Dưới đây là bản dịch Anh–Mỹ tự nhiên, mượt, giữ đúng cảm xúc và văn phong tiểu thuyết (mình đã tinh chỉnh để đọc giống truyện hơn, không bị thô khi dịch):
"A… ah… ah… ugh…"
"Mmm… mmm…"
Broken, breathless sounds leaked from inside the hotel room, making my hand tremble as it hovered over the doorknob.
Bang.
The door burst open.
The scene in front of me froze time itself.
The woman was straddling my husband. The top two buttons of her shirt had come undone, exposing most of her pale chest. Her skirt was pushed up to her waist. Their bodies were tangled together—what they were doing was obvious at a glance.
"…You…"
A cold laugh escaped my lips.
"So this is your 'business trip'? Sneaking around in a hotel like this, and you still had the nerve to lie to me?"
The woman flinched, hurriedly pulling her skirt down. My husband shoved her aside, scrambling to fix his clothes.
"L-listen… let me explain…"
I had imagined this moment so many times before.
I thought if it ever really happened, I would go crazy—tear the other woman apart, scream until my voice gave out.
But when it actually did…
I just stood there, frozen.
It felt like someone was crushing my heart in their fist, yet no tears came.
I looked at the man in front of me.
My husband.
Thirty-two years old.
Veins stood out on his hands. Thin lips. Thick brows that once made me think he was strong, dependable—someone I could lean on for the rest of my life.
I used to believe that.
But now, he was just fumbling with his zipper, staring at me in panic.
How ridiculous.
For years, I stayed home raising our two children.
A son. A daughter.
My boy had just started first grade, and my little girl still clung to me every step of the way.
The nights they burned with fever, I stayed awake until morning. The days we ran short on money, I counted every coin for rice and milk.
And him?
"I'm on a business trip."
"Work's really busy."
"A client invited me out for drinks."
Turns out… his "business trips" led him to hotel rooms.
I let out a laugh.
The sound echoed through the room, making both of them freeze.
"Stop acting."
My voice was so calm it felt unfamiliar even to myself.
"Did you think I came here to make a scene?"
My husband frowned.
"Then what do you want?"
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then slowly took out my phone.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The flash went off repeatedly.
The woman screamed, "What are you doing?!"
I curled my lips into a smirk.
"Taking souvenirs."
My husband rushed forward, trying to snatch the phone.
"Are you crazy?!"
I stepped back.
For the first time, there was no trace of weakness in my eyes.
"Don't touch me."
The room fell silent.
I looked straight at him.
"You want your freedom, don't you?"
He froze.
"I'll give it to you."
With that, I turned and walked out of the hotel room.
The hallway stretched endlessly ahead.
Each step felt heavy… yet strangely lighter at the same time.
Not because the pain was gone.
But because I suddenly understood something.
A woman endures not because she's weak—
but because she's trying to hold a home together for her children.
But if that home is built on lies…
then leaving is the only way to protect them.
That night, when I got home, the children were already asleep.
My son hugged his worn teddy bear.
My daughter clutched the hem of my shirt, as if afraid I might disappear.
I sat by their bedside for a long time.
Looking at them, my heart ached… yet grew resolute.
I gently brushed their hair, whispering like a vow:
"I won't let you grow up in a family built on lies."
Outside the window, the night wind whispered past.
A marriage had just ended.
But I knew…
my life had only just begun.
I picked up my phone and looked at the photos I had just taken in the hotel.
At that moment, it suddenly vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared:
"You already know your husband is cheating, don't you?
If you want to know a truth far more terrifying… come to this address tomorrow at 9 a.m."
The message glowed on the screen.
"You already know your husband is cheating, don't you?"
"If you want to know a truth far more terrifying… come tomorrow at 9 a.m."
I stared at those words.
For a long time.
The room was so dark that the phone screen became the only source of light.
My heart hadn't even calmed down from what happened at the hotel…
yet this message stirred up a different kind of unease.
A truth more terrifying?
I wondered… what could be worse than this?
A cheating husband. A broken marriage.
What could possibly hurt more?
I set the phone down.
The children were still sleeping.
Looking at them, a sharp pain pierced my chest.
And suddenly, memories I had tried to forget surfaced—
The day I entered my husband's house.
My mother had held my hand and said:
"You have to learn to endure as a daughter-in-law."
"If you endure a little, the family will stay peaceful."
"I've endured for over twenty years."
Back then, I believed her.
I thought if I was gentle enough, hardworking enough, everyone would come to accept me.
But I was wrong.
From the very beginning.
My father-in-law had never liked me.
His son had been raised and educated through college—but because I got pregnant, he had to marry me while still a student.
"I'll be honest—I never liked someone like you. You think I'd let my son marry you if you were so precious? If it weren't for the child, for the family, and for your mother, I would never have brought you into this house."
He said that once, drunk, calling me out just to vent.
I remembered every word.
He always made remarks that put me in uncomfortable positions.
"Daughters-in-law these days are lazy."
"You stay home and only cook."
"Back in my day, I worked the fields and raised children at the same time."
Every time…
I just lowered my head.
And ate in silence.
But the one who exhausted me the most… was my sister-in-law.
She was nine years younger than me, yet never treated me like family.
One day, I came home from work.
I opened my closet. A new dress I had just bought was gone.
When I asked her, she casually replied:
"I tried it on."
"You don't even go anywhere anyway."
But that wasn't the worst of it.
Once, as I was about to change, I realized… several of my underwear pieces were missing.
I searched everywhere. Nothing.
Later that day, when she stepped out of the bathroom…
I saw something familiar in the pile of dirty clothes.
It was mine.
I froze.
"That… is mine."
She glanced at me and shrugged.
"So?"
"It's not like sharing clothes will kill anyone."
I looked at my husband, hoping he would say something.
But he only frowned.
"It's just clothes. Why are you making such a big deal?"
I stood there, furious… but helpless.
It wasn't just once. It happened again and again.
From small hair clips to clothes, makeup—and now even underwear.
I had told my husband. I had told my mother-in-law.
But nothing changed.
It felt like something was stuck in my throat.
In the end… I stayed silent.
I kept telling myself:
Just endure a little longer—for the children.
My phone suddenly vibrated in my hand.