Michael leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this. As badly as he wanted out of the marriage, he couldn’t take hurting her anymore. Things had spiraled out of control, and it was time to come clean. He got up from the sofa and crouched down beside her.
“Listen to me, Astrid,” he began, placing an arm on her shoulder. Astrid jerked backward and pushed his arm away.
“Listen to me. The boy isn’t my son, Astrid.”
Astrid looked up at him, not quite registering what he meant.
Michael looked Astrid directly in the eyes and said, “That’s not my son, and there is no mistress.”
Astrid’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I know there was a woman here. I even recognize her.”
“You recognize her because she’s my cousin. Jasmine Ng—her mother is my auntie, and the little boy is her son.”
“So … who have you been having an affair with?” Astrid asked, more confused than ever.
“Don’t you get it? It’s all been an act, Astrid. The text messages, the presents, everything! It’s all fake.”
“Fake?” Astrid whispered in shock.
“Yes, I faked everything. Well, except the dinner at Petrus. I took Jasmine as a treat—her husband has been working in Dubai and she’s had a hard time managing on her own.”
“I can’t believe this …” Astrid said, her voice trailing off in astonishment.
“I’m sorry, Astrid. It was a stupid idea, but I didn’t think I had any other choice.”
“Any other choice? What do you mean?”
“I thought it would be far better for you to want to leave me than for me to divorce you. I would rather be labeled the cheating bastard with an illegitimate son, so that you could … your family could save face,” Michael said rather dejectedly.
Astrid stared at him incredulously. For a few minutes, she sat completely still as her mind sifted through everything that had happened in the past few months. Then she spoke. “I thought I was going insane … I wanted to believe you were having an affair, but my heart kept telling me that you would never do such a thing to me. That just wasn’t the man I married. I was so confused, so conflicted, and that’s really what made it so painful. An affair or a mistress I could deal with, but something else didn’t seem right, something kept gnawing away at me. It’s finally beginning to make sense now.”
“I never wanted this to happen,” Michael said softly.
“Then why? What did I ever do to make you this miserable? What made you go to all the trouble to fake an entire affair?”
Michael sighed deeply. He got up off the floor and perched on one of the wooden chairs. “It’s just never worked, Astrid. Our marriage. It hasn’t worked from day one. We had a great time dating, but we should never have married. We were wrong for each other, but we both got so swept up in the moment—in, let’s face it, the sex—that before I realized what was happening, we were standing in front of your pastor. I thought, what the hell, this is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. I’ll never be this lucky again. But then reality hit … and things got to be too much. It just got worse, year after year, and I tried, I really tried, Astrid, but I can’t face it anymore. You don’t have a clue what it’s like being married to Astrid Leong. Not you, Astrid, but everyone’s idea of you. I could never live up to it.”
“What do you mean? You have lived up to it—” Astrid began.
“Everyone in Singapore thinks I married you for your money, Astrid.”
“You’re wrong, Michael!”
“No, you just don’t see it! But I can’t face another dinner at Nassim Road or Tyersall Park with some minister of finance, some genius artist I don’t get, or some tycoon who has a whole bloody museum named after him, feeling like I’m just a piece of meat. To them, I’m always ‘Astrid’s husband.’ And those people—your family, your friends—they stare at me with such judgment. They’re all thinking, ‘Aiyah, she could have married a prince, a president—why did she marry this Ah Beng* from Toa Payoh?’ ”
“You’re imagining things, Michael! Everyone in my family adores you!” Astrid protested.
“That’s bullshit and you know it! Your father treats his fucking golf caddie better than me! I know my parents don’t speak Queen’s English, I didn’t grow up in a big mansion in Bukit Timah, and I didn’t attend ACS—‘American Cock Suckers,’ as we used to call it—but I’m not some loser, Astrid.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“Do you know how it feels to be treated like I’m the bloody tech-support guy all the time? Do you know how it feels when I have to visit your relatives every Chinese New Year in their incredible houses, and then you have to come with me to my family’s tiny flats in Tampines or Yishun?”
“I’ve never minded, Michael. I like your family.”
“But your parents don’t. Think about it … in the five years we’ve been married, my mother and father haven’t once—not even once—been invited to dinner at your parents’ house!”