anything—to prove I still existed. Even if it was this relationship, riddled with wounds and festering with betrayal.
So I raised my head and said: "Samuel Sanders, I was wrong."
He finally displayed a satisfied, victorious smile.
We didn't remarry—I simply moved back in. And that's when I discovered I was pregnant too.
