In the third year of my marriage to Ethan Williams, his “first love” reappeared in his life, this time as a struggling sales clerk. Ethan, overcome with sympathy for her fall from grace, bought the entire store as a “reunion gift.” His grand gesture caused a sensation through our social circles. Meanwhile, I, his wife, became the joke of the town—Mrs. Williams, the pitiful fool. But I said nothing. Instead, I sent the newly opened store a polite bouquet of flowers. Then, clad in black, I went to his brother’s grave and cried my heart out. “Ethan,” I whispered, my tears soaking the cold marble, “I’ve finally found a way to break free from your brother. He may have your eyes, but he’s nothing like you.” My words hung in the air, heavy with grief, until I heard a familiar voice behind me: “What the hell did you just say?” The day after Ethan’s lavish display of affection, the group chat was buzzing with gossip. [Ethan really went all out for her. Buying an entire store? Must be true love!] [It has to be her—the infamous first love. When’s he going to introduce her to us? We’d love to see what the real deal looks like.] Their comments were mocking, dismissive. None of them cared that I, Mrs. Williams, was still in the group. My hands trembled as I read their messages. For once, I didn’t swallow my anger. Instead, I quietly exited the group chat. Ethan’s call came not long after. I was pinning a white flower to my lapel when my phone buzzed. I put him on speaker, freeing my hands. “Zoe,” he said, his tone sharp, “what the hell were you thinking, sending flowers to Claire?” “I’m your wife,” I replied calmly. “Sending flowers to a friend is just basic courtesy.” He let out a short, scornful laugh. “Don’t think I don’t see through you. You just wanted to flaunt your status as ‘Mrs. Williams’ and humiliate Claire.” “Let me remind you,” he continued coldly, “any status you have, I gave it to you. Don’t forget your place. Go pick up your pathetic flowers and apologize to Claire. Now.” His voice was so loud it startled me, making my hand slip. The pin pricked my finger, and I let out a small gasp of pain. On the other end of the line, Ethan sneered. “Zoe, don’t play these cheap little tricks with me. They don’t work. If you don’t show up today, don’t bother waiting for me to come home. Ever.” “Oh, and one more thing—quitting the group chat? That’s disrespectful to my friends. I’ll deal with you for that later. You chose to marry me. You knew what that meant. This is what you signed up for.” The line went dead. I looked down at the crimson stain blooming on my blouse. The sharp sting in my chest was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. Ethan always knew exactly how to hurt me. He wasn’t like my Ethan. The Ethan I once knew would never have spoken to me this way. I lowered my eyes, pinned the flower in place, and thought back to the choice Ethan had mentioned—the choice that had led me to this life.
I first met Ethan Williams in college. Everyone on campus knew I liked him. I wasn’t subtle about it. Among the many girls who admired him, I was the most shamelessly devoted. One day, he finally asked me, “Why are you so nice to me?” I looked up into his deep, shining eyes and answered with all the sincerity I could muster: “Because I like you, Ethan Williams. I like you so much it hurts.” That night, for the first time, he invited me to a club dinner. I was over the moon, thinking he was finally starting to notice me. But during the party, I caught him watching Claire Moore. When he saw her laughing with another guy, his expression darkened. When it came time for a game of truth or dare, Ethan tossed aside the “truth” card and picked a dare instead. His challenge? To kiss someone of the opposite sex for one full minute. Without hesitation, he turned to me, grabbed my face, and kissed me. My eyes widened in shock. His lips tasted faintly of mint, his scent intoxicating. But just as I was about to close my eyes and savor the moment, I noticed his gaze had shifted. He was looking at Claire. I didn’t need to guess why. She must have reacted just how he wanted, because when he pulled away, there was a triumphant smirk on his face. That night, Ethan declared that we were officially a couple. Looking back, it felt less like love and more like a consolation prize. He asked me to move into his off-campus apartment, and of course, I agreed. I thought if we spent more time together, he’d eventually fall for me. To the outside world, we were a picture-perfect couple, “madly in love.” But the truth was, I slept in the guest room, while Ethan treated me more like a live-in maid than a girlfriend. I cooked, cleaned, and kept his home spotless. Over time, he even gained a little weight, thanks to my cooking. People joked that I was Ethan Williams’s personal housekeeper. I didn’t care. As long as he let me stay by his side, I was happy. It reminded me of how my Ethan used to take care of me. For two years, we stayed like that. He never broke up with me, but he never fully committed either. Then, the day Claire left for graduate studies abroad, I saw them kissing outside our building. Their embrace was so intimate, so tender, it felt like a knife to my chest. I panicked. What if he left me for good? What if I never saw those eyes again? That night, Claire boarded her flight, and Ethan came home drunk. He stumbled into my room, reeking of alcohol. What followed was a night of pain and tears. I cried through it all, but I couldn’t stop myself from memorizing every detail of his face, every flicker of emotion in his eyes. The next morning, Ethan leaned over me, his voice cold and detached. “Zoe, let’s get married.” He pulled out a ring and handed it to me. The diamond gleamed faintly in the dim light, like a spark in the darkness of my hollow heart. “This… this was Claire’s, wasn’t it?” I asked, my voice hoarse. His eyes darkened, a flicker of anger crossing his face. “Take it or leave it,” he said flatly, pulling the ring away. Desperate, I snatched it back and slid it onto my finger. It was too big, the band loose around my knuckle. It looked absurd, like a child playing dress-up with an adult’s jewelry. Ethan laughed, but there was no warmth in it. His gaze was filled with mockery. I turned away, unable to bear the sight of him. And that’s how I became Mrs. Williams—a role the world saw as enviable, but one I knew was hollow. To everyone else, I was the picture of a devoted wife—gracious, patient, long-suffering. I never questioned Ethan’s affairs or his late nights. My only condition was that he come home every evening, no matter how late. When he stumbled in, reeking of perfume, I would get out of bed to make him tea or heat up a glass of milk. More than once, he sneered at me in his drunken haze, calling me pathetic, spineless, and boring. I would only smile in response. I knew what I was. I hated myself too. But I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t give up those eyes.
It was a sunny day when I left home, driving toward Claire’s boutique. Outside her store, two perfect rows of extravagant flower stands lined the entrance, each adorned with bright, colorful ribbons glinting under the sunlight. They were Ethan Williams’ grand display for her—a gesture impossible to miss. Ethan stood beside Claire, holding a little girl in his arms. The way they laughed together, so carefree, they could easily be mistaken for a family. I walked closer. Claire caught sight of me, and for a brief moment, a flicker of unease crossed her face. Then, she gently took the girl from Ethan’s arms and spoke softly: “Sweetheart, don’t cling to Ethan like that. Come to Mommy now.” She glanced at me, her voice warm and deliberate. “This is Mrs. Williams. Say hello to her.” “Mrs. Williams!” The little girl’s voice was bright and sweet, like a crisp apple freshly bitten into. I smiled and nodded, but before I could respond, Claire added casually, as if by accident, “You’ve been married for years now. Still no plans to have kids?” Her words landed like a blade, sharp and cutting. My face paled at the memory of what I’d lost, while Ethan’s expression darkened, guilt flashing briefly in his eyes. It happened early in our marriage. I had just found out I was pregnant. But when I told Ethan, he didn’t look excited or happy. Instead, he frowned, his voice cold and detached as he said: “A child will only complicate things between us. Our relationship is already unstable. I think it’s better if we don’t have this baby.” He said this barely an hour after Claire had posted an emotional breakup message on social media. His precious first love was single again, and Ethan wanted to leave himself a way back to her. In his eyes, our child was an obstacle. Something to be discarded without hesitation. The doctor warned me that terminating the pregnancy could leave lasting damage. My body was too weak, they said. If I went through with it, I might never be able to conceive again. But Ethan didn’t care. “You’re still young,” he said dismissively. “You look perfectly healthy to me. If something goes wrong, I’ll pay for the best doctors to fix it.” He made the decision as casually as if he were choosing a restaurant for dinner. But bad food can be replaced. A wrecked body cannot. That day, lying on the hospital bed beneath the blinding fluorescent lights, I felt my first pang of regret for marrying Ethan Williams. Tears streamed down my face as I stared blankly at the ceiling, the weight of his words crushing me. Later, Ethan came into the room holding a massive bouquet of lilies, their cloying sweetness filling the air. He wiped my tears away and spoke gently, his tone almost tender: “Zoe, don’t be sad. We can always have another child.” A slap in the face, followed by a sugar-coated lie. It was his favorite tactic. Through blurry eyes, I stared at him. For a fleeting moment, his face resembled someone else’s—someone who would have known I hated lilies and loved baby’s breath instead. But I swallowed the words I wanted to say. I didn’t ask for a divorce. Claire eventually got married, and the Williams family began pressuring Ethan to have a child. Suddenly, he wanted one too. But the doctor’s warning turned out to be true. I never got pregnant again. Ethan, ever the master of appearances, brushed it off when people asked. “Zoe’s health isn’t great,” he’d say with a sympathetic smile. “We’re just not planning for kids right now.” It was a convenient excuse, one that painted him as a caring husband while subtly shifting the blame onto me. What he never mentioned, of course, was the real reason—the child he’d forced me to lose, all for the sake of leaving the door open for Claire. A truth that would tarnish the perfect image of Ethan Williams, the golden boy of the Williams family. But to me, he was nothing more than a coward. Selfish, spineless, and cruel. Claire, however, wasn’t about to let the matter drop. “I didn’t realize Zoe’s health was so bad,” she said, covering her mouth in mock concern. “I guess I shouldn’t complain. I thought my body was weak too, but I had no trouble carrying my daughter. From pregnancy to delivery, everything went so smoothly.” Her words dripped with false sympathy, but the implication was clear: There must be something wrong with you. I didn’t take the bait. I hadn’t come here to trade petty insults with her. Instead, I turned and walked toward the flower stand I had sent, intending to take it back. But as I reached for it, a sharp, searing pain shot through my stomach. It felt like a thousand knives twisting inside me. My body trembled as I clutched my abdomen, struggling to stay upright. Before I could react, Ethan was at my side, grabbing my empty hand.
“Zoe, you still owe Claire an apology.” Ethan Williams’ voice buzzed in my ears like an annoying fly. I couldn’t even turn around from the pain coursing through my body. “Zoe,” he continued, his tone laced with irritation. “How many times do I have to tell you? These tricks don’t work on me. Stop playing games to avoid responsibility.” His words were meaningless noise to me. The pain in my stomach twisted deeper, spreading like fire through my chest and into my very bones. My legs gave out, and I slowly sank to the ground. Only then did Ethan seem to notice that something was wrong. For a brief moment, I caught a flicker of panic in his expression. “Zoe, are you serious right now?” he asked, hesitating as though unsure if I was faking. He finally moved to step toward me, but before he could reach me, a sudden, sharp cry came from behind him. “Ah! Mommy, are you okay?” I turned my head slightly to see Claire sitting on the ground, clutching her ankle, her face twisted in pain as tears welled up in her eyes. Ethan immediately dropped my hand and spun around to rush to her side. I stayed where I was, hunched over, beads of sweat dripping from my forehead onto the ground, leaving dark marks on the pavement. Slowly, the sharp pain in my stomach began to subside. When I finally managed to stand, the space around me was empty. My husband—my husband—was kneeling beside another woman, his hands gently touching her pale, uninjured ankle, his face filled with concern. My throat burned, and my eyes stung with unshed tears. Five years of loyalty and love, wasted on a man who cared for me less than a dog. At least a dog would wag its tail when it received affection. Ethan? He didn’t even have the heart of a beast. Without a word, I strode toward the flower stand bearing both our names. The gaudy display stood tall, a symbol of everything I had endured. With a single, violent push, I sent it crashing to the ground. The sound of flowers scattering and the collective gasps of onlookers filled the air. I didn’t care. I walked to my car, my steps unsteady, and drove away without looking back. I ended up at the cemetery. A streak of vibrant sunlight filtered through the trees, landing directly on a small gravestone. The black-and-white photo on it gleamed in the light, the boy in the picture smiling warmly. He looked so much like Ethan—the same face, the same eyes—but there was a softness to his expression that Ethan never had. The sunlight made his smile seem alive, as though he were standing right in front of me. I crouched down and gently placed a bouquet of white baby’s breath on his grave. Then, as the tears I had been holding back all day finally spilled over, I whispered: “Jared… every year, I bring you stars. But no matter how many times I do, they’ll never shine as brightly as the ones in your eyes.” I paused, my voice breaking. “Jared, I’ve finally come to see you.” From my bag, I pulled out a folded piece of paper—a medical report. I placed it in front of his photo and continued, my voice trembling: “This isn’t me giving up, okay? But the doctors said… that even if I go through treatment, I won’t make it past a year.” I laughed bitterly, wiping at my eyes. “So, I figured when the time comes, when I can’t hold on anymore, I’ll come find you. We’ll be together again.” I tried to smile, but my lips quivered. “In a way, I’m grateful for this illness. It means I can finally leave this world—a world without you. I don’t have to keep pretending Ethan is you anymore. He might have your eyes, but he’s nothing like you. Not even close.” My hand shook as I reached out to touch Jared’s photo. If he were here, he’d probably scold me for not taking better care of myself. But now, all he could do was smile at me from inside the photo, frozen in time. He couldn’t stop me now. He couldn’t stop me from running toward the destiny I’d always believed was ours. But just as I closed my eyes, ready to let the quiet surround me, a voice shattered the stillness. “Who the hell did you just say I look like?” My eyes snapped open, my heart pounding in my chest. VIP part
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