Turning to God for His First Love

Evan Moore is the perfect husband in everyone's eyes.

He gives me a grand wedding and fully supports my career dreams.

When I faced a difficult labor, he stayed by my side, kneeling for a full day and night until he nearly passed out from exhaustion.

Afterward, he held me in his arms, sobbing until his eyes were red and swollen, his voice trembling with fear. "Honey, let’s not have any more kids… It's just too much."

From then on, he spends his days and nights at the monastery, praying devoutly for me and our son, earning the title of the city’s most pious CEO.

But one day, by pure chance, I glimpse the handwritten scriptures he keeps so carefully copied.

And that's when I realize every word, every stroke, is a confession of his undying love… for his first love.

All his tenderness, all his care—it was never truly for me. It was learned for her.

I was nothing more than practice—a stand-in for his so-called true love.

Ever since Evan Moore renounced his worldly pursuits in order to pray for me, I would visit him at the monastery once every month.

However, he wasn't in the meditation chamber today.

As I waited for Evan inside, a breeze blew open his handwritten scripture. I was surprised when I casually skimmed through the words on the pages.

He had always been protective of this handwritten scripture. Every time I asked to see it, he insisted I fast and pray for a week first.

However, it was impossible for me to meet such strict demands when I still had to take care of our son.

I understood Evan's good intentions, so I never pushed it. But now, as the breeze turned the pages, I finally realized that the rows of inked words weren't scriptures at all.

My hands trembled as I picked up the booklet and flipped through its pages.

With a tenderness that spoke of deep affection, Evan had written down every detail of his love for a woman named Jade Spencer.

From preparing hand warmers in the winter, serving gazpacho in the summer, to warm herbal teas for periods—all the care he had once shown me, he had shared with her.

I flipped to the day I had a difficult labor.

Evan wrote, "I can't imagine how heartbroken I would've been if it had been Jade who was in such excruciating pain—the thought alone brought me to tears. Thankfully, it wasn't her.

"Thank goodness our son was born healthy. I can now live without seeing her again, and remain faithful to Jade."

I froze. It turned out that the tears Evan had shed by the delivery bed weren't for me. The reason he had renounced his worldly pursuits wasn't to pray for me as well.

Everything he did was for Jade. All the affection he had for me was never real.

The reason Evan had named our son Jadon Moore wasn't at all because of his gratitude to God—but