When I was three months pregnant, I craved seafood porridge. My husband got up in the middle of the night to buy it for me. But during that hour when he was supposedly buying porridge, he was cheating with a college girl. In the footage. from the dashcam, he gripped her waist, saying harshly, “I don’t love you at all. You’re just a tool for me to vent my desires!” The girl burst into tears and then he hurriedly raised his hand to comfort her. At that moment, I knew our marriage was utterly broken. We had once agreed he would never make me wait more than three rings. This time, the phone rang ten times before he picked up. “Mandy? What’s wrong?” His voice was. rushed. But in the video, his expression was far from worried, instead, his face showed satisfaction and pleasure. I couldn’t suppress the disgust rising within me any longer. I vomited everything in my stomach. Hearing the sound of me retching, he grew anxious on the other end of the phone.

Meanwhile, in the video, he suddenly sat up, holding the girl tightly. A few minutes later, Javier threw his shirt to the girl and said, “My wife’s not feeling well. You’ll have to go home on your own tonight.”

His voice softened afterward, slightly husky from the aftermath, “Take a cab, don’t save money. It’s dangerous outside.”

But the girl, frail after their encounter, was too weak to even get out of the car. Javier, his eyes still red, grabbed her by the neck and kissed her forcefully. “This time, I’ll take you home. Don’t expect this again,” he said.

Watching the dashcam footage on my tablet, I laughed silently. But tears streamed down my face, falling onto the screen. An hour later, Javier returned. He was carrying a bag of seafood porridge. He asked me, “Mandy, how are you feeling? Still unwell? There was an urgent matter at work, so I’m a bit late. Please don’t be mad,” he said, placing the porridge on the coffee table, looking at me with concern.

Those eyes, just like the ones I had fallen in love with years ago.