My Estranged Wife Made a Move

My wife and I slept in separate beds for over three years. Then on our wedding anniversary, she suddenly tried to win me over.

She climbed into my bed and pulled out all the stops, trying to get me to sleep with her.

I stayed calm and collected. When our son started crying, I used it as an excuse to escape to his room, where I stayed all night.

Vivian Hartley spent the entire night knocking on the door.

The next morning, she acted sweet and gentle, graciously making me breakfast as if nothing had happened. She even tried to hand over her salary card.

When my mother-in-law heard about this, she exploded at her daughter. "You pathetic fool! People need some self-respect! If you can't stand up for yourself, just get a divorce already!"

Yet Vivian claimed her feelings for me ran so deep that the heavens themselves could vouch for her sincerity. She even defied her own mother.

Our relatives and friends looked at us with envy. But my son and I continued to give her the cold shoulder.

Finally, Vivian turned to social media for help.

"Three years ago, I was busy with work. My husband and I had completely different schedules. I was afraid it would affect my performance at work, so I suggested we sleep in separate rooms.

"Now our child is older, and I've swallowed my pride to try to fix things, but my husband won't even touch me."

Someone in the comments gave her some advice: install hidden cameras around the house.

"We can't just take your word for it. Record everything so we can see what's really going on. Plus, if things actually end in divorce, at least you'll have built up your social media following. It won't be a total loss."

Vivian had no idea I was watching from among her followers.

I just came home from work, and Vivian Hartley rushed over the moment I walked through the door.

She took my briefcase without a word and crouched down to help me change into slippers. I stood there like some lord of the manor, letting her fuss over me without a hint of gratitude.

She wore an apron with a bandage on her elbow and wispy strands of hair falling across her forehead that she clearly had not had time to brush back.

The wound on Vivian's arm might have stung, but it did not hurt nearly as much as my cold rejection.

"Honey, I've got dinner ready. I'm going to pick up Noah. Eat while it's hot, okay?"

She tried to take my arm playfully, but I moved away without acknowledging her.

Vivian awkwardly rubbed her hands on her apron, her lips pale as she spoke.

"My hands probably smell like cooking oil, so I won't touch you. Just leave your coat there and I'll hang it up for you.

"Don't worry, I'll wash it until it's spotless. There won't be any smell on it at all."

Vivian waited