My Wife's Wedding

Today is the third anniversary of my marriage to Max Sullivan. I reserved the city's most renowned private dining room and invited a few close friends. As soon as the dishes arrived, the friends started making a fuss. Someone patted my shoulder and asked what the most unforgettable moment was during my time with Max Sullivan. I smiled, about to answer, when the private room door suddenly got kicked open. A woman in a black leather jacket stood at the doorway—it was Beth Sinclair. I knew her; she was Max Sullivan's rival at work, and they'd never gotten along. Before we could react, Beth rushed over to the dining table. On the table was a diamond rose I had specially prepared for Max Sullivan—a rose-shaped decoration studded with small diamonds, worth a fortune. Beth Sinclair grabbed the diamond rose and slammed it hard onto the ground. With a bang, the diamond rose shattered into several pieces. Max Sullivan's face went pale instantly as she stood up abruptly: "Beth Sinclair, are you crazy?!" Beth Sinclair sneered coldly, eyes full of scorn: "Crazy? I think the crazy one here is you, Max Sullivan." She turned to me, voice sharply rising: "Howard Fitzgerald, do you really believe Max loves you? You're just a shield for her!" I frowned deeply, a sinking feeling in my chest: "What nonsense are you spouting?" Beth Sinclair ignored me, pulled out her cell phone from her bag, and played a video. She turned the phone screen toward everyone, and the scene in the video sent a chill down my spine. In the video, Max Sullivan and a man were getting intimate in a car, their actions affectionate and explicit. And that man—I know him too—he's Cedric Wilson, a business partner of Max Sullivan's company. Everyone was stunned; the private room fell silent, with only the sound from the video filling the air. Max Sullivan's face flushed red as she stepped forward, trying to snatch Beth Sinclair's phone. "Don't talk nonsense! This is fake!" Beth Sinclair easily dodged and said, "Fake? Want me to also show the records of you two going to the hotel?" She paused, her gaze fixed on Max Sullivan's belly, her tone laced with cruelty: "And do you really think Max Sullivan's two previous miscarriages were accidents?" I suddenly turned to Max Sullivan, my heart feeling like it was being gripped tightly by a hand. Max Sullivan's two previous pregnancies supposedly ended in miscarriage from accidental falls, and I felt sorry for her for such a long time. Beth Sinclair watched my reaction, a cold smile curling on her lips: "Those two miscarriages? She did them on purpose!" "Because those two children weren't yours at all—they were Cedric Wilson's!" That sentence exploded like a thunderclap in my ear. I stared at Max Sullivan, my voice trembling, "Is what she said true?" Max Sullivan's eyes flickered nervously, her lips trembling, but she couldn't say a single complete sentence. A wave of anger surged from my heart straight up to my head, my whole body shaking. I trusted Max Sullivan so much, cherished this marriage deeply, yet she had been lying to me all along. The atmosphere in the private room was unbearably tense; my friends dared not speak, only looked at me with concern. Beth Sinclair put away her cell phone, shot a glance at Max Sullivan, and turned to leave. The moment the door shut, I couldn't hold back anymore. I pushed the chair aside and stood up. Max Sullivan stepped back, terrified, tears streaming down her face: "Howard, please let me explain..." "Explain?" I stared at her, my voice thick with disappointment and anger. "Are you saying the person in the video isn't you? Or that those two miscarriages weren't on purpose?" Max Sullivan opened her mouth but broke down into uncontrollable sobs. Seeing her like that, a mixture of anger and pain flooded my heart. Three years of marriage—it was all a big lie.