My Chinese husband slept with my mother at a New Year’s party and said it was part of an ancient tradition. I’m Amber and I found out about this two hours after midnight on January 1st, 2024. I was 28 years old, married for 3 years, and standing in my kitchen holding a bottle of champagne while my entire world collapsed around me.

Let me back up just a little bit. My husband’s name is Wei. We met in grad school in Boston and he was everything I thought I wanted. Smart, funny, attentive. He came from money. His family owned some kind of manufacturing business in Shanghai. When we got married, his parents flew over with like 40 relatives and the wedding was this beautiful blend of American and Chinese traditions.

My mom, Jessica, she loved way from the start, which I thought was great. You know, my dad d!ed when I was 16, so it had been just me and mom for over a decade. Seeing them get along made me feel like I’d done something right. The New Year’s party was at our place, a brownstone in Brooklyn that we parents had helped us buy.

We’d invited maybe 30 people, friends from work, some neighbors. We’s cousins who lived in the city. Mom had come over early to help set up. She’d been doing that a lot lately. coming over early, staying late. Weey always seemed happy to see her. They’d talk in the kitchen while I was getting ready, and I’d hear them laughing about something. I thought it was sweet.

The party was great at first. Everyone was drinking, dancing, counting down to midnight. Weey and I kissed when the ball dropped. And I remember thinking how lucky I was. My husband, my home, my [clears throat] life. Everything felt perfect. Around 1:30 in the morning, people started leaving. Mom had drunk quite a bit of wine, so I told her to just crash in the guest room upstairs.

She hugged me, told me she loved me, and headed up. Weey and I were cleaning up the living room when his cousin Lynn pulled me aside. Can I talk to you for a second? She looked uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. Sure. What’s up? Lynn glanced at Wei who was across the room stacking plates.

Then she lowered her voice. I went upstairs to use the bathroom. The one downstairs had a line and I saw I saw Weey going into your guest room where your mom is. My stomach dropped. What do you mean going in like checking on her? Lynn shook her head. Amber. He went in and closed the door behind him. I waited for like 2 minutes and he didn’t come out.

I just I thought you should know. I felt cold all over. Maybe he was just making sure she had everything she needed, extra blankets or whatever. Lynn touched my arm, maybe. But the way he looked around before going in, I don’t know, it felt weird. I thanked her and tried to keep my face neutral as she left, but inside I was panicking.

Weey was still cleaning up, acting completely normal, humming along to the music, still playing softly from the speakers. “Hey,” I said, walking over to him. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to head up.” “Okay, babe. I’ll finish down here and be up soon.” I nodded and headed for the stairs, but I didn’t go to our bedroom.

I crept down the hallway toward the guest room. The door was closed. I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Then I heard something, a sound from inside the room. It was my mother’s voice, soft, saying something I couldn’t make out. Then Wei’s voice, also soft, also impossible to understand through the door.

My hand was shaking as I reached for the doororknob. I turned it slowly, quietly. The door opened. They were on the bed, not naked, thank God. But Weey was sitting on the edge of the bed, and my mother was lying down and his hand was on her face, touching her cheek. They both looked up at me. The expression on my mom’s face was something I’d never seen before.

Guilt, fear, something else I couldn’t identify. Weey stood up immediately. Amber, what the hell is going on? My voice came out louder than I intended. Shrill. Mom sat up, adjusting her shirt. Honey, it’s not what it looks like. Then what is it? Because it looks like my husband was in here with you on the bed touching you.

Weey stepped toward me, hands up like he was approaching a wild animal. Let me explain. There’s a tradition. A tradition? I actually laughed. Except it didn’t sound like a laugh. It sounded like something breaking. What kind of tradition involves sneaking into a room with your wife’s mother? It’s called Ching Kong Wei said.

The Chinese word felt like a slap. It’s an ancient New Year tradition. The son-in-law blesses the mother-in-law by by what? By touching her face in secret. In the dark. Mom got up from the bed. Amber, please. Weey was explaining this tradition to me. It’s about family harmony and respect for elders. It’s completely innocent. Then why didn’t anyone tell me about it? Why didn’t you do it in front of everyone at the party? Weii exchanged a glance with my mother.

That glance made my bl00d run cold. Some aspects of the tradition are meant to be private, he said carefully. Between the son-in-law and the mother-in-law, I stared at him, then at my mother, then back at him. Get out of this room, I said to Weii. Now he hesitated. Now he left, closing the door behind him. I turned to my mother. Tell me the truth right now.

What’s going on? She sat back down on the bed and suddenly she looked old. Old older than she’d looked an hour ago. I don’t know, she whispered. We’ve been He’s been very attentive to me lately. Coming over when you’re at work bringing me gifts. I thought he was just being a good son-in-law. And tonight, tonight he said he wanted to talk to me privately about the tradition.

He said it was important that it would bring good fortune to the family. And then when we were in here, he started touching my face and telling me I was beautiful for my age. I felt sick. Literally sick. Did anything else happen? Has anything else happened? No, she said quickly. Too quickly. Nothing like that.

But Amber, I I’ve been uncomfortable and I didn’t know how to tell you. I left the room and found Weii in our bedroom sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. Explain, I said, right now. All of it. He looked up at me. I told you it’s a tradition. In some regions of China, the son-in-law, don’t lie to me. I’m going to look this up.

I’m going to call every Chinese person I know. And if you’re lying, we’re done. Something flickered across his face. Amber, you’re overreacting. Am I? Because my cousin saw you sneaking into that room. Because my mother said you’ve been coming over when I’m not home. Because you were touching her face while she was lying in bed.

I was trying to honor her by making her uncomfortable by doing it in secret. Weey stood up. Your mother is a lonely widow. I was trying to make her feel valued. Is that so wrong? The way he said it, the way he emphasized lonely widow. Something clicked in my brain. How long has this been going on? Nothing is going on. How long way? He didn’t answer.

Just stared at me. I grabbed my phone and opened Google. Searched for Chinese New Year tradition, son-in-law, mother-in-law. Nothing. I tried different variations, different search terms, nothing that matched what we had described. I held up my phone. There’s no such tradition. Not everything is on Google, Amber. Then we’ll call your parents right now.

We’ll ask them about this tradition. His face went pale. It’s 4:00 in the morning there. We can’t. I don’t care. I pulled up his mom’s contact and h!t call. Weey grabbed for the phone, but I dodged him. It rang four times before a sleepy voice answered in Mandarin. “Hi, it’s Amber,” I said.

said, “I’m sorry to wake you, but I have an urgent question about a tradition.” Weii says, “There’s a New Year tradition where the son-in-law privately blesses the mother-in-law. Is that real?” There was a long silence on the other end. Then Wei’s mother said in English, “Put Wei on the phone. Tell me first, is it real?” Another silence, then, “No, there is no such tradition.

Put my son on the phone.” I handed Wei the phone and walked out of the room. My legs felt like they might give out. I made it to the bathroom and locked the door. I could hear Weey talking rapidly in Mandarin from the bedroom. His voice was rising and falling, defensive, then pleading.

I sat on the bathroom floor and tried to process what was happening. My husband had made up a fake tradition to what? Touch my mother, seduce her and my mother. What was her role in this? The more I thought about it, the more things started clicking into place. The way Weey always volunteered to give mom a ride home.

The expensive scarf he’d bought her for Christmas that seemed too personal. The inside jokes they’d developed. I thought it was sweet. I’d thought it meant we were a close family. I’d been so stupid. There was a knock on the bathroom door. Amber, it was my mother. Please come out. We need to talk. I don’t want to talk to you. Please. There’s more you need to know.

Something in her voice made me open the door. She was standing there with tears running down her face. Behind her, I could see Weey still in the bedroom, still on the phone. What? I said, “Can we go downstairs?” We went to the kitchen. Mom poured herself a glass of water with shaking hands. I should have told you sooner, she said, but I didn’t know how, and I wasn’t sure if I was imagining things.

Told me what? She took a breath. About 3 months ago, we kissed me. The floor tilted under my feet. What? I had come over to drop off some mail that had been delivered to my place by mistake. You were still at work. Weey was home. We were talking in the kitchen and he just he leaned in and kissed me and you didn’t tell me.

I pushed him away immediately. I told him it was inappropriate and it could never happen again. He apologized profusely. Said he’d had too much wine at lunch, that he’d misread the situation. He begged me not to tell you. Said it would destroy your marriage, so you just kept it secret. I thought about telling you every single day, but you were so happy and he kept saying it was a mistake, that he loved you, that he was ashamed.

I sat down hard on one of the kitchen chairs. Did it happen again? Mom looked away. He tried a few times. I kept making excuses not to be alone with him. That’s why I started coming over when I knew you’d be home. I thought if I was never alone with him, it would stop. But tonight, tonight, he caught me alone in the guest room.

I’d gone up there because I didn’t feel well. Too much wine. He followed me up, started talking about this tradition. I knew it sounded fake, but he was so insistent. And then he was touching my face and telling me she trailed off, telling you what, that he’d been in love with me since the wedding.

That you looked so much like me. That when he married you, he was really trying to get close to me. That I was the one he really wanted. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. And what did you say? I told him he was drunk and confused that he needed to leave. But he kept saying these things. That’s when you walked in. Weeyi appeared in the kitchen doorway.

His face was blotchy, eyes read. My mother wants to talk to you, he said to me, holding out his phone. I took it. Hello. We’s mother’s voice was firm but kind. Amber, I am very sorry. I did not know my son was capable of this behavior. His father and I are very disappointed. Did he tell you everything? He told me enough. You deserve better than this.

I hope you will forgive our family even though you should not forgive him. Thank you, I whispered. One more thing she said. This behavior, it is not the first time. My heart stopped. What do you mean? His first wife in Shanghai. There was a situation with her mother also. It is why they divorced. We had hoped.

We had hoped it was a one-time mistake that he had changed. We are very ashamed that we did not warn you. I hung up and threw the phone across the room. It h!t the wall and clattered to the floor. Weey flinched. Amber, you did this before to your first wife. He didn’t answer. Get out of my house. This is my house, too.

I don’t care. Get out. Let’s talk about this rationally. I grabbed a glass from the counter and threw it. Not at him, but near him. It shattered against the wall. “Get out!” My mother stepped between us. “Wait, you should leave now.” He stared at both of us for a long moment. Then he went upstairs. I heard him moving around in the bedroom, packing things, probably.

Mom and I sat at the kitchen table in silence. After about 20 minutes, Weey came downstairs with a suitcase. He paused in the doorway. “I do love you, Amber. This doesn’t change that. Don’t,” I said. “Just don’t,” he left. The door closed behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening. I’m so sorry. Mom whispered. This is my fault.

I should have told you right away. It’s not your fault. He’s a predator. But I kept the secret. I let this go on. He manipulated both of us. We sat there until the sun came up. Neither of us went to bed. We just sat and tried to make sense of something that made no sense. Around 8:00 in the morning, my phone started buzzing.

Text messages from friends who’d been at the party. Word was already spreading. We’s cousin Lynn had apparently told people what she’d seen. I didn’t respond to any of the messages. I just turned my phone off. What are you going to do? Mom asked. I don’t know. But that was a lie. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I was going to divorce him, take him for everything I could, make sure everyone knew what kind of person he was.

I called my lawyer friend Rachel at 9: Woke her up, explained everything. I’ll recommend someone who specializes in this, she said. Don’t sign anything he gives you. Don’t agree to anything. Document everything. Already on it. I spent the rest of the day going through ways things, his computer, his phone records.

I knew his passwords, his emails. I was looking for evidence, proof of the affair or attempted affair or whatever you want to call it. What I found was worse than I imagined. There were emails to his ex-wife’s mother, recent emails in Mandarin, but I used Google Translate. They were romantic, sexual even, and she was responding. He’d been having a relationship with his ex-wife’s mother while married to me, while pursuing my mother.

There were also messages to other women, lots of other women, dating app conversations, Instagram DMs. He’d been cheating on me probably since we got married. But the messages to his ex-wife’s mother were the most frequent, the most intimate. I screenshot everything, backed it up in three different places.

Then I kept digging. I found a folder on his laptop labeled work documents. But when I opened it, it was full of photos, not of me. Photos of older women. Some I recognized, my mom, his ex-wife’s mother. Others I didn’t know. There were photos from our wedding, but not the normal ones. These were photos Weey had taken himself.

It looked like close-ups of my mother, her laughing, her drinking champagne, her dancing. There must have been 50 photos of just her. I felt like I was going to throw up. I kept looking. Found a journal app on his phone. Entries going back years. I read them all. The entries about my mother started six months after we got married.

Little observations at first. Jessica looks beautiful today. She wore a blue dress that made her eyes look amazing. Jessica told a funny story at dinner. I couldn’t stop laughing. Then they got more detailed, more obsessive. I keep thinking about Jessica. The way she smiles. The way she touches my arm when she’s talking to me.

I think she might feel something, too. Today, I helped Jessica move some furniture in her apartment. Amber was at work. We were alone for 3 hours. I wanted to kiss her so badly. I’m going to make my move soon. I think New Year’s would be perfect. Romantic, traditional. I’ll make up some tradition about blessing the mother-in-law.

Jessica will believe it. He’d planned it for months, maybe longer. I showed everything to mom. She went pale. Oh, God. She said he’s been he’s been documenting this like it’s some kind of project. There’s more. I said there are entries about his ex-wife’s mother, too. Going back before we even met, he never stopped obsessing over her. Mom put her head in her hands.

What is wrong with him? I don’t know, but we’re going to make sure everyone knows what he did. That afternoon, Weey texted me, said he was staying with a friend, asked if we could talk. I didn’t respond. Instead, I called Lynn, Wei’s cousin, the one who’d warned me. Lynn, I need to ask you something.

Did you know about Wei’s pattern with his ex-wife’s mother? There was a pause. I knew something happened, but I didn’t know the details. The family doesn’t talk about it. Can you get me in touch with his ex-wife? Why? Because I think she deserves to know that he’s still in contact with her mother, and I deserve to know what happened in their marriage.

Another pause. Okay, but Amber, be prepared. It’s bad. Lynn sent me a contact. A woman named May. I messaged her that evening. Hi, May. My name is Amber. I’m married to Wei or I was. We’re getting divorced. I was hoping we could talk. She responded within minutes. What did he do? Your mother. Oh, God.

Again? Again? Can we video chat? We got on a call. May was beautiful, elegant, with short hair and tired eyes. Thank you for reaching out, she said. I’ve been wondering if I should warn you for 3 years. Tell me everything. She did. May and Wei had been married for 5 years. High school sweethearts. Her mother had always been part of their lives.

She was widowed young just like my mom and was very close to May. Weey started pursuing her mother about 2 years into the marriage. Little things at first, compliments, gifts, touching her arm or shoulder when they talked. May’s mother told her about it and May confronted Wei. He denied it. Said her mother was imagining things that he was just being friendly.

Then May’s mother started acting weird, distant, defensive of Wei. May eventually discovered that Wei had been visiting her mother’s apartment multiple times. When May was at work when she confronted them both, Weey claimed he was helping her mother with computer problems, technical support. But May’s mother admitted the truth.

They’d kissed multiple times. Weey had told her he was in love with her, that he’d only married May to be close to her. She believed him. May said, “My own mother believed that her daughter’s husband was in love with her, and she kissed him back. I’m so sorry. It destroyed our relationship. My mother’s and mine.

We didn’t speak for 2 years after the divorce.” And Wei’s parents, did they know? They found out during the divorce proceedings. They were horrified. Tried to pay me to keep quiet about it. I refused. Do you and your mother talk now? May’s expression darkened. She’s still in contact with him even now.

She thinks they’re going to end up together eventually. That he just needs time to figure things out. Jesus. I’ve tried to explain to her that he’s sick, that he’s a predator, but she won’t listen. She thinks she’s special, that what they have is real. How old is your mother? 61. I thought about my own mother, 55.

Also widowed young, also vulnerable. How did you move past it? I asked. I haven’t, May said honestly. I’m in therapy. I probably will be for years. Losing my husband and my mother at the same time. It broke something in me. We talked for over an hour. She gave me advice about the divorce, told me what tactics Weey would use, what lies he’d tell.

He’ll try to paint you as crazy, she said. Jealous, paranoid. He’ll say you misunderstood everything. That you’re ruining the family with your accusations. I have evidence. Good, because he’ll have explanations for everything. He’s very good at making himself seem like the victim. After we hung up, I felt simultaneously better and worse.

Better because I wasn’t alone. Worse because I realized just how calculated Weey had been. The next day, Wei’s parents called. Not just his mother, but his father, too. They wanted to fly over immediately. try to mediate. There’s nothing to mediate. I told them, “Your son is I don’t even know what he is, but I’m divorcing him.

” His mother started crying. “We are so sorry, so ashamed. If there is anything we can do, actually,” I said. “There is,” I explained about the brownstone, about how they’d helped us buy it. About how I wanted them to sign a document saying the money was a gift to me specifically, not to Wei or to both of us.

There was a pause. Then Wei’s father said, “We will do this. We will send the documents to your lawyer. The house is yours. Thank you.” His mother spoke again. “Amber, may I ask you something?” “Yes, your mother. Is she will she be okay? I looked at my mom who was sitting across from me at the kitchen table.

She looked small and tired and broken. I think so. I said eventually. Please tell her we are sorry. What our son tried to do to her is unforgivable. After I hung up, mom started crying. Not dramatic sobs, just quiet tears running down her face. I feel so stupid, she said. I should have seen it coming.

All the signs were there. He’s good at manipulating people. That’s not your fault. But I let him kiss me that first time. I didn’t slap him or yell. I just pushed him away and asked him to leave. Maybe he thought. No, I said firmly. Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for not reacting the way you think you should have.

He’s the one who did this, not you. She nodded. But I could tell she didn’t believe me. The next few days were a blur. I hired the lawyer Rachel recommended, a woman named Patricia who specialized in high conflict divorces. This is going to get ugly. Patricia warned me in our first meeting. Men like we don’t go down easy.

He’ll fight for everything. He’ll try to destroy your credibility. I have evidence. Good. We’ll need all of it. I gave her everything. The emails, the journal entries, the photos, the testimony from his parents and his ex-wife. Everything. Patricia’s eyes got wider and wider as she reviewed the materials.

“This is extensive,” she said finally. “Honestly, I’ve never seen anything quite like this. The level of premeditation, the documentation of his own misconduct. It’s almost like he wanted to get caught or he thought he’d never get caught. Maybe both.” Weey tried to contact me multiple times that first week. Phone calls, texts, emails. I ignored all of them.

Then he showed up at my work. I was a marketing manager at a tech startup in Manhattan. I came out of a meeting to find Weey sitting in the lobby. “We need to talk,” he said, standing up when he saw me. No, we don’t. My lawyer will be in touch. Amber, please. You’re making a mistake. People were starting to stare. My co-workers knew I was married, but they didn’t know what had happened.

Leave, I said. Or I’ll call security. I love you. We can work through this. You tried to seduce my mother. There’s nothing to work through. One of my co-workers, a guy named Brian, stepped forward. Is there a problem here? Weey looked at him, then back at me. This is between my wife and me. I’m not your wife anymore.

Not in any way that matters. The divorce isn’t final, but it will be. Now leave. He left, but not before giving me a look that made my skin crawl. It was angry, possessive, like he couldn’t believe I was standing up to him. That night, he sent me a long email. It started with apologies, then excuses, then turned angry.

You’re ruining my life over nothing, over a simple misunderstanding. Your mother led me on. She’s been flirting with me for years, and now you’re both trying to destroy me. I won’t let this happen. I have rights. I have a lawyer, too. I forwarded it to Patricia. Good, she said. This helps us. He’s getting desperate. The divorce process took 8 months.

Eight long, horrible months. We tried everything. Claimed I was mentally unstable. Said I’d misunderstood the situation with my mother. Even tried to say that mom had come on to him and he’d been trying to gently reject her. My lawyer destroyed him in court. We had the emails to his ex-wife’s mother, the dating app conversations, the journal entries where he’d planned everything.

Testimony from his parents about his history. Even his ex-wife agreed to give a deposition about what had happened in their marriage. The judge was not sympathetic to Wei. During one particularly brutal deposition, Wei’s lawyer asked me if I’d ever seen my husband and mother in a compromising position. Define compromising, I said.

Sexual contact, kissing, anything beyond what you described finding on New Year’s. I don’t know what happened when I wasn’t there, but based on his journal entries and his history, I think it’s fair to assume he tried, but you have no proof. I have his own written admission that he planned to seduce my mother. I have his documentation of his obsession with her.

I have her testimony that he kissed her 3 months before New Year’s. What more do you need? We’s lawyer backed off, but we himself wouldn’t let it go. During his deposition, he tried to explain himself. I made mistakes, he said. But I never stopped loving Amber. Jessica was just she reminded me of what Amber would become, what she would look like in 20 years.

I was attracted to that future version of my wife. His lawyer actually put his head in his hands at that answer. So, you’re saying you were attracted to your mother-in-law because she looks like an older version of your wife? Patricia asked, “Yes, it was about Amber. It was always about Amber.” And the journal entries where you said you wanted to be with Jessica, where you said you’d only married Amber to be close to Jessica. I was confused.

I didn’t mean those things. And your ex-wife’s mother, you were confused about her, too. We’s face went red. That was different. How? I was younger. I didn’t understand my feelings. You were 27 when you married your first wife. 29 when you started pursuing her mother. That’s not that young. I made mistakes.

And now you’re 32. Pursuing your second wife’s mother. When will you stop making the same mistake? Weey had no answer for that. The judge awarded me the house. Half of Wei’s assets. Alimony for 5 years. Weey was furious. Sent me angry messages. Called me names. His mask had completely slipped.

You’re a vindictive woman. One message read, “You’ve taken everything from me over nothing. I hope you’re happy. I hope you’ve destroyed your mother’s life by dragging her through this. Another said she’ll never recover from the shame. I blocked him on everything. But the messages didn’t stop. He created new email addresses, new phone numbers, new social media accounts.

Patricia helped me file for a restraining order. The hearing for the restraining order was almost worse than the divorce proceedings. Weey showed up with his lawyer and tried to argue that I was being vindictive, that I was making up stories, that the restraining order was just another way to hurt him. The judge read through the messages we had sent, the threats, the harassment.

Mr. Jang. The judge said, “You need to leave this woman alone. You’ve already lost your marriage. Don’t lose your freedom, too.” The restraining order was granted. Weii had to stay at least 500 ft away from me at all times. For a few weeks, the messages stopped. Then, I started getting letters, not from Wei directly, but from his ex-wife’s mother, the woman he’d been having an affair with during our marriage.

The first letter was bizarre. It was written in English with lots of mistakes. But the message was clear. She wanted me to know that we loved her, that he’d always loved her, that I’d never meant anything to him. “You were just in the way,” she wrote. a stepping stone to what he really wanted me.

I showed the letter to Patricia. Can we add her to the restraining order? I asked. Probably, but honestly, I think she’s more sad than dangerous. She’s harassing me. True. Let me file a motion. The second letter was worse. It included photos. Photos of Wei and this woman together. Recent photos after our divorce. They were at restaurants at her apartment in bed together.

See, the letter said, “He chose me, not you. Not even his first wife. Me. I didn’t feel jealous. I felt disgusted. This woman was 61 years old. She had a daughter who’d been devastated by Wei’s behavior and she was choosing to be with him anyway. I showed the photos to mom. That’s sick. She said, “She looks older than me.

She is older than you and she’s she’s proud of this.” She sent you photos to brag. Apparently, mom stared at the photos for a long moment. Then she said, “That could have been me.” What if you hadn’t walked in that night if things had gone the way we wanted? That could have been me in those photos sleeping with my daughter’s husband, bragging about it.

I took her hand, but it’s not you. You stopped it. I didn’t stop it. You caught us. You told me the truth. That’s stopping it. We added Wei’s ex-wife’s mother to the restraining order. The letter stopped, but the damage was done. Mom spiraled for a while. She stopped going to her book club, stopped seeing her friends, spent most of her time in the guest room with the door closed.

I finally convinced her to see a therapist. I don’t need therapy, she insisted. I’m fine. You’re not fine. Neither of us are. We need help processing this. I can’t talk to a stranger about about all of this. It’s too humiliating. It’s not humiliating. We’re victims, both of us. She finally agreed. Started seeing a therapist twice a week.

I started therapy, too. My therapist was a woman named Dr. Chen who specialized in trauma from intimate partner violence. What your husband did, Dr. Chen told me in our first session, is a form of emotional abuse, not just to you, but to your mother. He manipulated both of you for his own gratification. I know that intellectually, but I still feel stupid for not seeing it.

That’s the nature of manipulation. If it was obvious, it wouldn’t work. Over the next few months, I learned a lot about patterns of abuse, about grooming, about how predators choose their victims. We had targeted my mother specifically because she was vulnerable, widowed, lonely, craving male attention. He’d studied her, identified her weaknesses, and exploited them.

And he’d done the same thing to me. Marrying me not because he loved me, but because I was a means to an end. Do you think he’s capable of love? I asked Dr. Chen. I think he’s capable of obsession, of wanting things he can’t have. But love, real love, requires empathy. And I don’t see evidence of empathy in his behavior. So, what is he? Probably someone with a personality disorder.

Narcissism maybe, or something else. But I can’t diagnose someone I’ve never met. Will he ever change? People can change, but they have to want to change. And from what you’ve described, we doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong. That was the scariest part. Weey genuinely believed he was the victim in all of this.

That my mother and I had somehow betrayed him. About 6 months after the divorce was finalized, I got a call from an unknown number. Against my better judgment, I answered, “Amber.” It was a woman’s voice, young, nervous. Who is this? My name is Melissa. I’m I’m engaged to Way Jang. I was hoping we could talk. My stomach dropped.

He’s engaged again. We’ve been together for 4 months. He proposed last week, but I’ve been doing some research and I found some court documents about your divorce. I was hoping you could tell me if what I’m reading is true. When can you meet? We met at a coffee shop in Manhattan the next day.

Melissa was 26, pretty with dark hair and earnest eyes. She reminded me a little of myself at that age. Thank you for meeting me, she said. I wasn’t sure you would. I almost didn’t, but I figured you deserve to know the truth. The court documents say he had an affair with your mother, not an affair. He tried to start one.

He groomed her, manipulated her, and it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. I told her everything. The fake tradition, the kiss, the emails to his ex-wife’s mother, the journal entries, all of it. Melissa’s face got paler and paler as I talked. Oh my god, she whispered when I finished. I think I think he’s already starting. Starting what? With my mom.

He’s been so attentive to her. Brings her flowers. Asks her to dinner. Just the two of them. He says it’s because he wants to have a good relationship with his mother-in-law. But now, does your mother enjoy the attention? She loves it. My dad left when I was 5. She’s been single ever since.

Weighs the first man who’s paid attention to her in years. How old is she? 53. Right in the target range. Have you met his parents? I asked. Not yet. He says they’re too busy to travel right now. That’s a lie. Or at least it’s suspicious. His parents came to our wedding with 40 people. They’re very involved. The fact that they haven’t met you yet is a red flag.

Melissa pulled out her phone. I’m calling off the engagement. Right now. Right now. She dialed a number. I heard ringing. Then we voice. Hey babe, what’s up? We’re done. Melissa said her voice was shaking but firm. I know about Amber. About her mother? About your ex-wife’s mother? I know everything. There was a long silence.

Then, “Who told you these lies?” “Amber, I’m sitting with her right now.” Another silence. Then, Weey started talking fast, making excuses, saying I was crazy and vindictive, that the divorce had made me unstable, that I was trying to ruin his life. “Stop,” Melissa said. “Just stop. I’m not doing this. We’re done. Don’t contact me again.

” She hung up. Then, she started crying. Big shaking sobs that made other people in the coffee shop look over. I moved to her side of the table and put my arm around her. You did the right thing. I was going to marry him. We were looking at venues, but you didn’t. You got out in time. She cried for a while longer, then wiped her eyes.

Did he Did he do this with your mom before you were married or only after? He started grooming her at the wedding, but he didn’t make his move until we’d been married for almost 3 years. So, I might have had 3 years before. Maybe or maybe not. Every situation is different. The important thing is you’re not going to find out. Melissa nodded.

Then she said, “Can I ask you something weird?” “Sure. Do you think your mom would be willing to talk to my mom about what happened?” “I want to warn her, but I think it would be more effective coming from someone who’s been through it.” “I thought about that. Let me ask her.” I called mom from the coffee shop, explained the situation.

Of course, mom said immediately. Give Melissa my number. I’ll call her mom today. Melissa looked relieved. Thank you both of you. You’re welcome. We exchanged numbers and promised to stay in touch. As I walked home, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not happiness exactly, but something close to it.

A sense of purpose of having helped someone avoid the nightmare I’d lived through. That night, mom told me she’d talked to Melissa’s mother for over an hour. How did it go? She was shocked. She’d thought Weey was just being sweet. Turns out he’d already tried to hold her hand once. She’d written it off as accidental. Jesus, but she’s aware now.

She said she’s grateful we warned her. Over the next few months, Melissa and I became friends. Not close friends, but we’d text occasionally, check in on each other. She told me we had tried to contact her dozens of times after their breakup. Flowers, letters, showing up at her apartment.

She’d had to threaten a restraining order before he finally stopped. She also told me that she’d posted about her experience on a relationship forum, warning other women about Wei. Three more women reached out to her. Women Wei had dated or been engaged to. All of them had similar stories. He’d pursued their mothers or their older sisters or their aunts.

Always older women. Always women connected to his actual partner. Always with the same grooming tactics. He has a type, Melissa said when she told me. And it’s not women his own age. It’s not even the women he dates. It’s their mothers. So, we were just access points. I think so. I think he dates younger women specifically to get close to their mothers.

It was such a disturbing realization that I’d been a tool, a stepping stone to the person he actually wanted. “You okay?” Melissa asked, noticing my expression. “Yeah, just processing. Want to hear something that might make you feel better? Sure. His parents cut him off financially. His dad told him that unless he gets serious therapy and shows genuine change, they’re done with him. Really? Yep.

I’m friends with one of his cousins on Instagram. She’s been keeping me updated. I smiled. It was petty, but it felt good. Weey had always been so proud of his family’s money. The idea of him losing that was satisfying in a way I couldn’t quite articulate. Good, I said. He deserves worse, but it’s a start. Lyn Wei’s cousin reached out to me around this time.

She felt guilty for not warning me sooner. I knew something was off about the way we treated women. she told me over coffee, but I didn’t know the extent of it. And I thought maybe he’d changed after the divorce from May. It’s not your fault. I should have said something earlier, not just on New Year’s, but months before.

I saw the way he looked at your mom, the way he’d find excuses to be alone with her. You tried to warn me that night. That’s more than most people would do. Lynn shook her head. It wasn’t enough. And now I’m wondering how many other women he’s hurt, how many other families he’s destroyed, more than we probably know about. His parents are devastated.

My aunt barely leaves the house anymore. She’s so ashamed. She shouldn’t be. This isn’t her fault. Try telling her that. In Chinese culture, the family’s reputation is everything, and Weey has destroyed theirs. I felt a little sorry for Wei’s parents. They’d been kind to me, supportive, and they’d tried to do the right thing by giving me the house and cutting Weey off, but I couldn’t let myself feel too sorry.

They’d known about Wei’s behavior with his first wife’s mother. They’d hidden it from me. If they’d warned me, maybe none of this would have happened. Around this time, I started dating again. Nothing serious, just casual coffee dates and dinners, testing the waters. Most of the men were fine, nice enough.

But I found myself hypervigilant, analyzing every interaction, looking for red flags. One guy asked about my family and I immediately tensed up. Was he fishing for information about my mother or just making normal conversation? Another guy complimented me by saying I had classic beauty that would age well. I ended the date immediately. Dr.

Chen said this was normal. You’ve been traumatized. It’s going to take time before you can trust again. What if I never trust again? You will, but you need to be patient with yourself. Mom was having similar struggles. The guy from her book club, Robert, had asked her out, but she kept making excuses not to go. “What if he’s like Weey?” she said.

“What if I’m terrible at reading men?” “You’re not terrible at reading men.” “Wayey was a professional manipulator. He fooled a lot of people, but he fooled me the most. I let him kiss me, Amber. I didn’t stop it immediately. You were confused. He’d been grooming you for months, years, maybe, but I should have known better.

” We had versions of this conversation dozens of times. Mom was stuck in a loop of self-lame that no amount of therapy seemed to break. Finally, Dr. Dr. Chen suggested that mom and I do a few joint therapy sessions. In one of those sessions, Dr. asked mom, “If this had happened to a friend of yours, if a friend told you that her son-in-law had been grooming her and she didn’t immediately push him away, what would you tell her?” Mom thought about it.

I’d tell her it wasn’t her fault, that she was manipulated. So, why can’t you extend that same compassion to yourself? Mom started crying because I was her mother. I was supposed to protect her and instead I became part of the threat. I reached over and took her hand. You didn’t become part of the threat. You were victimized too by the same person who victimized me.

But I kept secrets because he manipulated you into keeping them. That’s what abusers do. It took months, but slowly mom started to forgive herself. She finally agreed to go out with Robert. Then on another date, then another. Robert was patient, kind. He knew about what had happened with Wei.

Mom told him on their third date, and he didn’t run away. I have daughters, he told her. If anyone did to them what Weey did to you and Amber, I’d want someone to believe them, to support them, not judge them. Mom cried when she told me about that conversation. Meanwhile, I met Marcus. He was a high school teacher, taught English, and coached the debate team.

We met at a friend’s barbecue. He was funny, self-deprecating, easy to talk to. On our third date, I told him everything about Weey, about what happened, about the divorce. I expected him to be put off, to make an excuse, and never call again. Instead, he said, “Thank you for trusting me with that. You’re not weirded out.

I’m weirded out by what your ex did. But you, you survived something terrible. That doesn’t weird me out. It makes me respect you more.” I started crying right there in the restaurant. Happy tears. Can I ask you something?” Marcus said gently. “Sure.” “Does your mom live with you?” “Yeah.” “Is that weird?” “No, I think it’s nice.

You’re taking care of each other.” That answer made me like him even more. Marcus and I dated for a year before he proposed. And when he did, mom was there, not because I’d told him to include her, but because he wanted to. We were having dinner at the Brownstone. Me, Marcus, Mom, and Robert. It seemed like a normal Sunday night dinner. Then Marcus stood up.

I have something I want to say, he started. Amber, you’ve become the most important person in my life. You’re smart, funny, resilient, and kind. I love you more than I knew it was possible to love someone. He got down on one knee. But before I ask you what I want to ask you, I need to say something to Jessica. He turned to my mother.

Jessica, I promise I will never do anything to betray your daughter’s trust or your family’s trust. And I want you to know that if I ever make you uncomfortable in any way, even if it seems small or insignificant, I want you to tell Amber immediately. No secrets, no manipulation, full transparency. Mom started crying. I know what happened with Weey, Marcus continued.

And I know how much it hurt both of you. I want you to know that I see both of you. I respect both of you and I will never ever abuse your trust or your vulnerability. Then he turned back to me. Amber, will you marry me? I said yes, obviously. Mom hugged both of us, sobbing. Thank you. She kept saying to Marcus, “Thank you for understanding.

” Robert, who’d only been dating mom for a few months at that point, looked a little overwhelmed by the emotion, but he got up and shook Marcus’ hand. “You’re a good man,” he said. “These women deserve a good man.” Our wedding was small, just close friends and family. Marcus’ parents were there, sweet people from Virginia who treated my mom like their own family.

Marcus’ father pulled me aside at the reception. “My son told me about your first marriage,” he said. “About what happened? I want you to know that the way my son treats women comes from how he saw me treat his mother.” “With respect, with honesty. I’m proud of the man he’s become, and I’m proud that he chose you.

I hugged him, crying for what felt like the hundth time that day.” Weey tried to send a message through a mutual friend. Some nonsense about wanting closure. I didn’t respond. That part of my life was over. Done. I processed the trauma, learned from it, and moved on. But I never forgot. And I made sure that every woman who reached out to me about Weey got the full story, got warned, got protected.

Melissa and I organized a small support group, women who’d been targeted by Wei. We met once a month just to talk, to share, to heal together. There were seven of us eventually, all with similar stories, all at different stages of recovery. One woman, Lauren, had actually married Wei after me.

She’d ignored the red flags because he’d seemed so charming, so perfect. He told me you were crazy. She said that you’d made everything up because you were jealous. I believed him. How long were you married? 6 months. Then I caught him texting my mother. Sexual messages. He didn’t even try to hide it anymore. I’m sorry. Don’t be. I’m the one who should be sorry.

You tried to warn me. You posted about him online and I didn’t listen. I’d actually posted my story on several forums, detailed accounts of what we had done with his full name. His lawyer had threatened to sue me for defamation. Patricia had laughed. Truth is an absolute defense, she’d said. Let him try.

He never did, but the post remained. A permanent record of his behavior. A warning to any woman who thought to search his name before getting involved. It’s been 5 years now since that New Year’s party. Since everything fell apart. Mom is married to Robert. They had a small ceremony in the fall. Just family. Mom looked happy, genuinely happy, free.

Marcus and I just celebrated our second wedding anniversary. We’re talking about having kids, which terrifies and excites me in equal measure. What if I’m a bad mother? I asked Marcus one night. Why would you be a bad mother? Because of what happened with my mom. What if I can’t protect my kids? You’ll protect them the same way your mom protected you.

By loving them. By believing them. By creating a safe space where they can tell you anything. But my mom, your mom was manipulated by a predator. That doesn’t make her a bad mother. If anything, the fact that she told you the truth when it mattered most makes her a great mother. I thought about that about how mom could have kept lying, could have continued the affair, if you could even call it that. But she didn’t.

She told me the truth, even knowing it might destroy our relationship. That took courage. And we last I heard, he moved back to Shanghai. Apparently, he tried to reconcile with his ex-wife’s mother, but she finally realized what he was and cut him off. According to Lynn, he’s currently single, living alone in a small apartment, working a job that’s beneath his education level because no one wants to hire someone with his reputation.

His parents still won’t talk to him. Neither will most of his extended family. I hope he got help. I really do. Not for his sake, but for the sake of any future women he might encounter. But I’m not holding my breath. Sometimes late at night, I think about that moment in the guest room doorway when I opened the door and saw them on the bed.

In some ways, it was the worst moment of my life. But in other ways, it saved me. If I hadn’t walked in then, if Lynn hadn’t seen Weey go into that room, if things had played out differently, I might still be married to him, still clueless, while he continued his pattern with my mother and God knows who else. So, in a twisted way, I’m grateful for that terrible moment, for the truth it revealed, for the life it let me escape.

Mom and I still live together. Even though we both have partners now, we’re not in a rush to change our living situation. The house is big enough for everyone, and after everything we went through, we like being close. Besides, Marcus and Robert get along great. They watch football together on Sundays and complain about their respective jobs.

Last week, mom and I were making dinner together when she said, “You know what I was thinking about today?” What? That fake tradition way made up. The name he gave it, Chong Tong. Yeah, I looked it up properly. You know what it actually means? What? It’s not even a word. Or rather, it’s two words put together wrong.

Chong means bed, and Tong can mean system or tradition depending on the character. But the way he said it, it’s gibberish. He literally made up a nonsense word. You both started laughing. Not the kind of laughter that’s actually funny. The kind that comes from realizing how absurd and horrible something was. He couldn’t even be bothered to use a real word.

I said, “Nope, just complete nonsense.” And I fell for it. We both did because we trusted him. “Never again,” Mom said firmly. “Never again,” I agreed. We finished making dinner, lasagna, Marcus’ favorite, and set the table. Robert and Marcus came home from the gym around the same time, sweaty and laughing about something.

As we sat down to eat, I looked around the table. My husband, my mother, her partner, all of us in this house that I’d once shared with Wei, this house that had been the sight of so much pain, but it wasn’t that anymore. It was ours now. A place of healing, of new beginnings, of family, real family, not the twisted version Weey had tried to create.

“What are you smiling about?” Marcus asked me. “Nothing, just happy.” And I was. Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, Mom caught my eye across the table and smiled. A real smile, the kind that reaches your eyes. We’d survived, both of us. And we were okay. Better than okay. We were free.