Our Marriage Was Kept Secret, While She Documented Her Love For Another Man

1 Rachel insisted on keeping our marriage hidden from the world. She made me delete our wedding photo captioned "To the rest of our lives," calling it childish. On our third anniversary, I stood in a freezing parking garage for three hours with her favorite flowers after she walked away from her office entrance, texting that I'd humiliate her in front of employees. I convinced myself she was just shy and reserved, that I should be more understanding. Then last week, her old phone lit up. A notification read "1,500 days together" with a photo of her and Dylan, the underprivileged student she'd sponsored through college, cheek to cheek at Disneyland. I had used my own connections to get Dylan a corporate job. At his welcome dinner, he'd raised a glass and called me "big bro." Scrolling through her secret account, I found four years of daily posts about him. Their first hot pot, first snowfall, first ferris wheel. Every caption dripped with a giddy sweetness she had never once shown me. Blood rushed from my head. I powered off the phone and placed it back in the drawer. If she didn't want the world to see me, then I no longer wanted her to see me either. … That night, I sat on the floor of the study until dawn, scrolling through her alt account over and over again. On Valentine's Day this year, I had booked a table at a Michelin-starred restaurant six months in advance. But at the last minute, Rachel texted me saying she had an urgent emergency at work and told me not to wait up. I ended up giving the reservation to another couple, sitting in my cold kitchen eating instant noodles while texting her: "Don't push yourself too hard at work, babe. If it ever gets too exhausting, I can support us both." She never replied. Yet on her secret account posted that exact same night, she was leaning head on Dylan's arm. Her caption read: [Our fourth Valentine's Day together. Thank you for making me believe in love.] Below it, Dylan had commented: [You don't just believe in love. You are my love.] The next morning, Rachel walked out of the master bedroom in her silk robe. Seeing me sitting on the couch with dark circles under my eyes, her brow furrowed immediately. Her first words were not of concern. "Why are you still sitting there? Is breakfast ready?" I nodded silently, pointing toward the dining table. She hummed a response, sitting down to eat while staring intently at her phone. Her fingers flew across the screen, and the corners of her mouth curved into a soft, tender arc. I knew that smile all too well. Whenever she was texting on her phone, that gentle expression would invariably appear. In the past, I would have asked her what good news had put her in such a wonderful mood. And she would inevitably brush me off with a cold, "It's nothing." This time, I finally knew who she was talking to. And I no longer cared to ask. At ten in the morning, a priority notification chimed on my phone. Rachel had made a public post on her main account: [Grateful for the company's trust. Today, I am officially promoted to General Manager of Marketing at Apex Group!] The comment section was flooded with congratulations from her professional circle. I typed two simple words in the comments: [Congratulations!] Three minutes later, my phone rang. The second I picked up, Rachel's sharp voice blasted through the speaker. "Did you comment on my post again?" "How many times have I told you not to mix our personal relationship with my career? My executives and clients can see that!" I went quiet for three seconds before speaking in a flat tone. "I already deleted it." Noticing the unusual coldness in my voice, her tone softened just a fraction. "Don't do it again. I just got promoted, and I need to maintain my professional image. Can't you just be reasonable for once?" After hanging up, I scrolled through an official press release published by Apex Group. [Apex Group Lands Multi-Million Dollar Contract with Ellington Enterprises; Marketing GM Rachel Plays Key Role] The cover photo featured her standing at the signing ceremony, sharp, gorgeous, and glowing with confidence. The article lavished five thousand words of praise on her brilliance and tactical leadership, even extending thanks to the company's internal logistics team. There was not a single word mentioning me. Yet the only reason that contract was signed was because of me. Three months ago, Mr. Ellington had slammed the initial proposal back onto the table, declaring that Apex Group's work was complete garbage. Rachel had been so frantic with stress that cold sores broke out around her mouth. It was me who mobilized six years of hard-won industry connections, calling in every favor I was owed. Mr. Ellington didn't care about proposals; he cared about drinking. I accompanied him to high-end lounges three nights in a row, drinking until the early hours of the morning. On the third night, I suffered acute stomach bleeding and was rushed to the emergency room by my colleagues. I spent two days alone in the hospital hooked up to an IV drip. Rachel came to visit me once for forty minutes. During that visit, she took eight business calls. As she left, she merely said, "I won't be home for dinner tonight." I stared at that press release for a long time. Then, I dialed the personal number of my company's Vice President, Vernon. "Vernon, about that long-term transfer to the London branch... I'll take it." Vernon gasped over the line, completely stunned. "Are you serious? A few years ago during your peak, the board asked for you three times, and you refused every single time because you said you couldn't bear to leave your wife." I let out a soft laugh. "Yeah. I've thought it through now." That afternoon, an invitation arrived in my inbox from Apex Group. [Dear Family Member of Rachel: You are cordially invited to attend Apex Group's Annual Celebration Gala tonight!] A faint glimmer of hope flickered in my heart. Maybe Rachel did care after all. I was her lawful husband, and for a major corporate event like this, it made sense that she wanted me by her side. I took half a day off work, put on the tailored navy suit Rachel had bought me years ago, and adjusted my tie in the mirror before heading out. By the time I arrived, the grand ballroom was already packed with guests. I flipped through the guest directory at the VIP sign-in desk, but my name was nowhere to be found. I asked the receptionist. She scanned her computer screen, then looked up at me with a polite, confused smile. "Ms. Rachel only registered one family member under her name, a Mr. Dylan. May I ask who you are?" Before I could answer, a few female voices chuckled behind me. "Oh, look who it is!" It was a few women from Rachel's marketing department whom I had seen from a distance before. "I'm Rachel's husband," I said calmly. The women exchanged amused glances, one of them covering her mouth to hide a smirk. "Oh, right! Rachel mentions you all the time, saying you make fantastic home-cooked meals." Another woman chimed in, her voice pitched just loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear. "Honestly, I thought Rachel was single. I've never seen her bring her husband to anything. She always brings young Dylan to every event, so I thought those two were..." Before she could finish her sentence, her friends nudged her, and they walked off giggling. I stood at the entrance, leaving the sign-in sheet blank. Beside the label reading Family of Rachel, Dylan's signature was already neatly written. I walked into the dimly lit ballroom and found an empty chair in the very back row. The stage lights brightened. Rachel stepped up to the podium wearing a stunning black evening gown, looking sleek and commanding. Thunderous applause erupted throughout the room. She began her speech. "I want to thank my incredible team, especially Dylan. From his days as an intern to now, he has been my most trusted partner. Without him, today's achievement would not have been possible." A spotlight swept across the audience, settling on Dylan. Dressed in a sharp suit, he stood up and bowed gracefully toward the stage. The look in Rachel's eyes as she gazed down at him was one I knew intimately. It was filled with pride, affection, and that subtle upward curve of her lips, the exact same expression she had while typing into her old phone. Another round of applause filled the room. Sitting in the darkest corner of the back row, my mind drifted back to three months ago, lying in the ER, holding up my own IV bottle with one hand while sending her a text: Ellington agreed to the deal. Don't worry anymore. Her reply back then had been a single word: K. Halfway through the dinner, I stepped out to use the restroom. Passing by the secluded hallway near the balcony, I heard Rachel's voice. She was talking to her close friend, Samantha. Samantha asked her, "Did your husband come tonight? Why didn't you bring him to an event like this?" Rachel paused briefly. "Why would he come? He doesn't fit into occasions like this anyway. If he came, he'd just sit in a corner awkwardly." Samantha countered, "He's your husband after all. He helped you secure that massive contract. What's wrong with introducing him around?" Rachel lowered her voice, a slight edge of disdain creeping into her tone. "Sam, you know as well as I do that he isn't someone I can show off. The major clients and corporate partners are all here tonight. If I introduce him and they ask what he does, what am I supposed to say? That tiny little firm of his isn't even worth mentioning!" Samantha let out a light laugh. "It's not that bad, is it? He seems to be doing decent for himself." "Doing decent and being presentable are two completely different things," Rachel replied casually, as if talking about an irrelevant piece of furniture. "Do you have any idea how presentable Dylan is? Not only is he handsome, but he's also sharp and charming. He's entirely different from my man." I leaned back against the cold wall, feeling an overwhelming tightness in my chest. It wasn't sharp pain, but a suffocating weight. You break your back trying to give someone dignity, only for them to feel embarrassed by your very existence in front of the world. When we got married, I was indeed broke. The wedding and expenses totaled nearly three hundred thousand dollars. I maxed out three credit cards and borrowed from every friend I knew to pull it off. Back then, she had held my hand and said, "I'm marrying you for who you are, not your money." I believed her for four years. After marriage, I worked myself to the bone. By the second year, I had cleared every single debt. Aside from taking full responsibility for our mortgage and car loans, I transferred two thousand dollars to her parents every single month without fail. I genuinely thought she didn't care about material status. In the end, she still looked down on me for being poor. Not because of where I stood today, but because in her heart, I would forever remain that broke kid who couldn't even afford a proper wedding. I didn't return to the gala. Instead, I walked down to the parking garage, got into my car, and sat silently in the dark. My phone vibrated with a new notification. It was an email from my company containing my flight details. My flight to London was scheduled for next Monday. Six days from now. I didn't know what time Rachel came home that night, but she stayed in the study for a long time before coming to bed. Early the next morning, Rachel shook me awake. "Derek, hurry up and pack your things." Every Sunday, going back to my in-laws' house for lunch was an unwritten rule of our four-year marriage. This Sunday was no exception. I carried armfuls of expensive gift boxes through their front door and greeted them respectfully. "Dad, Mom, we're back." My father-in-law sat on the couch reading the morning paper, not even bothering to lift his eyelids. "Mm." My mother-in-law poked her head out of the kitchen. "Derek, come in here and wash the vegetables." "Sure." I immediately walked into the kitchen. My mother-in-law dumped a basket of greens into the sink and wiped her hands against her apron. "Derek, how many employees do you have at that company of yours now?" I washed the leaves under running water and replied, "About twenty-five. Our revenue doubled this year." "Mm," my mother-in-law replied indifferently. "Small-time operations, as long as you can feed yourself. Rachel is climbing higher and higher in her corporate career, so you need to step up your game too. Don't be the dead weight dragging her down from behind." I kept my head down and didn't respond. "Alright, get to chopping. There are eight dishes today. Make sure to add extra vinegar to the sweet and sour pork, Rachel likes it tangy." She turned and left the kitchen. I stayed in the kitchen alone, washing, chopping, prepping, and cooking. From ten in the morning until nearly one in the afternoon, not a single person stepped inside to check on me. When I finally carried the last dish out to the dining room, I froze in my tracks. An extra person had arrived in the living room. "Hey, bro!" Dylan was sitting comfortably on the couch, laughing brightly as he helped my father-in-law set up a brand-new tablet. I didn't reply. Seeing me stand frozen with the dish in my hands, my mother-in-law smiled warmly. "Oh right, Dylan dropped by for lunch today. I forgot to mention it to you." She then turned to Dylan with a beaming smile. "Dylan, try this sweet and sour pork. Derek made it, his cooking is actually quite good." Dylan picked up a piece with his chopsticks, his eyes lighting up. "Delicious! Bro, your cooking is incredible." He flashed a boyish grin at me. "Rachel always tells me how amazing your food is." Rachel gave him a light glare from the side. "Who are you calling Rachel? Stop pretending to be so formal!" Dylan stuck his tongue out playfully. "Well, bro is right here..." My father-in-law laid down his newspaper and chimed in, "Dylan, Rachel told me about your stellar performance at work recently. Keep up the good work!" He then shifted his gaze toward me, his tone dropping into a starkly different, stern register. "Is your little company still operating out of that run-down office space?" I nodded slightly. My father-in-law let out a heavy sigh. "You're not getting any younger. Stop wasting your time on those dead-end ventures." My mother-in-law quickly added, "Exactly. Look at Dylan here, such a wonderful boy. He knows how to be grateful and comes to visit us every week." She cast a dismissive glance in my direction. "Unlike some people, who run around pretending to be busy all day without anything to show for it." A heavy silence fell over the dining table for a couple of seconds before my father-in-law spoke up again. "Derek, don't blame us for being brutally honest." "When Rachel insisted on marrying you back then, we knew it wasn't a good match." "It's not that we look down on you, but the gap between you two is simply too wide." He glanced at Dylan, then back at me. "Look at Dylan. Even though he came from a poor background, he has ambition, real drive, and talent. In the future, he'll definitely be worthy of..." He cut himself off mid-sentence. But everyone at the table knew exactly what he was about to say. Rachel let out two artificial coughs to break the tension. "Let's just eat." For the rest of the meal, I didn't say another word, nor could I find a way into their conversation. Once lunch was finished, Rachel looked up and said to me coolly, "You go home first. Dylan and I are staying to watch a movie with my parents." I nodded silently, put on my jacket, and walked out the door. The moment I stepped out of the apartment building, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my lawyer: [Draft a divorce agreement for me. As fast as humanly possible.] By Thursday evening, I returned home early to gather the final confirmation documents for the London project. As I unlocked the front door, I caught the sound of Rachel's voice coming from the master bedroom. She was on the phone, her voice hushed to a whisper. "Mom, I know... I'm going to the clinic tomorrow to confirm it." "Don't tell anyone yet. I haven't figured out how to break it to him... This baby came out of nowhere, I'm completely overwhelmed myself." I stood in the entryway, my hand frozen on the doorknob. My heart slammed against my ribs. A baby. We were going to have a child. I was going to be a father. In that split second, a barrage of thoughts flooded my mind. Maybe everything could go back to the way it used to be. Maybe a child would soften her heart and change her. We could go to prenatal checkups together and design the nursery side by side. Maybe I could even reconsider the London transfer... The very next sentence out of her mouth plunged me straight into a pit of ice. "Dylan doesn't know I'm carrying his baby yet." "I know. I'll handle Derek on my end. Don't worry, Mom, I know what I'm doing." I stood rooted to the spot, entirely motionless. It felt as though someone had drained every drop of warm blood from my body and replaced it with freezing slush. The baby belonged to Dylan. A few seconds after hanging up with her mother, I heard Rachel dial another number. This time, her voice transformed completely. It was filled with a soft, coquettish sweetness that I had never once heard in our four years together. "Dylan, I have incredible news for you." "I'm pregnant. It's yours." The person on the other end said something, making her giggle softly. "I'm going to file for divorce with Derek, don't worry." "Once the paperwork goes through, we can finally be together in the open." However, no matching joy came from the speaker. Dylan remained silent for a painfully long moment. "You're... pregnant?" Rachel's tone shifted instantly, laced with anxiety. "What's wrong? Aren't you happy?" Dylan finally spoke, his voice sounding entirely detached. "I'm only twenty-six. I'm still young, Rachel. I don't want to be trapped by a child and a marriage right now." Rachel's voice turned instantly cold. "What do you mean by that? Are you saying you won't take responsibility?" Dylan launched into a long explanation. Separated by the heavy bedroom door, I couldn't hear every detail, but I could hear Rachel's breathing grow heavier and heavier, eventually turning into suppressed sobs. Then, I heard Dylan's final proposal. His idea was simple: let Derek raise the child for now, and when the timing was right in the future, he would step in and take over. The bedroom fell into a suffocating silence for so long that I thought she had hung up the phone. Finally, Rachel spoke, her voice raspy and broken. "...Fine. That's the only way." At that exact moment, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Rachel. [Babe, come home early tonight. I have something really important to tell you.] [I have a big surprise for you!] She had even attached a red heart emoji at the end of the message. Standing in the entryway, a wave of dark absurdity washed over me. My wife was pregnant with another man's child. That man rejected her. So she turned right back around to force me to take the fall. And she called that a surprise. I stared at that little red heart emoji for a long time. In four years of marriage, this was the very first time she had ever sent me a heart emoji. Only because another man didn't want her anymore. I typed out a single line in response: [Great. I've prepared a surprise for you, too.] After pressing send, I messaged my executive assistant, instructing him to rebook my Monday flight to London to the earliest available flight today. Then, I grabbed my pre-packed suitcase, walked out, and pulled the door shut behind me. At seven in the evening, Rachel walked through the front door carrying bags of groceries, calling out with a forced smile. "Babe! I'm back! I have something to tell you!" "I'm preg..." Her voice sliced off instantly. The apartment was deathly quiet and completely empty. On the dining table sat a single set of keys and a copy of the divorce agreement.