The Grave I Bought for Our Marriage

Prologue I had only been home for three months after recovering from a long illness when my husband, Ethan, asked me to raise his mistress's illegitimate child! He lied to me, claiming the baby’s parents were dead. But I had known for a long time that the real mother was his mistress, Miki. Since he was so convinced that I couldn't survive without him, I decided to keep playing the role of the devoted, loving wife. Behind his back, I quietly liquidated all my assets, preparing to vanish completely. I finally made up my mind to let him go. Yet, just as I was ready to leave, the clinic delivered a shock: I was pregnant. Ethan, if you knew I was carrying your child, would you ever regret pushing me away with your own hands? Clara's POV I spent years confined to hospital beds just to survive and return to my husband, Ethan. Only three months after coming home, Ethan sent me to his mistress's apartment to pick up some temporary guardianship paperwork for a newborn baby boy. It wasn't until the paper bag was handed to me that the ugly truth hit. Ethan wanted to use my name and status to give his mistress's baby a legal mother on paper. The woman who opened the door had just given birth. The hospital wristband was still on her wrist, and she held an infant in her arms. She glanced at me, didn't use my name, and simply smiled as she ushered me inside. "I’ve got everything packed and ready." The apartment smelled sweet with the scent of baby formula. Matching pairs of slippers sat neatly by the front door, and the nursery at the end of the hall glowed with warm, star-shaped fairy lights. It was styled exactly the way Ethan liked it. I recognized the decorative pieces on the counter, the designer scarf draped over the chair, and the delicate pastries on the table. Ethan had asked me to hand-deliver every single one of those items over the past few weeks. I had thought I was running errands to help my husband. In reality, I had been furnishing a cozy love nest for him and another woman, piece by piece. And now, he wanted me to bring this woman's baby into my own marriage. The young woman handed me the thick paper bag, her tone airy and carefree. "The baby will be moved to the Miller estate in a few days. The paperwork has already been prepared under Ms. Clara’s name. Mr. Miller said the boy needs a mother on paper first." I looked at the baby in her arms and didn't take the bag. Seeing my hesitation, she quickly explained, "The birth mother’s identity has to be kept secret for now. Mr. Miller’s wife is barren anyway, so it works out perfectly for her to raise my child for a while. Once this rough patch passes, Ethan is taking me and the baby away with him." Barren. Raise her child. In that single second, even the physical pain felt a beat behind. I thought I had fought so hard to return to a home, but Ethan was merely waiting for me to get back so I could finalize the last legal paperwork of his betrayal. Years ago, when Ethan hit rock bottom and lost everything, everyone abandoned him. I was the only one who grabbed a single suitcase and walked out of the Miller family estate with him. Later, when he reclaimed his empire, my body gave out. To stay alive and return to his side, I sold off everything I had ever hoped to keep for our future, enduring years of pain in hospital beds all alone. Back then, every bitter pill I swallowed felt like one step closer to him. Yet today, the man I nearly died trying to reach had already signed away our future to someone else. The one thing I couldn't bear was watching him have nothing. But once he had everything, I was the very first person he made disposable. "Are you okay?" The woman looked down, rocking the baby gently. "You look terrible." "I'm fine." I took the paper bag and even managed a faint smile. "Did Ethan leave any other instructions?" Growing bolder, she pointed casually at the unsubmitted guardianship form. "The mother's name is left blank for now. Just take it back to him; he knows what to write." That blank line was blindingly white. His mistress had Ethan’s heart. The child was getting my social standing. The only person completely erased from Ethan’s grand plan was me. I didn't reveal who I was. I slid the paperwork to the bottom of the bag. "Understood. I’ll make sure he gets it." When I walked out of the apartment, she was still cooing softly to her baby. The star lights spilled through the cracked door, casting a patch of soft, warm glow onto the floor. I had never asked Ethan for a room like that. I had never had the chance to hold a child of my own. Now, he had given everything I was denied to someone else, and then dumped that woman's child in front of me, expecting me to feel grateful that our home was finally complete. What stung even deeper was Ethan’s unshakeable certainty. He knew all too well how deeply I loved him, and he was so convinced that I would never walk away that he didn't even bother telling a convincing lie. Instead, he made me carry out every humiliation with my own hands. I used to mistake that familiarity for love. I thought that having someone who knew all my vulnerabilities meant he would shield me from every blow. But when that man stops valuing you, knowing you inside out just gives him the sharpest blade to twist in your heart. Downstairs, the driver asked where to go. I stayed silent for a long time before finally naming the address I had called "home" for so many years. As the car pulled into traffic, I called the broker who had always managed my private assets. "Sell off whatever jewelry and properties are still in my name. Do it as quickly as possible." He asked if I was in urgent need of cash. Looking down at the guardianship forms resting on my lap, I murmured, "Yes. I’m leaving." I didn't shed a tear, nor did I storm back to confront Ethan. Starting today, I would still leave the porch light on for him. I would still cook warm meals when he worked late, and I would continue playing the part of the pampered, clueless Mrs. Miller. I wanted Ethan to keep believing that I loved him so much I had no way out. He treated me like a safety net that would never disappear. Then I would let him lose that safety net completely—right when he felt the safest. This time, what I was taking away wasn't money, and it wasn't pride. It was myself.Clara's POV After coming back from that apartment, I caught the scent of Miki’s perfume on Ethan’s collar for the first time. Miki was the name of his mistress. The sweet fragrance clung to his shirt and mingled with his warm breath whenever he leaned in to hold me. Before, I only found the scent vaguely familiar. Now, every breath of it felt like someone whispering in my ear, reminding me that this man had just walked out of another woman's bed. Yet, Ethan was still tender to me. In the morning, he made oatmeal from scratch, sitting by the bed and feeding me spoonful by spoonful. "Does your stomach still hurt? Do you want me to take you to the clinic?" I shook my head. "No need." "You were sick for so many years, and your body still hasn't fully bounced back. Stop pushing yourself." When he said that, the concern in his eyes didn't even look fake. His kindness toward me was real. His betrayal was just as real. And that was the cruellest part. I had survived the darkest, most agonizing days of my illness clinging to those tiny details, treating his memory of my pill dosages and his awareness of my slightest wince as the reasons I had to stay alive. Ethan’s patience could be copied and pasted. His warm soup could be poured into two separate thermoses. Even his promises didn't need to be kept for just one person. I couldn't even give myself the clean relief of saying he didn't care about me at all. Because he would still panic when I was in pain, and then turn around and offer that exact same tenderness to another woman. Love mixed with lies is far more vicious than cold indifference; it poisons every precious memory until you doubt if any of it ever happened. Later that evening, Ethan simmered a pot of soup on the stove. As the savory aroma filled the apartment, his phone buzzed. He picked it up and stepped onto the balcony, but the sliding glass door didn't close all the way. I couldn't hear what Miki was saying on the other end, but I heard Ethan’s reply without a single trace of hesitation: "What does it matter even if she finds out? She almost died for me—she's so obsessed she'd never leave. Taking care of her now is just an obligation. You and the baby are the future I actually want." My desperate fight to stay alive had become, in his eyes, the undeniable proof that I could never walk away. Over a decade of devotion hadn't earned his respect. It had only bought his complete disregard whenever he chose to hurt me. Then, his voice softened into a gentle murmur: "If the baby's crying, just hold him for a bit. I’m heading over right now." He came back inside, clicked off the stove, and poured the entire pot of soup into an insulated container. "A sudden meeting came up at the office. Don't wait up for me tonight." I handed him his overcoat, reminding him gently like I had done a thousand times before, "Don't drink too much." Ethan kissed my forehead, picked up the soup, and walked out the door. Three days later, stepping out of the bank, I was caught in a freezing downpour. Not long after getting home, I developed a burning fever. When Ethan felt my scorching forehead, his brows knitted tightly together. In that brief instant, a pathetic spark of hope flickered inside me. I thought that, at least for tonight, he might stay. Right on cue, his phone rang. Ethan stepped onto the balcony, keeping his voice down to soothe the caller. "Her fever is really high, I can't leave right now. Try to put the baby to sleep first, and I’ll come by later." I closed my eyes, a miserable sense of relief washing over my heart. Yet barely two minutes later, Ethan rushed back into the room to grab his coat. "The baby won't stop crying over there. I have to make a quick run. Try to sleep, I’ll be back first thing in the morning." I stared at him for a long time before quietly whispering, "Drive safe." Once the front door clicked shut, the silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by my ragged, feverish breathing. Turns out, his sweet excuses weren't because he couldn't bear to leave me. It was simply because Miki hadn't pressed him hard enough yet. Ethan never felt torn between two women. Miki was the priority he would drop everything to run to, while I was just the background figure who was expected to stay put and wait for him, no matter how many times I was abandoned. I had endured years of brutal medical treatments, yet tonight, I couldn't even keep him by my side for two measly hours. Years ago, during a severe stomach flare-up, Ethan had stayed up all night in a cramped kitchen trying to learn how to cook for me. The old barista at the corner shop always kept a warm drink ready, smiling as he said, "Waiting for your husband to pick you up?" I had survived the most agonizing seasons of my life by clinging to those memories, believing that kind of devotion belonged solely to me. But the moment Ethan poured that very same soup for another woman, those memories were no longer my lifeline. That night, my fever broke, and with it, every last lingering trace of wishful thinking vanished. The next day, more jewelry was handed over to my broker, and my savings were transferred in batches into a secret, untraceable account. I remained sweet and docile, still asking him if he was tired whenever he walked through the door. Only the rising balance in that hidden account spoke the truth: with every zero added, I was one step further away from this man. His cold words, *she'd never leave*, still echoed in my ears. And I had already begun counting down the final days of our marriage.Clara's POV Two days later, Ethan brought Miki’s baby home in his own arms. He told me the child belonged to an old friend who had recently passed away, leaving both parents dead, and that he couldn't bear to see the orphan abandoned. As he spun this lie, he gently placed the swaddled infant into my arms, his face painted with tender sincerity. Looking down at the sleeping little face, I marveled at how someone could tell such a blatant lie while looking so deeply devoted. "Both of his parents are really gone?" I asked softly. "Really gone. He has no family left. Just think of him as our own child." *Our own.* Ethan used that phrase to disguise his ultimate betrayal as a thoughtful gift to me. He took my hand, continuing his soothing pitch: "You were sick for so many years for my sake, and it's almost impossible for you to have kids now. I don't want you to be lonely when we grow old. Once the legal paperwork is sorted out, we'll finalize the formal adoption. He'll be ours." I almost laughed out loud. He knew exactly why my body was ruined. He knew how desperately I had once dreamed of having a family with him. Yet here he was, tearing open my deepest wound just to pave a smooth path for his mistress's child. In that moment, holding a baby in my arms, my heart silently let go of every future I had ever imagined with him. The infant lightly curled his tiny fingers around mine in his sleep, and my heart softened despite myself. I didn't hate this innocent baby. In fact, because I couldn't bring myself to hate a child, it made Ethan's cruelty stand out even more glaringly. He was exploiting my soft-heartedness toward children, packaging his infidelity into a late-arriving happy ending—as if the more gently I accepted it, the more it proved his scheme was the right thing to do. "Is he just a month old?" I asked in a low voice. "Yeah, he came nearly a month earlier than expected, but the pediatrician said he's completely healthy." "Did he get a comprehensive check-up?" Ethan paused for a split second. "Miki—I mean, the clinic said everything routine was taken care of. He's still fragile, so we just need to take good care of him." I took mental note of that slip. The brief hesitation in his voice sparked my suspicions about the baby’s actual birth date and medical records. Clearly, Ethan hadn't looked into it thoroughly either. I didn't press the matter. Instead, I looked up with a small smile. "Alright. We can keep him." Ethan blinked, clearly caught off guard by how readily I agreed. "On one condition." "Name it." "On the family background declaration, write the birth mother as deceased. I’ll only sign a temporary guardianship form for now. Until the baby's exact background and origins are fully verified, I won't sign any permanent adoption papers." The tender look on Ethan’s face flickered. "Why does she have to be listed as deceased?" "Because a child can only have one mother," I said, looking straight into his eyes. "Since you claim you’re giving him to me, his birth mother can never show up again. Unless... you're planning on letting her come back anytime she wants to take the spot I kept warm for her?" I deliberately acted out just the right amount of jealousy. Relief washed over Ethan’s face, and he didn't question my doubts about the baby’s background any further. "Fine." Late that night, I overheard him on the balcony, placating Miki on the phone: "The boy is already inside the Miller house. The status and title you want will be yours eventually. Just be patient for a little while. Once this transition is over, I’ll give you the life you deserve." One woman was waiting for her title, while the other was playing nanny to his child. Ethan had calculated a neat arrangement for both women, but he never once bothered to ask if I consented. Standing in the dark hallway, my chest didn't hurt as sharply as I thought it would. When love begins to die, it doesn't always go out with screaming matches and shattered plates. Sometimes, you just suddenly realize that behind every single gentle word from that person lies a cold calculation to keep you obedient. From that day on, I genuinely learned how to care for the infant. I woke up in the middle of the night to mix formula, rocked him back and forth in my arms, and whenever his tiny hand gripped my finger, I would wonder for a fleeting second: if this were a child born of me and Ethan, would our lives have unfolded entirely differently? But the moment daylight broke, I pulled myself back to reality. This child was not a gift from fate; he was living proof of Ethan's betrayal. I could care for an innocent baby, but that didn't mean I would ever forgive the man who brought him to my doorstep. I finally learned to draw the line between kindness and endless submission, securing my final boundary before walking out of Ethan's life for good. The more gentle and obliging I acted, the less Ethan bothered to hide his calls from Miki. While tucking the blanket around the baby, I quietly calculated the days left until my departure. Two more weeks. That was all I needed to secure enough travel funds and living expenses for my new life.Clara's POV With two weeks left on my countdown, I received a text from an unknown number stating that the guardianship file was missing a signature, instructing me to come to an upscale downtown restaurant to sign it. I arrived on time, only to find Miki sitting across from the table. Clutching a luxury designer handbag that Ethan had bought, she greeted me with a smirk. "Ms. Clara, thank you so much for running my errands the other day." She had recognized me the second she opened the apartment door back then. I stared at her. "You knew who I was that day." "Of course I did." Her manicured fingers traced the golden clasp of the bag, her grin widening. "Ethan told me you nearly died for him, so even if you found out, you’d never have the guts to leave him." The very words I had overheard on the balcony were now being paraded in front of me by his mistress. Ethan didn't just take my sacrifices as a guarantee that I would never walk away—he handed that guarantee over to another woman as a punchline. I didn't take the bait, letting my gaze drift to the designer bag on the table. Ethan had told me it was a gift for an important corporate client. An "important client" was nothing more than an easy lie he spun for Miki. Seeing that I remained completely unfazed, Miki grew restless. "My son is already living in the Miller house. You’d better remember this clearly: he's only calling you 'Mom' for now." "If you're so reluctant to let him go," I said, meeting her eyes coolly, "why did you push him into my hands in the first place?" The smirk wiped right off Miki’s face. The waiter had just set down a pot of piping hot tea when she suddenly grabbed the handle and splashed the boiling liquid straight at me. The scalding tea soaked through my collar, searing against my skin. Before I could even stand up, Miki slammed the pot down and dialed Ethan on FaceTime. A second before the call connected, a triumphant sneer played on her lips; the moment the line clicked open, her voice dissolved into dramatic sobs. "Ethan, please come quickly! Someone is attacking me! Just because you’re not here, everyone thinks they can bully me!" A sudden, morbid curiosity gripped me. I wanted to see just how biased this man could truly be. Ethan arrived faster than I had anticipated. Bursting through the doors, he didn't spare a glance for anyone else, immediately pulling Miki into his arms. He murmured soft reassurances, asking if she was hurt, and only after ensuring she was fine did his face darken with fury. "Who dared touch you?" Miki raised a trembling finger, pointing directly at me while sobbing hysterically. "Her! She threw hot tea at me and hit me!" She never once spoke my name. And so, standing barely two feet away, Ethan looked straight at me with nothing but the ice-cold detachment reserved for a total stranger. I was wearing a face mask. The designer clothes and jewelry I once wore had long been sold off to cover medical expenses, and my body was so emaciated from years of illness that I was skin and bones. It turned out he had never truly recognized Clara; he only recognized the well-dressed Mrs. Miller who always waited obediently at home. The moment I stripped away that veneer of luxury, he couldn't even recognize me standing right before his eyes. Over those painful years, my face had hollowed out, my shoulders had grown fragile and thin, and the stylish outfits I once loved had been traded away one by one for life-saving medication. Ethan claimed to pity my poor health, yet he had never truly looked at the physical toll it took. He loved the version of his wife frozen in his memory—the one who would never change, never fight back, and never walk away. He didn't care about the Clara standing here today, worn down and unrecognizable from life’s cruel trials. If I opened my mouth, Ethan would instantly recognize my voice. But I refused to speak. I had no desire to use the title of "wife" to beg for his mercy, and I certainly had no interest in watching him calculate which woman was worth protecting once the mask came off. I stood up and, right in front of Ethan, slapped Miki across the face. Miki instantly buried her face in his chest, wailing, "Look! She's hitting me right in front of you!" Without asking for a single explanation, Ethan barked a cold order to the security guards behind him: "Drag her out. She is never allowed back into this building." When the guards grabbed my arms, I didn't make a sound. As I was dragged past Ethan, our sleeves brushed against each other. Yet he was busy leaning down to console Miki, not sparing me a second glance. Over a decade of shared history, and he couldn't even tell who I was. I was thrown out onto the curb outside the restaurant, the tea stains on my chest already turning freezing cold. Sitting on the concrete steps, I actually felt a strange sense of relief that he hadn't recognized me. At least from this moment on, I didn't have to be Mrs. Miller anymore. Instead of going home, I hailed a cab to the cemetery on the western edge of the city. Rows of headstones stood silently in the crisp wind. Here, no one demanded that another person wait forever, and no one took advantage of being loved to cruelly hurt someone else. I picked out a plot in the most secluded corner. It faced the sun, shaded by a lone tree whose leaves rustled softly in the breeze. I paid for it on the spot. In life, I never had a home that truly belonged to me. At least in death, I could have a small patch of earth that I would never have to surrender to anyone else. Buying this plot wasn't a sudden impulse to end my life. Quite the contrary: it was my way of carefully arranging my own final destination—without needing Ethan's permission, and without conforming to anyone else's expectations. Even a cold burial plot felt more like my own personal choice than that entire marriage ever did. The receipt bore my maiden name. I slipped it into my wallet next to the debit card for my new account, suddenly feeling as though my name finally belonged to me again. As I stepped out of the cemetery gates, a sudden wave of nausea hit me, forcing me to lean against a tree for support. I simply assumed my stomach was acting up because I hadn't eaten all day, so once the dizziness passed, I kept walking. Three days ago, I bought myself a grave. Three days later, two faint pink lines appeared on a pregnancy test strip. I was pregnant. A follow-up check at the clinic confirmed the early pregnancy, but the hormone levels were dangerously unstable. The doctor strictly ordered bed rest and told me to return in a week for another ultrasound. The news had come far too late, arriving just after I had made up my mind to leave—as if fate had suddenly handed back the one thing I wanted most in the world, mocking me and asking if I had the courage to believe again. Pressing the lab report against my chest as I walked out of the clinic, my plan to vanish wavered for a split second. Not because I wanted to stay with Ethan. I had just glimpsed another possibility: taking this baby to a new city where no one knew our names, renting a tiny apartment, and living a modest life where I would never have to wait up for anyone to come home. Leaving had originally just been an escape from Ethan, but this tiny life gave that unknown future a real, tangible shape. When Miki’s baby was brought into our house, I hadn't cried. Yet thinking of the fragile life growing inside my own body, I desperately wanted to ask Ethan just one question: If you had known sooner, would you have chosen me, just this once?