For ten years, my husband, Leo, was obsessed with “charity.” The first year, he offered late-night “psychological counseling” to a depressed female netizen, Skylar. Our SnapChat records showed 547 nude photos, all labeled as “Proof of Medical Improvement.” The second year, his infertile friend, Mike, begged him on his knees to “help his wife get pregnant.” Leo personally stepped in and even recorded a video, archiving it as an “Excellent Genetic Donation.” The tenth year, on our wedding anniversary, a bombshell message blew up in his charity SnapChat group: “Eight months pregnant, urgently seeking a man to take over and give the baby a complete family!” Leo immediately transferred $52,000 for prenatal care and charitable funds. His eyes red, he knelt on the ground, pleading with me, “Anya, I can’t just stand by and watch that poor girl get torn apart by gossip! Let’s get a temporary divorce for a year. Once the baby is born and settled, I’ll come right back to you!” This time, I didn’t stop him. Feigning understanding, I agreed, “Fine. Coincidentally, I have a charity project of my own to do.”
Leo looked overjoyed. “That’s great, Anya! I knew you’d always support my cause!” He smiled brightly and casually asked, “What charity are you doing, darling?” As I rummaged for our marriage certificate, I replied, “The male college student I sponsor has late-stage cancer. His last wish is to marry a rich woman for good luck.” At my words, Leo’s face immediately fell. He lectured me with a righteous air, “Anya, how can you just marry anyone?” “Are you upset? Don’t worry, it’s just a charity marriage. I’m only marrying her so she and the child won’t be gossiped about. I absolutely won’t be intimate with her! You know me, Anya, I can’t stand to see others suffer.” I scoffed. “Oh, I know.” Especially when it comes to beautiful young women between 18 and 28. After ten years of marriage, I knew Leo’s “charity sickness” all too well. The first year, he met a depressed girl named Skylar on a psychological help forum. Initially, it was just online chats, but it quickly escalated to daily, unfailing in-person “counseling sessions.” I stumbled upon their chat history once. “Leo, if it weren’t for you, I’d be dead by now.” “Silly girl, I’ll always be there for you.” Beyond that, there were hundreds of nude photos. Leo’s explanation for them was, “The therapist said that a person’s body best reflects their psychological state. I’m just helping her heal.” I just figured he was flirting online to get his kicks and didn’t take it too seriously. But that winter, Leo, who usually hated moving, went out almost every night, claiming he was “walking and talking” with Skylar to clear her mind. On the coldest day, I personally saw them embracing and kissing at the community gate, completely oblivious to others. Skylar was practically plastered against him, and he was stroking her back with movements so fluid, it looked like they’d practiced a thousand times. When I angrily confronted him, he looked innocent. “Anya, Skylar said my embrace and lips reminded her of her ex-boyfriend’s. She missed him so much… she was on the verge of suicide! I was saving her life!” Later, Skylar’s condition “improved,” and she moved out of town. Leo was gloomy and dispirited for an entire month, even forgetting our wedding anniversary. The second year, Leo’s infertile friend, Mike, cried to him about wanting a child for so many years of marriage. Leo immediately offered to help without a second thought. I still remember his expression when he came home that day; he looked as if he’d just saved the world. He excitedly grabbed my hand. “Anya, Mike and his wife are truly pathetic. We should help them if we can.” I was happy then, foolishly thinking he’d just donated money for them to go to the hospital. It wasn’t until three months later that Mike’s wife showed up at our door, visibly pregnant. She grabbed my hand, sobbing with gratitude. “Sister-in-law, it’s all thanks to Leo! If it weren’t for him, I’d still be suffering from Mike’s abuse… But sister-in-law, you’re truly blessed to have a husband as capable and doting as Leo.” Mike’s wife even wanted to show me a video of Leo’s “excellent genetic donation” process. I was trembling with anger. The third year, he was “personally deflowering pure young college girls.” The fourth year, he was “giving intimate massages to young married women.” … And now, on our tenth wedding anniversary, he was going to be a “savior” for a beautiful pregnant woman he’d never even met. Leo noticed I was upset and quickly explained, “Anya, I’m doing all this for you! I’ve already talked to her; once the baby is born, I’ll give her some money, and the child will be ours to raise.” “That way, Mom won’t yell at you anymore. I pity you, Anya!” Leo sounded completely convincing. I looked at him skeptically. “Really?” After so many years of marriage, I still hadn’t had a child. This had indeed been a persistent heartache for both of us. Leo immediately nodded. “Of course! You’re my wife! Oh, by the way, the divorce agreement is ready. You should sign it.”
I looked at the divorce agreement, and my eyes immediately caught the glaring words: “Leave empty-handed.” My lingering doubts vanished. I slapped the divorce agreement onto his face. “Leo, are you taking me for a fool?! Leave empty-handed?!” Leo panicked. “Why are you so materialistic now? It’s not a real divorce. Bianca is about to give birth; I’m just in a hurry, okay? You’re being so unreasonable!” “Calculating assets takes time. This way, we can get it done quickly. It’ll also be easier to remarry later.” I took a deep breath. “Leo, have you ever considered that for the past ten years, I’ve been your biggest charity project?” Leo froze, clearly not expecting me to say that. “Anya, how can you think that? I genuinely love you.” I sneered. “Love? Your love is constantly pushing me aside to ‘save’ those who ‘need help more’?” Leo frantically explained, “This time it’s really different. Bianca is truly pitiful, she—” Leo’s ears turned red. I knew that was his tell when he was lying. Bianca had sent a selfie along with her message in the group chat. Aside from her eight-month pregnant belly, she had large breasts, a slender waist, long legs, and a pretty face. Her voice was incredibly sweet too. He was clearly just after her looks. Leo continued to argue, “Anya, you have to believe me, this is purely a charitable act! I swear to you, as soon as Bianca gives birth and recovers, I’ll remarry you immediately!” I looked at him, this man I had loved deeply for ten years. Fine lines were starting to appear around his eyes, and his hair was thinning, but the fanaticism for “charity” in his eyes, the obsession with playing the savior, had never changed. I asked softly, “What if I don’t agree? What if I say that if we divorce, we’ll never remarry?” Just then, Leo’s phone rang. A delicate voice on the other end cried out in pain, “Leo, my stomach hurts so much, can you come see me?” Leo rushed out, not even stopping to grab his jacket. “Don’t overthink it. I’ll go check on Bianca first.” I sat at the dining table, looking at the meal I’d cooked myself. Leo hadn’t touched a bite. After much deliberation, I dialed my lawyer’s number. Before I could call, Leo called me. A tiny flicker of hope ignited in my heart. Leo’s voice was anxious. “Anya, Bianca’s stomach isn’t feeling well, and she wants chicken soup. Your chicken soup is the best; quickly make some and bring it over. Oh, and by the way, Bianca is allergic to mushrooms, so don’t put any in.” Leo hung up immediately after saying that. His social media updated with a photo of him hugging a woman’s pregnant belly: “Wishing a smooth delivery.” Uninformed mutual friends specifically congratulated me, “Anya, you’re so far along and didn’t even tell us, that’s so unfair! But still, congratulations!” I looked at the congratulatory messages, finding them utterly ironic. When I arrived at the hospital with the chicken soup and the newly drafted divorce agreement, I saw Leo “caring” for his new wife. “What are you doing?!” The scene before me stung my eyes. I angrily threw the chicken soup onto the table. “Leo, we’re not even divorced yet, and you’re doing this with her?!” The hospital room door wasn’t even closed. In broad daylight, Bianca lay on the hospital bed, legs wide open, enjoying Leo’s caresses. Seeing me, Leo quickly withdrew his hand and smiled, explaining, “Anya, don’t misunderstand. The doctor just came to check and said Bianca has a slight breech presentation, causing uterine pain. I was helping her massage her uterus to correct the position.” Leo pulled his hand away so quickly that Bianca didn’t have time to react. She was still trembling on the bed, in the lingering afterglow of Leo’s “massage.” “Leo, I feel much better after your massage. I think the baby’s position is even correcting itself. Can you massage me again?” Bianca’s face was flushed. Leo, without a shred of shame, immediately agreed in front of me, even self-righteously stating, “For the baby’s safety, of course!” Leo, in front of me, reached his hand between Bianca’s legs again. “Anya, you want a healthy baby too, don’t you?” Before I could speak, Bianca cried out in pleasure, “Leo, you’re so good at this! You’ll definitely be a great dad…” “I’m a little hungry. Could you please ask Anya to feed me some chicken soup?”
I was speechless, utterly shocked by Bianca’s shamelessness. She was enjoying my husband’s caresses and then had the audacity to ask me to feed her chicken soup! I clutched the divorce agreement tightly, swallowing my anger, and shoved it into my bag. There was no way we could discuss anything like this today. “How are you going to drink lying like that?” I merely asked roughly, and Bianca’s eyes immediately reddened. She bit her lower lip and clutched Leo’s hand, looking pitiful. “Leo, did I make Anya upset? But if you don’t massage me, my stomach really hurts… Listen, the baby is crying from hunger…” Leo leaned close to Bianca’s belly, listened for a moment, and then clicked his tongue. “If Bianca is hungry, just feed her. You’re going to be a mother yourself someday; can’t you be a little more patient?” I laughed. “Me, impatient? Can’t she do one thing at a time instead of making both of us wait on her hand and foot?” Even adopting a child properly wouldn’t involve this kind of servitude. Leo said earnestly, “You’ve never been pregnant; how could you know how hard it is? Bianca’s stomach hurts and she’s hungry; why can’t you…” “You feed her! I’m not serving you!” I slammed the door shut, the lingering, unpleasant stench still in my nostrils. The divorce agreement remained unresolved until three days later, when Leo returned home. He smiled at me, discussing, “Anya, it’s too unsafe for Bianca, a pregnant woman, to live alone outside. How about she moves into our house?” Before I could agree, someone was already moving Bianca’s belongings in, even into the master bedroom. I slapped the divorce agreement onto the table. “Fine. But sign this first.” Leo glanced at it and said, “That can wait.” Bianca followed closely behind. As soon as she entered, she pointed at my dog. “Oh my! What a huge dog! You scared me to death… Leo, I’m so scared…” Leo blurted out, “Get rid of the dog immediately!” I quickly shielded my dog. “Don’t you dare!” “You handle your business. I’ll take the dog myself.” I stormed out with my dog, heading to a hotel. At the hotel entrance, I ran into Liam, the male college student I sponsored. It was over ninety degrees, and he was sweating profusely, handing out flyers at the hotel entrance. Liam looked incredibly surprised to see me and quickly ran over. “Sister Anya! Why are you out in this heat?” I wasn’t in the mood to explain, so I just hedged. “Just out walking Rusty. I’m tired and want to rest for a bit.” “Why are you… carrying luggage while walking your dog? Are you staying at a hotel? Let me help you with Rusty.” Liam enthusiastically pulled Rusty and accompanied me to check in. At the room door, I stopped Liam. “You can stop here. Thank you for your trouble. How’s school lately? Do you have enough for living expenses? If not, I can give you more…” As I spoke, I took a wad of cash from my bag, but Liam smiled and interrupted me. “I have enough. I make enough money working part-time. Sister Anya, can I come in and take a shower?” I hesitated, then looked at him again. Liam’s clothes were soaked and smelled of dog urine. I smiled awkwardly at him. “Come on in.” Liam was in the bathroom showering. I had just sat down to rest when Leo burst in. I looked at him in confusion. “Why are you here?” Leo stormed in furiously. Just then, Liam emerged from the bathroom. He was shirtless, young and vibrant. Leo instantly exploded. “What are you two doing?!”
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