My Husband Wanted Me To Cheat And I Went to the Don.

Upstairs, outside the bedroom, I pushed open the door. "Here we are." Then I leaned against the doorframe. Watching the boy called Richard standing in the hallway. Six-one, about to graduate from a top university. Charles had spent real money this time—not just some jock plucked from a bar. "Selling yourself for cash?" I asked. He nodded. No hesitation, no excuses. The old me would have sneered at that moment, tossed out a "How much? Take it and get out," then had security drag him away. As if anyone who touched me was defiling me. As if every man Charles sent was something filthy. In the end, the "filthy things" left. And Charles never came back either. Really—were any of them dirtier than him? "Ms. Silvia, my name is Richard." "I know." I turned and walked inside. "Charles told me." The crowd in the living room dispersed. I watched their silhouettes shrink from the upstairs window. I'd long lost count of how many times they'd watched my humiliation like a show. Back in the bedroom, I glanced at the divorce agreement on the nightstand. For three years, I'd pretended not to see his outrageous behavior. All because of what had happened that year—the thing that drove a wedge between us. But he had his reasons, and I had mine. Debts owed always come due. At first, I told him: just don't bring them home. Later I said: just don't get anyone pregnant. The more I tolerated, the further he pushed, always testing where my limit was. Now that we were both sick of this marriage, there was nothing left to hesitate over. I picked up the pen and signed my name. Richard happened to come out of the bathroom just then, hair still half-wet. The moment he saw me, his ears turned red at a visible speed. "I… just finished showering." I stood up. The one Charles picked this time really did blush easily. All those college boys before—when I paid them off and sent them away, there was always a flicker of resentment in their eyes. One of them had even shouted at me: "What is wrong with you two? One pushes us in, the other kicks us out—what are we to you people?" I'd just looked at him coldly. "Take the money and shut up." Looking back now, he was right. The sick ones were us. One with a cuckold complex, one with a purity complex. My phone lit up. A message from Charles: [Get some sleep] I stared at those three words and almost laughed. He never used to send me messages like that. Was today different because I'd kept Richard? Because he'd finally realized that the Silvia who "would never touch them" might actually follow through. I didn't reply. The lights outside went dark, and the entire villa fell quiet. Nancy had moved in. Richard had moved in. This estate finally resembled a landfill. Anyone could live here now—including me. I turned off the light. My heart had stopped aching. There was even a kind of lightness. He thought I was still the same Silvia. Thought I wouldn't dare. Thought I never would. Thought my standards were permanent. He was wrong.

The next morning, the soreness in my lower back lingered, but the night before had been good. When I came downstairs, Richard was in the kitchen helping the housekeeper cook. He saw me and nearly dropped the spatula. I smiled. So shy again now—where was last night's ruthless dictator? I'd barely sat down at the dining table before Charles came downstairs. "Up so early?" He sat across from me, that inscrutable smile on his lips. "How was last night?" Before I could answer, the front door burst open. Mark charged in first. "Charles! Who won?" "I bet he'd be gone by noon—two hundred grand on it!" "I bet she kicked him out last night. Three-to-one odds, Charles is the house—" He stopped mid-sentence. Because he'd seen me. Their expressions shifted from excitement to embarrassment in an instant. "Sis… morning!" Charles picked up his coffee and took a sip, perfectly relaxed. As if this betting pool wasn't his friends treating his marriage like a joke, but some kind of proud achievement. "Have a seat. Breakfast is ready." I stood up and walked toward the kitchen. "You should get to class." Richard blinked, untied his apron, and left. The front door closed. The living room was quiet for two seconds. Mark deliberately lowered his voice. "See? She still sent him away." Jeffery laughed. "What did you expect? Charles always knows exactly what Silvia's thinking." "That's the beauty of it—a wife who knows how to hold down the fort." Mark's voice dripped with admiration. Charles sat at the table, already finished eating, listening to all this with the corner of his mouth curved upward. Looking quite pleased. I let out a breath, walked out of the dining room, and spoke at almost the same moment Charles did. "Come to dinner at my father's tonight—" "Two o'clock at the courthouse—" The living room went quiet. I placed the signed divorce agreement on the table. "Let's take care of what matters first." Charles froze for an instant, his eyes falling on the wife's signature line. He didn't move. I knew what he was thinking. The old me would have torn it up with red-rimmed eyes, crying and fighting with him. "Charles, who gave you the right to just decide we're getting divorced?" Back then I would have been heartbroken over our love, reluctant to let him go, aching inside. But not anymore. Charles looked up at me, as though divorce was the most trivial thing in the world. "What's the rush? I said we'd handle it after Nancy's pregnancy stabilizes." "I can't wait." I said. "Two o'clock. Are you coming or not?" He pushed the agreement back to the center of the table, his tone dropping low. "Silvia, are you still half asleep?" "You don't want me to change my mind and rip it up again, do you?" The standoff lasted a few seconds before Nancy appeared from upstairs. "Silvia, don't rush. I just don't want my baby to be called illegitimate, that's all." "The divorce can wait until my pregnancy is stable!" Her eyes actually reddened as she said this—she looked more reluctant to let go of this wrecked marriage than I did. Charles glanced at Nancy. That pitiful face, those wounded eyes. Like a needle pricking what little pride he had left—since when did Charles need someone pushing him toward divorce? "Silvia, you think I won't sign?" He suddenly laughed, picked up the pen from the table. He signed. Then slammed the pen down hard. "Everyone here—witness this. Once Nancy has the baby, we're remarrying." He stood, leaned close to my ear, his voice full of certainty: "You're the woman I clawed back from hell, Silvia. None of those people out there can compare to you." "This child will be yours to raise. Only you deserve to raise it. Understand?" So this was his version of "loving" me. I let out a soft laugh, grabbed the suitcase I'd already packed, and walked out the door. "Charles, Silvia—she's not actually leaving for good, is she?" Charles held the unlit cigarette in his mouth and didn't answer. In the original plan, we'd divorce but I'd stay in the house. I still had the right to live in this estate. My leaving clearly caught him off guard—but it wouldn't change the outcome. He glanced at Nancy. "Silvia's gone. You must be thrilled." Nancy pretended to be upset. "Don't joke around. My upbringing would never let me ruin someone else's marriage…" She lowered her head and rubbed her belly. "Everything is for the baby."