Five Years of Marriage Wasted

I scrolled through the transfer records. It started six months ago.

If the amounts had varied, I might have convinced myself that there was a reasonable explanation—maybe it was a client or some business-related transaction. But why was every transfer exactly 52,000?

Why did it have to be that same, glaringly painful number?

Just moments ago, I was overwhelmed with heartache, but now, strangely, I felt an eerie calm settle over me.

I found a contact named Cherry in my list. There were no chat records—likely deleted—and the way she’d been added to his contacts was telling. It looked like they’d connected by scanning each other’s QR codes.

Next, I opened Cherry’s Instagram, and what I saw there took my breath away.

Just five minutes ago, she’d posted a series of pictures.

“Thanks, babe, for spending my birthday with me.”

In the photo, she was smiling sweetly, and behind her on the sofa, there was a huge bouquet of bright red roses. A gift box sat on the table next to her, and in the bottom right corner of the picture, there was a hand wearing a watch.

The hand was elegant, with long, slender fingers and distinct knuckles. It looked like it belonged to someone who played the piano.

That watch. It was unmistakable.

It was the same one I’d bought for Ethan as our wedding gift, the one he’d worn every day since.

Today was our fifth anniversary, and yet, he had left me at home, came up with some lame excuse, and spent the day with another woman for her birthday.

He had transferred 20,000 USD to me, but to her, he was sending 50,000—sometimes more—every month.

I couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

Ethan knew me too well. He knew that if he used work as an excuse, no matter how upset I was, I’d swallow my frustration and just deal with it.

Because I was always too understanding, too accommodating—did that give him the confidence to be so reckless behind my back?

Since I never checked his phone, all the evidence of his affairs was right there, untouched. He only deleted the chat history.

I sat in the living room, feeling numb. I couldn’t help but glance at the dinner still waiting for me on the table.

In that moment, I felt like the biggest fool, the biggest joke.

My lover had been playing me like a puppet, pulling my strings and making me dance. And here I was, still trying to figure out how to make him happy, how to restore our relationship to what it once was.

It turns out, the signs were there all along.

When he started pulling away from me, he had already found someone else to care for, someone more worthy of his attention.

Tears filled my eyes, and it felt like a thousand needles were stabbing into me. The pain in my chest was like a knife, cutting deep and suffocating me.

Only those who’ve been betrayed after years of love can truly understand how excruciating and hopeless that moment feels.

I opened Cherry’s transfer page, and the name displayed was just the last letter: a “C.”

I took a deep breath, then quietly walked into the bathroom with my phone in hand.

I sent Cherry a message:

“I’ve had quite a bit to drink and can’t sleep.”

I wasn’t sure how Ethan usually chatted with her, so I just tried to test the waters with a vague message.

She replied quickly:

“Ethan, are you really going to talk to me at a time like this?”

Even through the screen, I could sense the surprise in her voice.