Margaret Lewis was still living in her own dream world at thirty.
Her capable, family–oriented husband was considered the gold standard among their social circle.
Their six–year–old son was bright and sensible–the epitome of other people’s children.
Yet she walked up to Charles Rivera holding divorce papers, making an unthinkable decision.
“Divorce? Do you even know how long the line is of women wanting to marry me?”
Margaret tapped the documents with her knuckles, brows tightening unconsciously. She know exactly who he meant.
Barbara Smith, his childhood friend and unattainable first love.
After she returned to China, Charles’s first move was to present himself before her.
Margaret was utterly disgusted by this.
In a mocking tone, she chuckled and said, “Well, I wish you happiness. This apartment is yours, and the child is yours too.”
She pushed the agreement toward Charles, her expression calm. “Additionally, I’ll settle the child’s maintenance fees for these years in one go.”
As for the rest, thanks to Charles marrying into the Lewis family back then and voluntarily requesting to sign a prenuptial agreement, the divorce was much easier now.
Charles looked at her in disbelief. After six years of marriage, just because he had gotten a bit closer to Barbara, she was asking for a divorce.
Margaret added calmly: “It’s clear Charles prefers Barbara’s affectionate company. I’ll step aside then. Just sign the papers and avoid causing trouble before the cooling–off period ends. I’ll show my sincerity as you wish.”
Finally exhausted, she refused to engage further.
Charles inserted the last flower stem into the foam, approaching Margaret with furrowed brows. “Margaret, what game are you playing now?”
Margaret gazed at her husband’s fierce expression–so unlike his public image as a devoted family man–and an- swered serenely: “No games. Just tired.”
“Margaret, do you know how many women dream of marrying me?”
“I do.” Margaret met his eyes squarely. “Then I wish you happiness.”
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Charles’s calm expression finally cracked as he stared at the agreement. After a long moment, he scoffed: “Fine. Since you’ve made your decision, don’t regret it.”
“But remember this–once I sign, taking it back won’t be easy.”
“Understood.”
Margaret offered a bitter smile: “No take–backs.”
Last night she’d dreamed of her twilight years–surrounded by family yet dying alone.
Charles accepted a towel from the servant, wiped his palms, then casually picked up the agreement. He walked to the tea table, rubbing his thumb over the document when his phone rang.
The moment he answered, tenderness flooded his face: “Barbara? I’m home. Come right over.”
Margaret sat nearby, a trace of bitterness curling her lips.
Margaret was Barbara, and she herself was Margaret. Once, she too had eyes only for this man, would find ways to contact him after work, but unanswered calls time and again wore away her patience.
Now, he and that woman were intimate as lovers.
She wondered, had it not been for that dream, would she still be deceiving herself like this.
Within a minute, that self–proclaimed friend appeared at the villa.
Margaret took the scissors, sat beside the greenery by the vase, continuing Charles’s unfinished work.
She watched Barbara sit on the sofa like the mistress of the house, waiting for the maid to bring slippers and a drink, then having her bag taken away to be stored.
Six–year–old Victor dashed down from the second floor upon spotting Barbara, instantly snuggling into her embrace while chattering away about his school adventures.
“Aunt Barbara!”
Victor tilted his little face upward, nuzzling affectionately against her.
Charles summoned the housekeeper to bring the soup he’d prepared: “Garlic Butter Rib–Eye. I personally selected the premium cut. Have a taste.”
Barbara’s eyes lit up: “I only mentioned it once. Can’t believe you remembered.”
As she lifted golden strands with a gilded spoon, Margaret sat rigidly in the garden corner, her fists clenched so tight- ly that nails dug deep into her palms. She remained oblivious to the pain.
After seven years of marriage, Charles had never considered what she liked.
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Even last month, when she worked late until her stomach ached, he sent the maid with cold medicine. Remembering the maid’s words-“The sir handed it to me himself“-Margaret still tasted bitterness in her mouth.
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