Just Foodie Buddies? Yeah, Right.

I confirmed Vincent Lowe was cheating on me on the day of our third wedding anniversary.

The dining table was filled with dishes, yet he barely touched his fork before heading out the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

His answer was unnervingly straightforward. "A friend's treating me to dinner. Cassidy Mason—you know her, right? It's a free meal. It'd be a waste not to accept."

An hour later, however, I received a voice message from Cassidy.

In the message, Vincent's voice was lighter and livelier—so different from how he ever sounded with me.

"They say you should marry someone you can truly enjoy a meal with. I really regret meeting you so late. If only I had known you earlier, I would've married you instead."

I listened in silence. Then, alone at the table, I finished every last bite of the meal I had prepared.

Afterward, I left a divorce agreement behind.

I converted Cassidy's voice message into text, took a screenshot, and made a post with the caption: [My husband's 'foodie buddy' sent me this. Do you think he's cheating?]

Evening was peak gossip hour, the best time for entertainment.

The moment I hit publish, the comments poured in.

[Oh, honey, he's definitely cheating. If you believe they're just pure meal buddies, you might as well believe I'm the King of England!]

[Emotional cheating is still cheating! You don't have to catch them in bed for it to count. Wake up, sis!]

I chuckled softly but didn't reply. I kept scrolling.

The post gained traction, climbing the ranks until it went viral. Within moments, there were over ten thousand comments—some urging me to divorce, others dissecting the situation.

Then came the critics.

[Ugh, another weak-ass wife. If you're not going to divorce him, don't post this kinda content and waste everyone's time!]

My finger hovered over the screen. I clicked reply.

[I will. Right now.]

…

"What's got you so absorbed? Aren't you sleeping yet?"

Vincent's voice pulled me back.

Before his gaze landed on me, I locked my screen and shut my eyes, feigning sleep.

The mattress dipped behind me. His arms slipped around my waist, pulling me close.

His voice was gentle, just like always.

"I know you love the pastries from that restaurant. I brought some back for you. Want to try?"

He had just returned from dinner with Cassidy. The scent of perfume and food clung to his clothes.

I frowned slightly and shifted away.

"No, thanks."

Sensing my coldness, he let out a soft chuckle.

Like coaxing a child, he murmured near my ear, "Don't be mad, okay? It's not that I didn't want to bring you along. It's just… your stomach's sensitive. You can never eat what we do. Wouldn't it be better if we each ate our own meals instead of ruining the mood?"

Ruining the mood?

My fingers tightened around my phone.

His voice was gentle, but his words pricked like tiny needles, sharp enough to sting.

If I