My Wife, the Cheating Star

My name is Chandler Gresham, and I'm one of the top agents in the industry. I single-handedly turned Melody Jones into a household name and a singing superstar. We're married, been together for three years, and our relationship has always been solid. Until that morning, when Melody Jones, eyes red-rimmed, told me she was pregnant. I was ecstatic and immediately turned down all my hectic work. I wanted to give her the best environment to keep the pregnancy safe and hope the baby would be born without any problems. But before long, Melody Jones suddenly announced she wanted to join a wilderness survival variety show. Her partner was Raymond Stephenson, a rapidly rising new singer. I was firmly against it—intense filming during pregnancy is way too risky. But Melody cried and begged, saying this was a crucial chance to keep her popularity alive. We argued countless times over this, but she never budged. Until that day, when I finished work and came home, only to find she wasn't there. I couldn't get through on the phone, and she didn't respond to my messages. I was panicking. Late at night, Melody Jones was dropped off by Raymond Stephenson, her face as pale as a ghost. I pressed her about where she had been, but she stammered and wouldn't say. It wasn't until I found a hospital receipt in the trash can. It said "Induced abortion," dated today. My whole body turned ice cold; I couldn't believe my eyes. Melody finally broke down and admitted she'd aborted the baby to take part in the variety show. "Chandler, I can't miss this opportunity," she said, clutching my hand. "Let me get my career to the next level first, then we can have a baby, okay?" I looked at her pale face, and my heart ached like it was being cut by a knife. That's our child—how could she give up so easily? But seeing her so weak, I just couldn't bring myself to blame her. In the days that followed, I turned down every job to focus on taking care of her. I made her soup, went with her to all the check-ups, and cared for her with the utmost caution. I thought she was just confused for a moment and would regret it once she got better. Melody Jones' new album dropped right then, and sales soared. As her agent, I naturally had to handle the entire promotional process. That night, I was working late, organizing the album's promotional materials. By accident, I clicked on the instrumental version of a slow, emotional song from the album. What should have been a pure melody suddenly had strange sounds mixed in. I turned the volume all the way up, and my heart just sank. There were a woman's gasps and a man's low whispers. The voices were chillingly clear—I immediately recognized Melody Jones and Raymond Stephenson. Explicit dialogue, suggestive breaths—it pierced my ears like needles. It turns out she had the abortion not just because of the variety show. She had long been tangled up with Raymond Stephenson. I sat in front of the computer, trembling all over, my stomach churning violently. Three years of love—I gave it my all—and it was all just a joke. I lost track of time, sitting there until the first light of dawn broke. I grabbed my car keys, determined to go to the hospital and confront Melody Jones. My mind was a total mess—I couldn't focus at all behind the wheel. At the intersection, a truck ran the red light and barreled straight at me. All I heard were the screeching brakes, then everything went black and I lost consciousness.