Divorcing the Husband Who Betrayed Me

On Children's Day.

The gift my husband gave our daughter was a heart shaped out of the leftover white rice from his lunch.

Meanwhile, the poor mother and son he sponsored received a whole luxury riverside apartment.

Roberta Simmons showed it off on her social media feed:

Thank you to my wonderful big brother for the gift you gave my son. Kevin loves it so much.

My husband was the first to comment.

A good environment helps a child grow. It's a joy to help others, so don't give it a second thought.

Something bitter twisted in my chest.

Ever since my husband started supporting Roberta and her son, my daughter and I had been living in poverty.

Our home was faculty housing without even a bathroom of its own.

The clothes my daughter wore were secondhand finds from the thrift market.

My skincare was the freebie samples Roberta didn't want.

I'd argued with him about it more times than I could count, but he always put on that noble, righteous face.

"Roberta has it hard enough raising her son alone. Helping them is a good deed."

"Besides, poor kids grow up faster. A little hardship will toughen our daughter up!"

"Every other man's wife can handle hard work and hardship. Why are you the only one who makes a fuss?"

My daughter held back her tears, still forcing a smile to comfort me.

"Cynthia Delgado's really happy. Cynthia loves everything Daddy gives me."

Watching my daughter swallow her hurt to keep the peace, my heart went completely cold.

I quietly tapped "like" on Roberta's post.

This cheap kind of love, I didn't want it anymore.

The door slammed open with a bang.

Hubert Delgado stormed in, his shirt collar yanked open.

He pointed at me and yelled:

"What's gotten into you? Who said you could like her post?"

"Roberta thought you were angry. She felt so guilty she cried, and now she flat-out refuses to take the apartment I bought her."

"You won't be satisfied until you've driven a widow and her son out onto the street, will you?"

The more he talked, the more worked up he got.

The next second, his arm shot up.

He flipped the whole battered, paint-chipped old wooden table over.

Crash

The white rice smashed across the concrete floor, grains scattering everywhere.

My daughter flinched, her whole body shaking with fright.

She clamped her hands over her ears and hid behind me, sobbing.

Hubert froze, some of the clarity coming back into his eyes.

Then he shot me a look of disgust:

"It's a holiday, and you just have to make everyone miserable!"

"Always looking for trouble!"

I let my cold gaze sweep over the mess on the floor. My voice was soft, but it carried a bone-deep chill:

"So this is your daughter's Children's Day gift?"

"Leftover white rice."

Hubert's eyes darted away, a flash of guilt crossing his face.

But an instant later he stiffened his neck again, putting on that same self-righteous show.

"What's wrong with white rice? It's your materialistic nonsense that's spoiled the two of you rotten!"

"Do you have any idea how many kids in the mountains never taste a single bite of white rice their whole lives?"

"I'm tempering her spirit!"

"Or should I raise our daughter to be like you, some greedy woman who only knows how to take?"

I stared blankly at this man I'd loved for seven years.

Suddenly he felt like a stranger.

There had been a time when he remembered the desserts I loved.

When he'd secretly prepare a princess dress for Cynthia's birthday.

But ever since three years ago.

Ever since he started supporting Roberta, we hadn't had a single good day in this house.

To pay off Roberta's debts, he sold our three-bedroom place in the city.

He moved our daughter and me into an old school dormitory without a private bathroom.

To save money for limited-edition sneakers for Roberta's son.

Every piece of clothing he gave Cynthia was a secondhand thrift-market find, one outfit worn for three years straight.

To buy Roberta luxury skincare, everything I used was the freebie sample sachets she'd tossed aside.

All these years.

Every last cent that came into our home had become what he called a "good deed," his charitable offering.

It all flowed straight into the pockets of that woman and her son.

Every time I argued with him, he trotted out the same righteous speech:

"It's so hard for Roberta, raising a child alone. If they have to scrape by, it'll stunt little Kevin's growth."

"You and our daughter have me to look after you. Don't take your blessings for granted."

"We're building good karma and a good name right now. Hardship first, sweetness later."

He collected his reputation as a great and generous man.

Roberta and her son got the money and the favoritism.

And every bit of the suffering and the swallowed grievance was left to me and our daughter.

At the thought, the bitterness inside me hardened completely.

Seeing me silent for so long, Hubert probably assumed his words had won me over.

His tone eased.

He fished something out of his briefcase and handed it to me.

"All right. I know you're petty and vain, so I brought you a gift."

I looked down.

A half-used bottle of face wash, squeezed nearly flat, without even its outer packaging.

One look and you could tell it was somebody's discarded trash.

"Roberta says she doesn't care for this brand. She only used it a few times, so it's basically new."

"Just make do with it. That way I don't have to give her money for another one."

He said it with the air of a man bestowing charity, as if I'd come out way ahead.

In his eyes, I was supposed to be grateful even for other people's garbage.

The last shred of feeling left in my heart shattered in that moment.

I drew a breath and lifted my eyes to him.

"Hubert, let's get a divorce."

"Let's get a divorce."

My gaze was cold.

My voice so calm it surprised even me.

Hubert visibly froze.

He clearly hadn't expected me to say it. A flicker of panic crossed his face.

He stepped forward to take my hand, but I turned aside and slipped free.

"Honey..."

He frowned, a little frantic, and was about to speak.

His phone suddenly rang.

The ringtone was unmistakable, the special one he'd set just for Roberta.

I laughed at myself inside.

I'd once pestered him to set a special ringtone for me, and he'd been so annoyed.

"Playing these childish little games all day. How immature can you get!"

"I'm a university professor! I won't let you ruin the dignity of an educated man."

I'd thought he was just born stiff and old-fashioned.

Only now did I understand. He simply wasn't willing to make an exception for me.

Hubert glanced at the screen, and his expression turned nervous and tender all at once.

He hurried to answer and stepped out the door.

I could faintly hear him coaxing her in a lowered voice: "Don't cry, Hubert's wife was only joking..."

"I'm coming over to be with you two right now. I'll take little Kevin to the amusement park..."

A few minutes later, he hung up and came back in, his face composed again.

"Something's come up at the school. I have to go."

"What you said earlier, I'll pretend I never heard it. And no more throwing around the word 'divorce' when you're angry."

He shot me a frown, then left without looking back.

Hubert didn't come home all night.

The next day, I got a divorce agreement drawn up by a lawyer.

I was clutching the folder on my way to pick our daughter up from school.

Only to be told that Cynthia had already been picked up by her father.

"Mr. Delgado said he took the day off specially to make up Children's Day with Cynthia. Said they were going out for a big meal."

I let out a cold laugh inside.

So today of all days, he'd suddenly remembered he had a daughter.

I followed the address he'd given and found an upscale buffet restaurant.

But the sight in front of me left me frozen where I stood.

Hubert sat at the head of the table, Roberta on his arm, the two of them laughing and chatting away.

Around the table sat several of his so-called charity-circle friends.

They clinked glasses, laughing and trading easy conversation.

And underneath the table, a small figure was hunched down.

It was my daughter!

She had no chair. She crouched on the floor, clutching an empty bowl to her chest like an outsider who didn't belong.

Above her, the adults held forth on grand topics, tossing their leftover bones and scraps down under the table without a second thought.

Cynthia didn't dare say a word. She only picked the pieces up, careful and quiet.

Swallowing back her tears, she placed them in her own bowl.

Someone teased with a grin, "Professor Delgado, your girl here is really well-behaved. Not a picky bone in her body."

Hubert let out a couple of hearty laughs, his tone edged with self-satisfaction.

"Kids shouldn't be coddled. What's wrong with eating a few leftovers? Learning to value food is a good thing."

Roberta chimed in softly, "That's right. Cynthia's the sweetest. Not like our Kevin Acevedo, he's such a fussy eater."

Hubert, on the other hand, scooped Kevin up doting.

"A boy this age is still growing. He should eat plenty of the good stuff to build himself up."

"Our Kevin's just blessed with a good appetite. Don't be so hard on the boy."

I stood outside the window, and every drop of blood in me ran cold.

This was the feast he'd promised his daughter?

Making his own flesh and blood crouch in a corner, eating the scraps a room full of strangers had thrown away?

And then, in that moment.

Roberta's son, when no one was watching, crouched down.

He grabbed a fistful of Cynthia's hair and snarled viciously,

"You filthy little beggar!"

"Mommy says you and your mom are both beggars, always stealing my daddy's money! Shameless!"

Cynthia trembled with the pain, her eyes flooding red in an instant.

But she bit her lip and didn't dare cry.

In that single moment, the last thread holding me together snapped clean through.

"Let go of her!"

I rushed over in a few strides and flung Kevin off with a sweep of my arm.

My gaze swept coldly over him.

"Did no one ever teach you what manners are?"

The laughter around the table cut off all at once.

Hubert saw it was me, and shock crossed his face first.

His hand slipped instinctively from Roberta's arm.

Then he laughed it off, playing it light.

"I was surprising Cynthia to make things up to her. Perfect timing, you're here. Sit with us."

"A surprise?"

I laughed, furious.

I picked up the bowl of bones and leftover scraps and slammed it down in front of him.

"Hubert, this is how you treat your own daughter?"

"Crouching on the floor like a dog, eating other people's garbage, and getting called a beggar to her face on top of it?"

Hubert's face flushed a deep, blotchy red in an instant.

Maybe because he'd lost face in front of his friends, his voice shot up sharply.

"I'm teaching her to value food!"

"What's wrong with building frugal habits from a young age?"

"You think you're too precious for this? You just had to come here and make a scene!"

I looked at his face, still righteous as ever.

I listened to the people around us sneering at me like I was some clown.

And suddenly it all felt utterly pointless.

Seven years of devotion, reduced to a joke.

I threw the divorce papers in his face.

"Hubert, sign them."

"I'm done living this life with you."

The whole room went dead silent for a beat.

Then it erupted into an even more grating burst of laughter.

"No way, Professor Delgado, your wife's actually serious?"

"Making a fuss at home is one thing, but dragging it out here in public? How trashy."

Hubert stared at the papers on the table, his face darkening first.

Then one corner of his mouth curled into a contemptuous smile.

He reached out, took the papers, and tore them to shreds in a few quick motions.

"I give you a few days of decent treatment and you actually start thinking you're somebody?"

His contempt was undisguised.

"Ebony, don't you forget what kind of trash you are."

A worthless ex-con who can't even feed herself without me. What exactly do you think gives you the right to make a scene?

That sentence went in like a blade dipped in ice, driving straight into my chest.

You know perfectly well why I went to prison

My voice shook.

Back then, Hubert had been nothing but a broke teaching assistant fresh out of college.

He'd crossed the wrong crowd and gotten cornered in an alley by a whole gang of them.

It was me who grabbed a kitchen knife, took down three of them, and dragged him out of there half-dead.

To keep it from ruining his future, I took the blame for everything and turned myself in. One year.

When I got out, the record meant no one would hire me.

Back then he'd knelt in front of me and sworn an oath.

He'd said he would take care of me for the rest of my life, that he'd never let me suffer even a little.

And now he was using worthless ex-con to humiliate the very woman who'd thrown away her whole life for him.

Hubert clearly realized he'd said the wrong thing.

He turned his face away, a little uncomfortable, his tone softening.

What's the point in dredging up ancient history?

Whatever this is, we'll talk about it at home. Don't embarrass yourself here.

I looked at him, my voice flat.

If you won't sign, we can settle it in court.

The color drained from Hubert's face in an instant.

But before he could get a word out, Roberta suddenly stood up, eyes rimmed red.

Please, don't be upset, either of you. This is all my fault.

If it bothers you, I'll take Kevin and go right now. We'll never trouble you again.

As she spoke, her tone abruptly shifted.

Her voice cracked with sudden hurt:

But whatever you have against me, take it out on me.

Why would you hurt my child? He's so little. How could you bring yourself to do it?

Every eye in the room swung toward him.

There, on Kevin's fair little face, were several bright red pinch marks.

I froze.

I had only pushed him away just now. I hadn't touched his face at all.

The unease that had just risen in Hubert flipped instantly into fury.

He glared at me, venom in his eyes.

You animal.

How did I never see it before, how vicious you are!

I didn't hit him. I dug my nails into my fists, my voice trembling.

If not you, then who? He pinched himself?

A child that small, hurting himself just to frame you?

Hubert let out a cold laugh, his eyes full of disgust.

You have disappointed me beyond words.

For your punishment, you'll slap Roberta ten times, and we'll call it even!

Hubert shot a look at the people around him.

Two men immediately seized my arms, one on each side.

I fought with everything I had. It made no difference.

I'm sorry, I really don't have a choice

Roberta came over and offered up her fake apology.

Then she raised her hand and struck me hard across the face.

Once, and again.

She hit harder each time, her nails raking my cheek until the blood wouldn't stop.

Cynthia was sobbing her heart out beside us, throwing herself forward to pull them off me.

Hubert held her back, hard.

Ears ringing, vision spinning, I crashed to the floor, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth.

Hubert stood over me, his tone carrying a trace of weariness:

Good, now you know your mistake.

Behave yourself from now on. Stop giving Roberta and her boy a hard time, and let's all get along like a family.

With that, he draped an arm over Roberta's shoulders and left with his people, laughing and chatting as they went.

Cynthia threw herself into my arms, crying, her little body shaking hard.

Even so, she stretched out her small hand to wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth.

My daughter choked out Daddy's bad. I don't want Daddy anymore

I looked at my daughter's tear-streaked little face and pulled her tight against me.

"Okay. We don't need him anymore."

I stumbled back home and started packing.

Then, out of nowhere, my phone screen lit up. A new post from Hubert on his social media feed.

In the photo, Roberta was leaning against his shoulder, Kevin sitting on his lap, the three of them beaming like a warm, perfect little family.

The caption read: With me to back you up, no one will ever push you around.

I swiped past it, my face blank, and tossed the phone aside.

I looked at the suitcase holding everything my daughter and I owned. It was barely half full.

I laughed at myself.

Seven years of this marriage, and it turned out the whole thing had rotted through long ago. Nothing left but a hollow shell.

I opened a rental app.

I wanted to find a place close to Westfield Elementary.

Cynthia was about to start first grade, and no matter how hard things got, I would never let her suffer even one more slight.

Just then, my phone rang. The admissions office.

The voice on the other end didn't carry a trace of warmth.

"Ms. Matthews, I'm sorry to inform you that we've received a signed report stating you have a criminal record."

"That doesn't meet our enrollment requirements. Cynthia's enrollment slot has been revoked."

"What?"

My heart dropped like a stone, and I raced to the admissions office like a woman gone mad.

I pushed open the office door. Hubert was sitting inside, chatting and laughing easily with several school administrators.

"You reported us?"

I rushed up to him, my voice shaking as I demanded an answer.

There wasn't a flicker of guilt on his face. If anything, he looked stern, all business.

"I only stated the facts."

"The school has its rules. I can't ask for special treatment just because she's my daughter."

I looked at that sanctimonious face of his, and my stomach churned.

The next second, he picked up a stack of documents and pushed them toward me, his tone as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

"Cynthia can't get in this year anyway, so the extra slot might as well go to Kevin."

"You owe them, after all."

He looked at me without a shred of shame. "Call it compensation for beating Kevin."

"As for Cynthia, there'll be a transfer slot next year. I'll take care of it for her personally."

So that was it.

He'd gone through all of this, destroyed his own daughter's enrollment.

Just to pave the way for Roberta's son.

Looking at his smug, self-satisfied face, I suddenly felt that even arguing was a waste of breath.

I took the stack of documents and nodded calmly.

"Fine. I agree."

Hubert blinked, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily.

Then he smiled, thoroughly pleased. "Now you're being sensible. We're all family from now on. Don't be so dramatic about everything."

After we both signed as parents.

I looked at him, long and hard.

He had no idea I'd slipped a divorce agreement in among those documents.

From this day on, my daughter and I would have nothing more to do with him.

Hubert signed without reading a word.

He was in a hurry to take Roberta and her son abroad, a vacation to celebrate Kevin getting into school.

At the door, he suddenly noticed my suitcase.

His brow furrowed with suspicion.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"If you're feeling low and want to get away, you can come along on the trip abroad. I'll cover your ticket."

I took my daughter's hand and left without answering him.

Without looking back.

I'd booked the earliest flight home to our hometown.

In the moment before boarding.

I opened my email and gathered up Hubert's spending records from these past few years, along with the screenshots of Roberta's social media posts.

Packaged them all together and hit send.

The recipient was the review board at his university.

Along with his parents and relatives, and the official account of Roberta's company.

Then I pressed the power button and shut off my phone.

Holding Cynthia's small hand, I boarded the plane.

Hubert Delgado. Roberta Simmons.

The two of you owe me and my daughter, and it's time to pay.

The reckoning you have coming has only just begun.