The End of Staying

After five years in a marriage without intimacy, I finally called my wife, Suzanna Jones, the youngest commander in the military, and asked her to spend the night with me.

Five hundred and twenty times.

That was how many times we had been interrupted over the years. Every time we came close to being together, an urgent call from her widowed brother‑in‑law, Eric Gibson, pulled her away before anything could happen.

Then, on our wedding anniversary, Suzanna promised she would finally give me the perfect wedding night we never had.

I held her by the waist and was about to cross the final line between us when Eric’s ringtone shattered the moment.

“Suzanna… I was injured in an explosion down there. What if I am crippled for life…?”

Panic filled her face. She pushed me aside and rushed for the door.

I grabbed her wrist and tried to stop her. “Send him to the military hospital first.”

She turned on me with anger and slapped me across the face.

“Shane! Eric is seriously hurt! How can you be this heartless?”

She pulled on her dress and ran out.

When I caught up with her, the sight in front of me stopped me cold.

The woman who once promised to give me her first night was wrapped around Eric in a position far more intimate than anything she had ever shared with me.

When I asked for an explanation, she looked calm and unbothered.

“Eric is in critical condition. Was I supposed to stand there and do nothing? It is not that important. If it bothers you that much, I can fix it later.”

Something inside me went numb.

For five years, I had been the only one trying to hold our marriage together.

At that moment, I realized I was exhausted from fighting for something that had ended long ago.

Suzanna Jones made no effort to lower her voice. Her sweet, breathy moans slipped through the door.

Every eye around me turned in my direction.

Some people looked sympathetic. Others seemed entertained.

I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms as I fought to hold back the humiliation and anger rising inside me.

Three hours later, Suzanna finally walked out, covered in sweat. Her cheeks were flushed with satisfaction, and dark red marks covered the soft skin above her chest.

Even the black lace dress I had bought for our anniversary had been stained with a few suggestive spots of blood.

The room was filled with loud, crude men. Whistles and teasing laughter echoed through the air.

“Ms. Jones finally ended her single life tonight.”

“So? Was Eric good enough to make your legs give out?”

Their eyes shifted toward me, followed by another round of whispers.

“Shane is pathetic. He spent years acting like a loyal dog around her, and he still did not get her first time.”

My face turned cold as the fury in my chest rose inch by inch.

Years earlier, during a