The Husband She Betrayed, the Life She Lost

No one understood why I would marry a blind woman. But the woman I knew was kind, innocent, and pure. For three years of marriage, I took care of her in every possible way—from her meals and clothes to her daily life. Yet on our anniversary, when I came home excitedly carrying a cake, the woman who had suddenly regained her sight looked at me with disgust. “How could something this cheap possibly be good enough for me?” I stared at the familiar face on the television. Her makeup was flawless, and her smile was perfectly practiced. Everything looked exactly as I remembered it. Everything except her eyes. Three years ago, I met Claire Hart for the first time. It had been pouring that day. I was walking down the narrow street I always took home when I noticed a huddled figure in the corner. At first, I thought it was a homeless person. But when I got closer, I realized it was a thin young woman. She was curled up tightly, shivering beneath the curtain of rain. Without thinking, I raised my umbrella over her head. Then I met her beautiful, fragile, empty eyes. How could I describe them? She looked like a white rose crushed beneath frost and wind—pure and harmless, yet so heartbreaking that I couldn’t help wanting to protect her. “Are you okay? Do you need help?” I asked carefully. The girl stared blankly at my shoulder, then tears began sliding down her cheeks. “Are you a bad person? Can you hold me?” “I don’t know what to do… Please save me… I can’t see.” Her hand closed around my sleeve. She leaned against my shoulder like a helpless little deer. That was how I brought the blind girl home. After that, everything happened naturally. Neither of us rejected the other. We never fought. Every day was sweet and peaceful. I took care of every part of her life. I couldn’t bear to let her do even the smallest chore or suffer the slightest bit of hardship. I devoted all my time and energy to her. Then we got married. During the three years we were together, I could swear on my life that I had never wronged her. I gave her the best of everything and cared for her as carefully as I could. Had Claire changed all of a sudden? It seemed that way. On the television, she was dressed in designer clothes, glamorous and breathtaking. A sensational headline covered half the screen: “Rising Star Steps Away at the Height of Her Career—Returns Three Years Later.” “Claire Hart Makes Her First Screen Appearance After Three Years of Blindness.” I didn’t need Claire to explain anything. After seeing those entertainment headlines, I had already figured out most of the truth. Three years ago, Claire had debuted as a newcomer and immediately won Best New Artist. It should have been a happy beginning. But she had no fanbase and no powerful connections, so she quickly became a target. The entertainment industry had been especially cutthroat back then. Everyone was fighting desperately for a chance to establish themselves. Claire’s eyes might have been injured by someone else. Only she knew that the damage hadn’t been serious. With six months to a year of recovery, she would have returned to normal. But during that blank period, she would have been vulnerable to sabotage. Since she couldn’t work, she had also accumulated enormous breach-of-contract penalties. So she came up with a plan to retire, get married, and disappear from the public eye. Maybe she had targeted me from the first day we met. I was a homebody with a simple life. I didn’t follow the entertainment industry and knew nothing about actresses. That made me the perfect pawn. I had no parents and barely any friends. She knew I was the ideal candidate. I cared for her and protected her. I helped her pass through her recovery period safely and peacefully. I also helped her survive the dangerous period when her rivals were watching her every move. And when she regained her sight and decided to return to show business, the first person she cut loose was the husband who had cared for her for three years. That day was our third wedding anniversary. I came home excitedly with a cake, planning to surprise her. But Claire, sitting at the table, looked completely different from usual. Her arms were crossed, and her chin was raised arrogantly. Her eyes were no longer empty and unfocused. They were full of disgust. I noticed nothing unusual. I happily told her, “Claire, today is our anniversary. Look, I bought a cake from your favorite bakery…” Claire ignored me. She scanned me from head to toe with contempt, then said coldly, “What kind of cheap trash is this? How could it possibly be good enough for me?” Her words pinned me in place. For a long time, I stood there in confusion, completely at a loss.Three years of devoted care should have warmed even a stone. If she had only used me but was willing to explain herself properly, I would have let the past go. I would have loved and trusted her again. But I couldn’t understand the sudden appearance of her childhood friend and on-screen partner, Ethan Cole. When all of this crushed me and I had no idea what to do, I even made an anonymous post asking strangers online for advice. Most people thought I was making up a story to attract attention. Some left comments trying to persuade me: “You married a celebrity and you’re still not satisfied? People in show business are messy. Just put up with it.” “Celebrities pretend to be couples all the time. You’re her legal husband, so be more open-minded.” “Don’t leave her! That would mean helping them get what they want!” “You have to believe she still loves you. You’re the one with the legal title. That pretty boy doesn’t have a name or status.” I stared at the comments and could only laugh bitterly. Was I supposed to be grateful? Maybe. Was having a legal marriage certificate enough? Perhaps. But I didn’t want a marriage with no love left in it—only lies and disappointment. I looked at the divorce agreement in front of me and finally made up my mind. Night had fallen over the city. The noise outside had gradually faded, leaving only the occasional sound of a car in the distance. I stood alone by the window, staring at the neon lights scattered across the dark sky. My emotions were tangled beyond description. Then the lock turned softly. A breeze carrying the mixed scent of alcohol and perfume brushed across my face. Claire was home. She stumbled through the door, clearly drunk. Her elegant dress shimmered beneath the lights, but it couldn’t hide her slightly disheveled hair or flushed cheeks. Ethan followed her inside. He was the handsome, popular entertainer who had been spending nearly every day with Claire lately, acting like they were deeply in love. He supported her gently, his eyes filled with concern and reluctance to let her go. “Alex, Claire had too much to drink, so I brought her home.” Ethan’s voice was warm and polite, as though he were reporting something ordinary to an old friend. But I could see the calculation and smugness in his eyes. Claire didn’t seem to notice my strange expression. She walked straight to the couch and collapsed onto it without a care, just as she always did, waiting for me to serve her. But this time, I didn’t immediately rush to help. I stayed where I was, coldly watching the subtle, complicated interaction between her and Ethan. “Alex, why haven’t you made my pasta yet?”Claire loved pasta, so I always prepared different kinds for her. Her voice held a hint of reprimand. But to me, it sounded as though I were her servant, expected to wait on her every moment of every day. When I didn’t answer, Claire began to lose her temper. “What are you doing? You’re just an ordinary employee. Do you have any idea how many people would love to take care of me? Do you really think you’re good enough? And you still aren’t satisfied?” “You should get over here, kneel down, take off my shoes, and make me some soup!” “You had a great time today, didn’t you?” I ignored her questions and deliberately turned my attention to Ethan, wanting to see how she would react. Sure enough, a flicker of barely concealed shyness crossed her face. Then she said openly, “Yes. The party was fun. Everyone welcomed me back, and Ethan is so good at making people happy.” “Do you think he’s better than me?” I finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. I asked the question that had been circling in my mind for so long. I didn’t believe that everything during those three years had been nothing but manipulation. Claire froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to ask so directly. After a moment of silence, she frowned. “What do you mean, Alex? Ethan and I have been close since the beginning of my career. We grew up together. How could the two of you even be compared?” “He’s a public figure, just like me. You’re only a nobody. You don’t belong on the same stage. If you insist on comparing yourself to him, you’re just humiliating yourself.” My heart sank. It felt as though something heavy had struck me, leaving me unable to breathe. After everything I had done for her, all I received was a declaration that we were incomparable. Something between us had disappeared. Maybe it was the trust we once gave each other without hesitation. Maybe it was the courage to sacrifice everything for one another. I didn’t say anything else. I silently turned and walked into the kitchen. Let me make her pasta one last time. I opened the refrigerator and began preparing the ingredients. The process was familiar and automatic, like gathering fragments from my memories and piecing together everything we had once shared. Tears slipped down my face without warning. They fell into the steaming pasta, adding a faint, undetectable saltiness. Then Ethan walked into the kitchen. He was wearing an expensive new suit and carrying the refined scent of designer cologne. Yet he deliberately acted casual and carefree. “Well, look at Chef Alex,” he said mockingly. “Making Claire another bowl of your special comfort food. Tell me, do you think she actually likes it?” I didn’t answer. I stayed focused on what I was doing. But Ethan refused to stop.He began pacing around the kitchen, inspecting every corner as if he were determined to find something wrong. He ran his fingers over the cabinets and dishes, desperately searching for some flaw. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find anything to criticize. His brows drew together. He stomped his foot, then abandoned even the pretense of finding evidence and simply began attacking me out loud. “Why is this floor so dirty? And this pot—how long have you been using it? Shouldn’t you replace it?” As he spoke, he deliberately struck the rim of the pot, creating an unpleasant metallic clang. “And this soup looks so greasy. No wonder everyone says Claire has gained weight since her comeback. It’s because your cooking is so oily.” “Poor Claire. She’s a major star, yet she has to live this kind of miserable life with you.” I remained silent. Ethan’s behavior was clearly meant to test my limits, but strangely, I felt calm. Claire staggered into the kitchen. When she saw Ethan causing trouble, her brows tightened slightly. But she quickly returned to her usual expression. “Ethan, what are you doing in the kitchen?” she asked softly. Her voice was full of indulgence and patience. Ethan immediately changed his expression. He walked over to Claire, took her hand tightly, and began telling her about his “grievances.” “Claire, I just couldn’t stand by and watch anymore, so I wanted to help Alex clean up the kitchen.” “But you just drank, and you’re trying to manage your weight. Look at this pasta—it’s so high in fat and salt. I couldn’t bear to let you eat it.” As he spoke, he deliberately made himself look heartbroken. Claire gazed at him with a patience and tenderness I had never seen from her. “Ethan, thank goodness I have you. My Ethan is such a thoughtful sweetheart!” Then she turned toward me. There wasn’t a trace of emotion in my eyes. I continued working mechanically. Claire’s temper flared even more. “Alex! What are you trying to pull now? Acting like you don’t care and pretending to be so mature? Your dead expression is miserable to look at!” “You’re not even close to Ethan! He and I share the same goals, and he’s considerate and thoughtful. All you do is make me angry.” The pasta was ready. I carried the bowl out without listening to another word from behind me and slowly walked toward the living room. Then I returned to the bedroom and gently shut the door, cutting myself off from the storm about to erupt outside. Exhausted, I sat on the edge of the bed. My thoughts were as scattered as snow in the wind. Every word they had just said struck my heart like a hammer. The pain was so sharp I could barely breathe. But fate clearly had no intention of stopping there.