I Decided to Let My Husband Be with his Lover and Chose Divorce - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A few minutes later, the housekeeper came upstairs.

“Sir is going to H City for a few days. He said it’s for something important.”

“Also, a batch of Sir’s clothes just arrived for washing. Madam, should we send them to the cleaners or would you like to hand wash and iron them yourself?”

They knew my relationship with Arlo was strained. In this house, they were the messengers between Arlo and me. I knelt on the sofa, taking a while to come back to my senses before softly saying,

“I’ll wash them by hand.”

Because Arlo didn’t like the smell of dry cleaning solvents. So almost all of Arlo’s clothes, including suits and coats, were hand washed and ironed by me. Besides this, Arlo had high standards in other areas too.

He didn’t like eating out, and he didn’t like any mess in the bedroom, so I learned cooking and flower arranging. He never took this wife to heart, only marrying me because of an accident. I gradually became the perfect housewife, and my life revolved almost entirely around Arlo.

But Arlo still didn’t love me. I lowered my head and stared at the check. Last year my family business failed. My father suddenly fell ill from the shock, costing over six figures every month. Every time I went home, my stepmother complained that I took too little from Arlo.

“He’s the CEO of Brown Pharmaceutical Group, worth billions.”

“Grona, isn’t he your husband? Doesn’t that mean everything he has is yours too?”

I smiled bitterly. How could anything of Arlo’s be mine?

Arlo didn’t love me and was very cold to me usually. Our marriage only had sex, no love. He wouldn’t even let me have his child. Every time we slept together, he would remind me to take birth control. Yes, I had to take the pills.

I felt for the pill bottle, took one out, and swallowed it numbly. After taking the pill, I gently pulled open a small drawer. Inside was a thick diary, filled with 18–year–old me’s deep love for Arlo, Ten years. I had loved him for a full ten years. I quietly closed my eyes.

This one–sided play seemed like I could no longer keep acting it out. I didn’t wait for Arlo to come back. My dad had another acute attack and entered the ICU. The situation was very critical and he needed immediate surgery.

I stood in the hospital hallway calling Arlo over and over, but no one answered after several tries. Just as I was about to give up, Arlo answered. Afraid he would lose patience and hang up the next second, I spoke rapidly:

“Arlo, my dad-”