My wife has severe germophobia.
In three years of marriage, we always ate separately.
Then one day, I saw her assistant brazenly drinking from her cup.
I thought my wife would fly into a rage and smash the cup, just as she had done to me countless times before.
But she didn't.
She simply picked it up calmly, took a small sip, and even smiled as she said something. Her young assistant responded with an affectionate look.
The two of them seemed so comfortable together that I felt like the outsider.
In that moment, I suddenly understood that our seemingly happy marriage had reached its end.
I didn't cry or make a scene. I quietly gathered evidence and prepared to divide our assets.
Then, on the day we divorced, my wife's eyes reddened as she gritted her teeth and demanded,
"Jin Nian, was there ever even one moment when you truly loved me?"
With my sweet, charming companion in my arms, I curled my lips into a mocking smile:
"You're just a soiled woman. What could matter more than money?"
