“Leave without taking anything?”

Trần Thụy’s voice cracked.

He stared at the divorce agreement as though the words might rearrange themselves if he looked long enough.

Then he suddenly laughed.

“Tống Dao, have you lost your mind?”

I remained silent.

He threw the document onto the bed.

“You think one video of me eating with another woman means you can take everything?”

My father slowly raised his eyes.

That single look was enough to make Trần Thụy’s voice weaken.

Lawyer Châu adjusted his glasses.

“Mr. Trần, perhaps you should finish reading the documents before raising your voice.”

“What documents?”

Mrs. Vương turned her laptop around.

The screen displayed dozens of transactions.

Trần Thụy’s face changed.

I watched him carefully.

Three days had been enough.

Not enough to repair my marriage.

Enough to discover how thoroughly I had been deceived.

When we married, my father had opposed it.

Not because Trần Thụy was poor.

The Tống family had never cared about that.

He opposed it because he believed Trần Thụy’s ambition was greater than his ability.

I had fought with my father for months.

Eventually, Dad gave in on one condition.

A prenuptial agreement.

At the time, Trần Thụy had signed it without hesitation.

He even held my hand afterward and said:

“Dao Dao, I married you because I love you. I don’t care about your family’s money.”

I believed him.

What neither Trần Thụy nor his mother knew was that almost everything they had enjoyed during our marriage had come from the Tống family.

The villa?

Mine.

The initial capital that saved Trần Thụy’s company three years ago?

Mine.

The luxury car he drove?

Purchased through a company registered under my name.

Even the connections that had allowed his business to enter several major distribution channels had been quietly arranged by my father after I begged him.

Trần Thụy believed he had built his life with his own hands.

In reality, my family had been holding the ladder.

And today, we were removing it.

Mrs. Vương tapped the screen.

“During the last eleven months, Mr. Trần transferred approximately 4.8 million yuan from company accounts into three separate entities.”

My mother-in-law jumped up.

“Nonsense!”

Mrs. Vương didn’t even look at her.

“Two of those companies are controlled by relatives of Miss Văn Lệ.”

Silence.

Trần Thụy stared at me.

“How did you get access to this?”

I almost smiled.

“That company was established using my capital.”

“You said the money was a wedding gift!”

“No. I said I would support your business.”

Lawyer Châu placed another document on the table.

“The ownership structure is very clear.”

Trần Thụy grabbed it.

The more he read, the paler he became.

His mother snatched several pages from his hand.

“What does this mean?”

“It means,” my father finally said, “your son has spent three years pretending to be rich using my daughter’s assets.”

Trương Mai’s face turned crimson.

“You!”

Dad didn’t even blink.

She pointed at me.

“Tống Dao married into our family! Whatever she brought became property of the Trần family!”

Lawyer Châu answered calmly.

“Legally, no.”

He opened the prenuptial agreement.

“The properties acquired by Miss Tống before marriage remain hers. Assets subsequently purchased using traceable separate funds remain subject to the provisions agreed upon by both parties.”

Then he tapped another section.

“And this clause concerns infidelity and deliberate concealment or transfer of marital assets.”

Trần Thụy looked at me.

“You investigated me?”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“I saw a video.”

“Then how—”

“I called my father.”

My father leaned back.

“I investigated you.”

For the first time, Trần Thụy seemed frightened.

Not angry.

Frightened.

“Dad…”

My father’s expression turned icy.

“Don’t call me that.”

Trần Thụy went silent.

I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Then my phone vibrated.

Lý Nguyệt had sent another message.

This time, it was a photograph.

Văn Lệ was standing downstairs.

Beside Trần Thụy’s car.

Carrying two suitcases.

I looked at the timestamp.

Ten minutes ago.

I showed the picture to him.

“Your guest has arrived.”

His eyes widened.

“What?”

The doorbell rang.

Nobody moved.

Then it rang again.

The maid looked at me.

I nodded.

“Open it.”

Văn Lệ entered wearing a cream dress and carrying an expensive handbag I recognized immediately.

I had bought it in Paris two years earlier.

It had disappeared from my closet six months ago.

Trần Thụy had told me I probably misplaced it.

Interesting.

Văn Lệ walked into the living room confidently.

“Brother Thụy, I—”

Then she saw everyone.

Her smile vanished.

Trần Thụy shot to his feet.

“Why are you here?”

She froze.

“You told me to come.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

My mother-in-law looked between them.

“What is going on?”

Văn Lệ’s face slowly turned red.

“You said after Dao Dao gave birth, you would handle everything.”

I laughed.

Everyone looked at me.

I couldn’t help it.

Three days after giving birth, exhausted, swollen, barely able to sleep for two consecutive hours…

And somehow I was still watching the cheapest drama imaginable.

Trần Thụy rushed toward her.

“Stop talking!”

Văn Lệ stepped backward.

“You said you would divorce her!”

“I said shut up!”

“And you said the house would be ours!”

My mother-in-law screamed.

“What?!”

That was the moment everything truly collapsed.

Văn Lệ started crying.

Trương Mai started shouting.

Trần Thụy tried to silence both.

My baby woke upstairs and began crying.

Immediately, everything else stopped mattering.

I turned toward the stairs.

Trần Thụy grabbed my arm.

“Dao Dao.”

I looked down at his hand.

“Let go.”

Perhaps something in my expression frightened him.

He released me immediately.

“Don’t divorce me.”

There it was.

Not an apology.

Not yet.

Fear first.

“Tống Dao, listen. Văn Lệ and I… it isn’t what you think.”

I looked at her suitcases.

Then at my missing handbag.

“What should I think?”

He swallowed.

“I was confused.”

“For how long?”

Silence.

“Three months?”

Nothing.

“Six?”

His eyes moved away.

Văn Lệ suddenly said:

“Almost a year.”

The room went dead.

Almost a year.

So while I was pregnant with his child…

He had spent almost the entire pregnancy with her.

Something inside me hurt.

For the first time since seeing the video, it genuinely hurt.

I had imagined myself numb.

Apparently, there were still places left to break.

My father stood.

“Dao Dao.”

I raised my hand.

“I’m fine.”

He knew I wasn’t.

But he respected the lie.

I looked at Trần Thụy.

“Sign.”

His face twisted.

“No.”

“Then we’ll go to court.”

“No!”

His sudden shout made the baby cry louder upstairs.

My expression instantly hardened.

“Lower your voice.”

He stopped.

I walked toward him.

“You disappeared during the first three days after I gave birth.”

His lips trembled.

“I—”

“You left me bleeding, exhausted and barely able to stand while you fed another woman food you wouldn’t even allow your pregnant wife to eat.”

“I can explain.”

“No explanation changes what happened.”

He reached for me again.

This time my father stepped between us.

Trần Thụy stopped immediately.

I said:

“Sign today, and everything proceeds according to the agreement.”

“And if I don’t?”

Lawyer Châu answered for me.

“We file for divorce, request preservation of relevant assets, submit evidence concerning the transfers, and pursue every financial claim available to our client.”

Trần Thụy stared at him.

Then at the documents.

Then at me.

His shoulders slowly collapsed.

His mother suddenly grabbed my hand.

“Dao Dao!”

Her transformation was almost miraculous.

The woman who had criticized everything from the way I cooked soup to how much weight I gained during pregnancy was suddenly looking at me like her favorite daughter.

“Marriage isn’t easy. Men make mistakes!”

I gently removed her hand.

“You spent months telling me Văn Lệ was considerate.”

Her face stiffened.

“You said she understood men better.”

“I was only angry—”

“You said your son would have been happier marrying a woman like her.”

Trương Mai opened her mouth.

I pointed toward Văn Lệ.

“There she is.”

Văn Lệ’s expression changed.

“You can have exactly the daughter-in-law you wanted.”

“M-me?”

Trương Mai looked horrified.

“I never meant—”

“But there’s one problem.”

I glanced around the villa.

“This house isn’t included.”

Her face went blank.

I continued:

“The car isn’t included either.”

Trần Thụy closed his eyes.

“And neither is the company capital my family provided.”

My mother-in-law suddenly understood what divorce actually meant.

Not losing the daughter-in-law she disliked.

Losing the lifestyle attached to her.

She sat down heavily.

Trần Thụy signed forty minutes later.

His hand shook so badly that the first signature was barely recognizable.

When it was done, Lawyer Châu collected the papers.

I went upstairs.

My son was still crying.

I picked him up.

The moment his cheek touched my chest, his cries softened.

“Mommy’s here.”

I kissed his forehead.

Behind me came footsteps.

Trần Thụy.

He stopped at the doorway.

“Can I hold him?”

I looked at my son.

Then at his father.

“No.”

His face crumpled.

“He’s my son too.”

“And you will have whatever access is established appropriately after the divorce.”

“Dao Dao…”

“You chose where you wanted to be during his first three days of life.”

He had no answer.

I closed the door.

Two months later, the divorce was finalized.

Trần Thụy lost far more than he expected.

Not because I took revenge.

Because much of what he thought belonged to him never had.

Văn Lệ left him before the divorce proceedings were even complete.

Apparently, love became less romantic when the luxury car disappeared and creditors started calling.

Trương Mai contacted me constantly.

First she insulted me.

Then she threatened me.

Then she begged.

Eventually, I blocked her.

Trần Thụy tried a different approach.

Flowers.

Letters.

Apologies.

He stood outside my father’s house one rainy evening for nearly four hours.

I never went downstairs.

Six months later, I returned to work.

My father offered me a position in the family company.

For the first time in years, I accepted.

Not because I needed rescuing.

Because I finally stopped pretending that making myself smaller was proof of love.

One afternoon, while leaving the office, I saw Trần Thụy across the street.

He looked thinner.

Older.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then his gaze dropped toward the little boy sleeping in my arms.

His eyes reddened.

“Dao Dao.”

I waited.

“I regret it.”

I believed him.

That was the saddest part.

He probably did.

But regret was not a time machine.

It couldn’t return the nights I had spent alone.

It couldn’t erase a year of betrayal.

And it couldn’t put him beside my hospital bed during the first days of our son’s life.

“I know,” I said.

His eyes brightened with desperate hope.

“Then maybe…”

“No.”

One word.

That was all.

I adjusted the blanket around my son.

“Regretting what you did doesn’t obligate me to give you another opportunity to do it.”

He stood completely still.

I walked away.

That evening, I took my son home.

My father was arguing with the cook about whether babies could understand classical music.

My mother had purchased another ridiculous pile of clothes he would outgrow in weeks.

Lý Nguyệt arrived carrying barbecue skewers.

She lifted one dramatically.

“For you.”

I stared at it.

Then laughed.

During my pregnancy, one skewer of roast meat had somehow become a symbol of everything I wasn’t allowed to have.

Now I took it from her hand and ate the first bite while it was still hot.

It tasted ordinary.

That surprised me.

For months, I had imagined it would taste like freedom.

But freedom didn’t taste like roast meat.

It was waking up without wondering where my husband had spent the night.

It was holding my son without listening to someone tell me I should tolerate betrayal for the sake of a complete family.

It was having money I didn’t need to hide, choices I didn’t need permission to make, and parents I no longer pushed away to protect a marriage that had never protected me.

On the first day after giving birth, Trần Thụy told me he needed air.

So he walked out.

Months later, I finally understood that I had needed air too.

The difference was that when I finally opened the door and stepped outside…

I never needed to go back.