When We Ignored Him Chapter 1

On the third year after my husband ran off with his mistress, Ethan Shaw suddenly came home.

I didn't rush up to curse him out, and our son showed no surprise whatsoever.

Ethan finally got the peace and quiet he'd always dreamed of.

At parent-teacher conferences, our son stopped begging him to attend.

When I walked in on another woman sitting on his lap making out with him, I tactfully pretended I saw nothing.

It wasn't until photos of him in bed with his new fling spread all over town—while our son and I were off traveling without a care—that Ethan's eyes finally turned red.

Like a madman, he smashed our luggage and demanded:

"What the hell is wrong with you two! What more do you want from me to stop torturing me!"

The room fell deathly silent.

My son and I exchanged bewildered glances, not understanding what had gotten into him.

After shooing Xavier back to his bedroom, Ethan did something unprecedented—he handed me his phone.

"I already explained to you, that woman threw herself at me. If you don't believe me, you can check for yourself."

Watching his gesture, I froze in place.

Before, forget about checking his messages—if I so much as touched his phone, Ethan would fly into a rage.

He'd say I didn't respect him, that I was suffocating him.

Even when I caught him cheating, Ethan refused to admit it and just left home.

I thought everyone would take my side.

I was wrong. His friends covered for him, and his parents cut off our living expenses:

"You drove your own husband out of the house. You have some nerve asking for money."

Our son's expensive tutoring and enrichment classes, my beauty and yoga treatments, the household utilities and living expenses—all gone.

Reality slapped me in the face like a brutal wake-up call.

That's when I finally woke up. Compared to a comfortable, affluent lifestyle, what was a little thing like love worth?

So I smiled politely and ignored the phone he was offering.

I even gave him an out: "Of course I trust you. Sometimes these situations are unavoidable."

Ethan fell silent, his hand frozen awkwardly in midair.

Suddenly, Xavier rushed out clutching his bloody mouth.

His little face was pale: "Mom, I accidentally knocked out my tooth."

I immediately went on high alert and headed out with my son.

Ethan was forgotten like he was invisible. His expression darkened for a moment, but he still followed us.

Sliding into the driver's seat: "I drive faster. Let me take you to the hospital."

But just as he finished speaking, his phone rang.

From the other end came a woman's sobbing voice, broken and intermittent.

It was the woman from those bedroom photos, having a breakdown and threatening suicide.

Ethan paused. Xavier, being very sensible, immediately said considerately: "Dad, if you have something to take care of, go ahead. Mom and I can go by ourselves."

With that, my son and I got out of the car together.

The child who used to cling to him constantly had become strangely distant.

Ethan's chest rose and fell rapidly. He seemed like he wanted to say something, reluctantly following behind us.

But we had already hailed a ride and left.

Fortunately, since it was just baby teeth, Xavier was fine. We checked into a hotel for the night.

The next day we visited a nearby children's amusement park, and didn't return home until evening with takeout leftovers and desserts.

Strangely, Ethan—who usually came home after midnight—was actually there.

When he saw the cake in my hands, his somewhat cold expression instantly brightened.

He smiled and reached for the box: "I knew you didn't forget my birthday."

But his smile hadn't fully formed before he saw what was left of the demolished cake.

I felt a bit embarrassed and exchanged a guilty look with my equally sheepish son.

I was about to say something when a woman walked out from the living room.

It was the woman from the bedroom photos—Riley Cooper.

Riley was Ethan's recent charity case, a student with no parents, raising her younger sister.

She looked at me apologetically, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"Ms. Charlotte, Mr. Shaw had too much to drink that day. I was just taking him to a hotel when someone took photos of us secretly. That's how those pictures happened."

Just taking him to a hotel—how would they both end up barely clothed in bed together?

Riley's explanation was clearly a cover-up.

What's more, she was currently wearing my clothes, her eyes carrying subtle provocation.

But I didn't mind.

Ethan had brought home at least eighty women before, if not a hundred.

I'd seen every trick in the book. What was one more?

So I smiled tolerantly, and under Ethan's increasingly dark expression, said considerately: "Thank you for coming to explain. It's raining outside. Would you like to stay the night?"