Category: English

The name on the wedding invitation read “Maya.” It wasn’t forwarded to me by someone else. I saw it in our college alumni Facebook group—someone posted a picture saying they had just received Maya’s wedding invitation. The photo was taken casually, the invitation resting at an angle on a table. Crimson red with gold foil lettering. I saw the groom’s name. David. I stared at those two names for a very long time. David. My ex-husband. Maya. My best friend of twenty years. I scrolled up through the chat history. Several people in the group were offering their congratulations. Someone asked, “Is Chloe going?” Nobody answered. I checked my own message history again. No invitation. No messages. Maya’s profile picture sat quietly on the third page of my recents; her last message was from a month ago, asking to borrow a portable charger. My best friend of twenty years, marrying my ex-husband, didn’t invite me. I placed my phone face down on the table. And then, I remembered something. 1. The divorce happened a year and a half ago. Back then, Maya stayed by my side for an entire month. She took time off work, bought groceries, moved into my apartment. When I cried at night, she cried with me. “David is a piece of trash,” she would say, sounding even more hateful toward him than I was. “You deserve so much better.” She would put her arm around my shoulders. “Don’t look back.” I didn’t look back. I signed the divorce papers and walked away with virtually nothing—well, not nothing, but I gave up a lot. He got the house, he got the car, and I didn’t fight for my shares in his company. Maya told me to just let it go. “It’s not worth turning it into an ugly fight,” she had said. “Just start fresh.” I listened to her. Now, I was sitting in my rented apartment, looking at the photo of that invitation on my phone screen. Crimson red with gold foil. David and Maya. Wedding date: The 12th of next month. I put my phone down. Then picked it up again. It wasn’t because of the invitation. It was because of a specific detail. Someone in the group chat had asked: “How long have they been together? That was fast.” Someone else replied: “I heard it hasn’t been long. They only got together after the divorce.” After the divorce. I got divorced in March of last year. It’s been a year and a half. From getting together to getting married—a year and a half. Dating, meeting the parents, getting the license, planning the wedding—is a year and a half enough time? It’s enough. But it’s tight. Unless… it wasn’t just a year and a half. I started going through my phone. Not Maya’s messages—I went through my own. I was looking for a specific chat log. From January of last year. Two months before the divorce. That night, Maya had called me out of the blue, saying she just got off a late shift, asking if I had eaten and if I wanted to grab a drink. I told her no, I was waiting for David. He said he had a business dinner with clients that night. Maya had said, “Another business dinner? He’s been having a lot of those lately.” At the time, I thought she was just feeling bad for me. Now, thinking back on it, her tone wasn’t sympathetic. It was confirmation. I put my phone down and walked out onto the balcony. It was raining outside. I remembered another incident—New Year’s Day last year. My birthday. Maya said she couldn’t make it. “Stuck at work, can’t get away.” She posted on Instagram that night, tagging a high-end sushi restaurant, with the caption: “Treating myself after a long day of grinding.” I even ‘liked’ the post back then. Now, I really wanted to know what street that sushi restaurant was on. 2. I started digging through my old phone. It wasn’t a planned investigation. I just couldn’t sleep. At 3 AM, I was sitting on my bed, hugging my knees, thinking. And as I thought, I picked up that outdated phone, plugged it in, and turned it on. The text messages were still there. I didn’t go looking through Maya’s messages. I went through mine and David’s. January of last year. I got into a huge fight with David. It started because he threw out the braised short ribs I made, saying they tasted terrible. I had spent two hours cooking them, and he hadn’t even taken a single bite. I threw a fit, and he slammed the door and left. Maya came over the next day. She told me, “Don’t butt heads with him. All men are like that.” I said, “What gave him the right to throw it away? I cooked for two hours.” Maya replied, “Think about it, maybe you’re being too sensitive? It’s just a plate of food.” It’s just a plate of food. I actually thought she made sense back then. I kept scrolling. February of last year. The day before Valentine’s Day. I asked David what his plans were for Valentine’s Day. He said work was too busy. I vented to Maya about it. She texted back: “Don’t push him too hard, men are under a lot of pressure. If you don’t celebrate a holiday, you don’t celebrate it. It’s not a big deal.” Not a big deal. On Valentine’s Day, I stayed home alone, watched a movie, and ate instant ramen. Maya posted a picture of a bouquet of flowers on Instagram with the caption: “Who sent these? So mysterious.” I even commented on it: “Who is it?! Spill!” She replied with a smiley face emoji. Didn’t say who. I sat on my bed, turning the screen brightness all the way down. That bouquet. I had seen it before. I had seen it in David’s Amazon order history. Right before Valentine’s Day last year, he bought a bouquet of Ecuadorian red roses. $399. I asked him who they were for, and he said a client. I believed him. Now, I took a screenshot of Maya’s Instagram post and put it side-by-side with a screenshot of David’s Amazon order. The exact same day. The exact same flowers. I didn’t cry. I put the phone next to my pillow and turned off the lamp. I lay there with my eyes open in the dark. There was a water stain on the ceiling shaped like a hand. Around this time last year, Maya told me she didn’t think David and I were a good match. “You guys just have different values,” she had said. “You’re too exhausted,” she had said. “If I were you, I would have left him a long time ago,” she had said. Back then, I thought she was hurting for me. She was actually trying to push me out the door. I rolled over, facing the wall. There was a strand of Maya’s hair on my pillowcase. She had stayed over for a night last month, claiming she was fighting with her landlord. I had made her fish soup and put clean sheets on the bed. I didn’t brush the hair away. But I committed it to memory. 3. On the third day, I did something I never would have done before. I went and checked the credit card statements. Not mine, David’s. When we divorced, we were still using the same joint credit card account. He later switched his primary card, but he never canceled my authorized user access. I tried logging into the bank app—the password was still his mother’s birthday. He hadn’t changed it. I wasn’t explicitly trying to find something. Or rather, I just had to check. The statements were organized by month. I started looking from October of the year before last. October: One charge. The Ritz-Carlton. $568. David and I hadn’t stayed at a hotel in October of that year. November: The same hotel. Two charges. December: A different hotel, slightly more expensive, $688. Plus a charge at Saks Fifth Avenue for $2,380, categorized as “Jewelry.” I had not received any jewelry. I kept scrolling. January of this year—two months before the divorce: Hotels three times. Department stores twice. And one charge that read “Nobu.” Sushi. I clicked on the date of that transaction—January 1st. My birthday. The day Maya said she was stuck working late and couldn’t make it. The day David said he had a business dinner. A $568 sushi bill. Dinner for two. They were eating high-end sushi on my birthday. I put the phone down. Stood up. Walked to the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Grabbed a bottle of water. Unscrewed the cap. Took a sip. Then put it back. The water was freezing. My hands were freezing, too. I went back to my desk and kept scrolling. It wasn’t a year and a half. It was at least two years. The statements started showing these charges in October of the year before last. Back then, David and I hadn’t even started having major issues. Back then, I was making him dinner every night, doing his laundry, keeping his mother company. Back then, Maya came over for dinner once a week, always telling me, “Your cooking is amazing.” She wasn’t coming over every week to see me. She was coming to see him. I created a spreadsheet organizing his credit card charges by month. I opened the Notes app on my phone and logged them one by one. I wasn’t investigating. I was counting. Counting how many times they had seen each other over these two years, how much money they had spent, how many nights I had sat at home waiting for him to “get back from his business dinner.” Forty-seven times. Two years. Forty-seven transaction records. Hotels, restaurants, department stores, florists. An average of twice a month. Every single time, either he told me he was “working late,” or Maya told me she was “slammed at work.” When he was working late, Maya was slammed. When Maya was slammed, he was working late. Not a single conflict. Forty-seven times— That’s not a coincidence. That’s a schedule. 4. I started reverse-engineering every single thing Maya had ever said to me. It wasn’t hard. The chat logs were all still there. January 15th, last year. Maya: “Chloe, have you ever thought about whether you and David are actually incompatible?” January 15th. On the credit card statement, there was a hotel charge on January 14th. She had just seen him. The very next day, she came to convince me we were “incompatible.” January 20th. I told Maya that David had been coming home late a lot, and I wanted to check his phone. Maya said: “Don’t do it. Checking his phone will just damage the relationship. You have to trust him.” January 20th credit card statement: January 19th, Saks Fifth Avenue, $3,600, categorized as “Handbags & Accessories.” Trust him? Don’t check? Because if I checked, I would have found you. February 3rd. Maya: “Have you considered that maybe you’re being too controlling? Men need their space.” February 2nd: Hotel. Every single time. Every time Maya came to advise me to be “magnanimous,” to “let go,” to “stop sweating the small stuff,” there was a charge for her and David the day before or the day after. She wasn’t coming to comfort me. She was acting as a messenger. David was too much of a coward to ask for a divorce himself. He had Maya test the waters, soften me up, and convince me bit by bit to “let go.” Maya did it. And she did it perfectly. She would hold me every time, using the most sympathetic tone to deliver the most ruthless advice. “You deserve better.” — Translation: You leave first, so I can take your place. “Don’t fight for the company shares; it’s not worth turning it into an ugly fight.” — Translation: All of this will be mine later. “Just start fresh.” — Translation: I’m taking over your old life. I cross-referenced the chat logs with the credit card statements line by line. I took a screenshot of every matching pair. Arranged them chronologically. Highlighted the dates. Twenty-three pairs in total. From November of the year before last to March of last year, in those four months, Maya sent me twenty-three “caring” messages. Within forty-eight hours before or after every single one of those messages, there was a corresponding charge on the credit card. Twenty-three displays of concern. Twenty-three dates. Every time she checked in on me, she was sleeping with my husband. I saved all the screenshots into a new folder. I named the folder “2024”. I was calm. I realized I was incredibly calm. Not because it didn’t hurt. But because the initial shock of the pain had passed. Now, it wasn’t pain. It was clarity.

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1 After my boss left for a business trip overseas, our new female intern suddenly claimed she was pregnant with his child. Using the unborn baby as leverage, she made herself comfortable in his luxurious corner office and started laying down the law, acting like she already owned the place. “First, no one is allowed to eat their lunch in the office. The smell of any grease makes me nauseous.” “Second, every single one of you must serve me. When I give an order, it has to be completed immediately.” “Third, the AC is staying off. The hum of the condenser outside the window is giving me a headache and ruining my sleep.” “If you can’t handle these rules, you can all pack up and leave.” We walked on eggshells, terrified of angering her, yet she found ways to make our lives miserable at every turn. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I called my boss. I was ready to quit my job and scream at him, “Can you please come collect your pregnant girlfriend?! She’s running the company into the ground!” But my boss, sitting halfway across the globe, was absolutely furious. “Pregnant?! I’m a virgin, for crying out loud! What the hell are you talking about?!” …… I had just dropped my boss off at LAX and was planning to treat myself to a huge meal when my phone rang. It was a coworker. He lowered his voice, sounding frantic. “Assistant Taylor, when are you getting back?” I stuffed a piece of sourdough into my mouth. “Probably in half an hour. What’s up?” “You need to get back here ASAP! Chloe just announced she’s pregnant with Mr. Vance’s baby!” “And now she’s calling a meeting to set some new ground rules!” I was so shocked the bread fell right out of my hand onto the pavement. “Chloe?!” The intern who literally started yesterday?! I sprinted back to my car. “Don’t panic. I’m on my way.” I had to hand it to him—Mr. Vance really knew how to keep a secret. As his executive assistant, I hadn’t seen a single clue that he even had a girlfriend. Initially, I had wondered how Chloe even got hired. Based on her resume and experience, she was nowhere near qualified for our firm. Now, it all made sense. But still, he could have given me a heads-up! Ten minutes later, I walked into the office. Instead of working at their desks, the entire staff was gathered in Mr. Vance’s executive suite. They were standing in a semi-circle, hunched over, listening to a woman shouting orders. She was acting more arrogant than the CEO himself. I quickly pushed through the crowd. Chloe was lounging on the leather sofa, one hand resting dramatically on her stomach. When she saw me, her frown deepened. “Finally decided to show up? Do you realize the entire company has been waiting for you?” “You really think you’re a big shot, don’t you?” I quickly lowered my head and forced an apologetic smile. “Traffic on the 405 was terrible.” She cut me off before I could finish. “Your performance bonus for this month is gone.” I clenched my fists, gritting my teeth, but ultimately swallowed my pride and apologized. Just yesterday, she had been politely calling me “Ms. Taylor.” Now, her status had completely shifted. If I crossed her, losing my bonus would be the least of my problems. I could lose my job. Even though I could easily find another position, jobs with benefits this good were rare. I really didn’t want to lose it. Seeing that I had corrected my attitude, Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Since everyone is finally here, I’m going to lay down the new rules.” My coworkers stiffened, their faces turning pale. As I stood there confused, Sarah tugged at my sleeve. She leaned in and whispered, “Her rules are completely insane.” “Listen up, all of you,” Chloe announced. “I am pregnant. And I am carrying your boss’s heir.” She absentmindedly stroked her flat stomach. “Rule number one: lunch hours in the office are canceled. No one is allowed to eat anywhere in this building.” A collective gasp echoed through the room. I couldn’t help but speak up. “Chloe, everyone works really hard here. If they can’t eat lunch…” Before I could finish, she threw a cup of scalding hot water right at me. “Who do you think you are, calling me by my first name?!” “From now on, when you see me, you refer to me as Mrs. Vance!” My face contorted in pain from the burning water, and my body began to tremble involuntarily. Chloe let out a cold scoff and pointed a manicured finger at me. “Let that be a lesson to all of you. This is what happens when you disobey me.” Seeing this, my coworkers were so terrified they barely dared to breathe. “Rule number two!” She raised her voice, looking incredibly smug. “Every single one of you works for me. If I tell you to jump, you ask how high.” “Rule number three! Turn off all the AC units. The condensers outside are giving me a migraine.” This time, no one dared to argue. Not even me. The skin on my arm where the boiling water had hit was already turning red and swelling. “Did you all hear me?!” “If you can’t handle it, pack your boxes and get out!” With that, she shot me a deadly glare. The staff nodded frantically, respectfully assuring her they understood. After dismissing everyone else, she made me stay behind. Chapter 2 2 “I hear you’re my husband’s executive assistant?” I forced an awkward smile. “I mostly just handle his schedule and organize his documents.” She clearly didn’t buy my answer. “Massage my shoulders first.” I walked behind the sofa. “Is this pressure okay?” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Look, I’m not trying to make your lives difficult on purpose, but my husband said so himself.” “He said if I don’t establish dominance over you worker bees now, I’ll never have any authority later.” “But I imagine you don’t really have a choice, right? You need this job to survive.” “Besides, my demands aren’t exactly unreasonable.” She snapped her eyes open. “Are they?” I quickly shook my head, plastering a fake smile on my face. “Not at all! Not at all.” Looking at her tyrannical behavior, I couldn’t help but question my boss’s taste in women. Was he getting so old and desperate that he’d settle for just anyone? For the entire morning, she ordered me around like a personal maid. She took one look at the coffee I made her and threw the entire mug across the room in disgust. “How did you even get this job?!” “I asked for lukewarm! Do you not understand English?!” But I wasn’t listening to her screaming. My heart stopped because the coffee had spilled all over Mr. Vance’s desk. Right on top of the contracts he had just signed. I looked at the mess in sheer panic. “Mrs. Vance, we need those contracts in two days!” Even though I grabbed some napkins instantly, massive brown coffee stains had already soaked through the thick paper. Chloe glanced at me, her tone completely indifferent. “So they got dirty. Big deal. A stack of paper is nothing compared to the baby in my belly.” She suddenly barked at me, “Your sole focus right now is serving me! Do you understand?!” “You can’t even do the job of a basic servant right!” I swallowed my burning rage, my voice trembling slightly. “Mrs. Vance, these contracts are incredibly important.” “Can I take them outside and try to clean them up?” Thankfully, she nodded in agreement. But just as my hand touched the doorknob, she called out again. “Send two girls in here. My feet need a massage.” I bit my lip hard. “Okay.” The moment I stepped out of the office, I realized something was very wrong. It was hot. Unbearably hot! The entire floor of employees, who should have been buried in their work, were all doing the exact same thing. Fanning their faces with whatever folders or papers they could find. I stood there in shock and looked up at the central AC vents. It wasn’t just turned off. Someone had literally unplugged the main control panels. Everyone looked miserable, shooting me desperate pleas for help. Just as I was about to say something, Chloe walked out, holding her stomach. “Stop that right now!” Her sharp eyes swept across the room. “The whole reason I turned off the AC was to stop the noise from the machines outside!” “And look at you! You’re out here making a massive racket with all that flapping!” “Are you doing this just to piss me off?!” Instantly, everyone dropped their makeshift fans. Looking embarrassed and terrified, they quickly shook their heads and muttered apologies. “But you’ve already pissed me off!” Chapter 3 3 Chloe glared at me resentfully. “How are you even an executive assistant? You have zero management skills.” Before I could defend myself, she pointed her finger, randomly selecting several employees like a dictator choosing targets. “You. You. And you. Stand up.” “Start doing squats. Two hundred of them!” “What?!” The selected employees looked visibly angry, but tried to reason with her politely. “Mrs. Vance, we—” “Three hundred!” Seeing Chloe relentlessly raise the stakes, they didn’t dare speak again. They immediately started doing squats. She clapped her hands and turned to look at me. “The reason they are being punished is because they were fanning themselves too aggressively and making too much noise.” I followed her gaze. The punished employees were dripping with sweat. They were panting heavily, looking utterly miserable. “Now, you need to do five hundred squats!” I pointed at myself in pure disbelief. “Me?!” She smirked mockingly. “You failed to manage your subordinates. You bear the most responsibility.” Suddenly, her face darkened. “Are you going to start or not?!” I didn’t dare hesitate. I put my hands behind my head and squatted down. She leisurely addressed the rest of the sweaty office. “Is it hot? Are you guys hot?” “I don’t feel hot at all.” Hearing that, I wanted to curse her entire bloodline to hell. Of course she wasn’t hot! She had a personal AC unit running at 65 degrees in the executive suite, wrapped in Mr. Vance’s silk blanket! Why would she feel hot?! But I only dared to scream those words in my head. Chloe pulled up a chair and sat down comfortably. “The baby in my belly—your boss’s heir—is hungry!” She tapped her manicured nails rhythmically against the armrest. “What should we eat?” “I know. I want the bird’s nest soup from that place in Pasadena.” “And the shrimp noodles from that spot in Santa Monica.” Having delivered her demands, she patted my shoulder. “Thanks for your hard work, Assistant Taylor.” “It’s mostly because the baby is craving it…” With that, she slowly sauntered back into the executive suite. The second the door clicked shut, the entire staff let out a collective sigh of relief. But a moment later, the door yanked open again, and she poked her head out. “Send two women in to massage my legs.” “Actually, make it four. They need to do my feet too.” Slam. She shut the door again. Everyone turned to look at me, their faces twisted in agony. “Assistant Taylor… what do we do now?” One of the girls doing squats burst into tears. “I have a contract I need to send to a client this afternoon!” “What am I going to do?!” I was panting heavily, checking the time. Mr. Vance was currently mid-flight. Calling him was impossible. “Just hold on a little longer, guys. The boss lands at 4:00 PM.” “I’ll report everything to him as soon as he lands.” After all, I was the biggest victim here! Chapter 4 4 By the time I finished the squats, I felt like I had lost half my life. If I hadn’t grabbed onto a nearby desk, I would have collapsed onto the floor. But remembering Chloe’s threats, I didn’t dare waste a second. I practically crawled to my car in my sweat-soaked clothes to go buy her food. During the drive, I cursed the entire way. I cursed Chloe, and I cursed my boss right alongside her. When I finally got back with the food, I noticed the employees massaging her legs had been swapped out for a fresh batch. I carefully placed the takeout containers in front of her. She pouted, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Running around all morning must have been exhausting.” She patted the sofa next to her. “Why don’t you sit down?” Seeing her sickeningly sweet smile, a wave of dread washed over me. The exact second I sat down, Chloe grabbed the container of scalding soup and dumped it directly over my head. Before I could even react, she dumped the container of noodles right on top of it. I jumped up violently. “What the hell are you doing?!” She glared at me with pure venom. “And you call yourself my husband’s assistant?!” “Didn’t anyone teach you to be incredibly careful when serving a pregnant woman?!” “This food is ice cold! I wouldn’t even feed this to a stray dog!” She grabbed the empty containers and threw them at me. “Go back and buy it again!” At this point, I smelled like a horrifying concoction of things. Body odor, seafood soup, and garlic noodles all mixed together. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, she scowled. “Did you hear what I said?!” “Do you want me to fire you right now?!” I clenched my fists, wiping the greasy broth out of my eyes. Then, I bent down, scooped up a massive handful of the noodles from the floor, and smashed them directly into her face. I pried her jaw open with my fingers. “I fucking quit!” Having finally snapped, I felt an incredible wave of relief. Chloe choked on the noodles, her face turning bright red. She leaned heavily against the sofa, clutching her throat. A few noodles were literally hanging out of her nose. “You!” “Just you wait! I’m going to make my husband fire you!” I smoothed down my messy hair. “I’ll be waiting.” With that, I spun on my heel and marched out of the office. Sarah saw my disastrous state and looked heartbroken. As she helped pick the noodles out of my hair… She pointed a trembling finger toward Emily. “Emily’s ulcer flared up, and she actually threw up blood earlier.” I was horrified. “Why didn’t anyone take her to the hospital?!” Sarah burst into tears. “Chloe wouldn’t let us! She said being short-staffed would hurt the company’s productivity!” I rushed over to Emily. She was deathly pale, her hair matted with sweat, curled into a tight ball on the floor. “Assistant Taylor, I…” “We’re going to the hospital!” Sarah and I immediately lifted Emily up. Several other coworkers rushed over to help us carry her. After getting Emily safely admitted to the ER, I drove back to the company. By the time I arrived, the office was in utter chaos. The breakroom had been completely trashed. The microwave was smashed into several pieces. Sarah told me that Chloe was currently taking a shower in the CEO’s private bathroom. And she was planning to ‘deal with me’ the second she got out. I pulled out my phone. It was 4:30 PM. The boss had just landed. She wants to fire me?! I already quit! Furious, I dialed Mr. Vance’s personal number. “What kind of psycho girlfriend did you find?! Are you going blind in your old age?!” “Can you please come collect your psychotic fiancé?!” “Someone like Chloe is going to run your company into the ground!” “Just wait for bankruptcy! Oh, and by the way, I quit!” There was dead silence on the other end of the line. For a second, I thought the call had dropped. Finally, Liam Vance roared into the receiver. “Taylor, are you out of your mind?!” “What kind of garbage are you spouting?!” “I am a complete, untouched virgin! What the hell do you mean I have a girlfriend?!”

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My husband’s female “bro” came over to hang out at our house. She said she really missed the feeling of sleeping bare-bottomed with my husband when they were kids, and asked me to give up the master bedroom so they could relive their “brotherly bond.” I refused with a dark expression and warned them that they were adults now and needed to know their boundaries. His “bro” immediately hooked her arm around my husband’s neck and complained. “Danny, daddy’s gotta say, you can’t even keep a woman in line. All this nagging is a real embarrassment to men everywhere!” Feeling like he had lost face, my husband forcibly sent me to a “Good Wife Academy,” saying he was going to teach me how to be obedient. But what he didn’t know was that this “Good Wife Academy” was actually an illegal, underground human experimentation facility. My body was surgically altered, and a command chip was implanted in my brain. I was turned into an emotionless puppet that only knew how to obey orders. While he and his “bro” were fooling around in the house, I obediently kept watch outside the door all night. When his “bro” told me to do a striptease, I stripped myself completely naked without hesitation. When he angrily told me to go die, I immediately jumped out of our eighth-floor window. Later, he knelt crying by my hospital bed, begging me to turn back into the person I used to be. Daniel carried me out of the Good Wife Academy. Mia took one look at me and reached straight for Daniel’s crotch. “Danny, it’s only been a month and you already brought her back. Couldn’t hold in that little bit of meat down there, huh?” Looking like he was completely used to this, Daniel caught her hand. “The headmaster said Chloe is ready to graduate. He guaranteed she’ll be completely obedient to me from now on.” Mia’s eyes roamed over my body, a playful smirk on her lips. “Oh really? I’m gonna have to test that.” She stuck a foot out toward me. “Sister-in-law, my shoe is dirty. Clean it for me.” Receiving the command, I immediately responded: “Yes, Miss Mia. I will clean your shoe.” I crouched down and used the clean sleeve of my own shirt to wipe her shoe, stroke by stroke. Surprise flashed in Mia’s eyes, and then she ordered: “Do it on your knees. It gets cleaner that way.” Without hesitation, I dropped to both knees in front of her. Daniel frowned involuntarily. “Alright, that’s enough. Chloe is still my wife, is it really appropriate to have her kneel to you?” Mia giggled. “Don’t I always tell you to get on your knees and lick my feet when we’re joking around? Who knew your wife was so literal that she’d actually do it!” With just a few words, Mia shifted the blame onto me. Daniel’s face darkened as he spoke to me: “Mia is just joking with you, can’t you tell? Get up right now!” I immediately stood up from the floor, staring straight at him, waiting for his next command. Daniel looked at my dust-covered sleeves and pants, saying in displeasure: “I just washed the car today, and you make yourself look like a beggar. Are you purposely trying to piss me off?” I shook my head. “No, Husband. Miss Mia told me to kneel and clean her shoe.” Daniel looked at me impatiently. “I think you’re doing this on purpose. Fine, then don’t ride in my car. Walk back yourself!” I immediately replied: “Yes, Husband.” I turned around and started walking along the sidewalk. A 30-mile journey. I walked for 16 straight hours. By the time I got home, my feet were blistered and bleeding. At that moment, Daniel was pinning Mia down on the living room sofa, messing around. Seeing me, a flicker of guilt crossed his face, but he quickly went on the offensive and interrogated me: “Chloe, where the hell have you been fooling around? Why are you only getting back now?” I was just about to open my mouth to say I wasn’t fooling around, that I had just finished walking back. But he waved his hand impatiently. “Forget it, I don’t want to hear your excuses. Hurry up and cook, Mia and I are starving.” Mia, acting like the lady of the house, started ordering dishes. “Sister-in-law, I want sweet and sour ribs, shrimp with corn, and steamed bass.” I walked into the kitchen to prepare dinner for the two of them. The dried blood on my feet stuck to my shoes, sending waves of stinging pain, but I didn’t even have a moment to tend to them. At the dinner table, Mia held up a glass of vodka and offered it to me. “Sister-in-law worked hard cooking. I toast this glass to you.” She said she was toasting me; she didn’t issue a command. So I just stared blankly at the glass of liquor in front of me and didn’t move. Mia immediately started speaking sarcastically: “Looks like Sister-in-law is still holding a grudge against me! Danny, your woman isn’t giving daddy any face!” Daniel yelled at me: “Don’t you know basic table manners? When someone offers a toast, how can you not drink? Hurry up and drink it.” I picked up the glass and downed it in one gulp without hesitation. I hadn’t eaten a single grain of rice all day. Drinking such strong liquor so suddenly made my stomach immediately spasm in pain, and a groan of agony unconsciously escaped my lips. Daniel kicked me. “Chloe, you’re purposely trying to ruin my mood today, aren’t you! If you don’t want to eat, get the hell out!” My body moved before my brain could process. Clutching my spasming stomach, I crawled out of the house step by step. Mia, holding her glass, joked from the side: “Danny, you’re being a little unchivalrous here! Even though women are like clothes, she’s still your wife!” Daniel glared at me. “Ever since she got out of that Good Wife Academy, she’s been throwing tantrums at me. Who spoiled her to be like this? Ignore her!” Beads of cold sweat rolled down my forehead. I trembled, curled up in a ball at the front door. From inside, I could intermittently hear Daniel and Mia laughing, messing around, and letting out ambiguous moans and squeals. Exhausted and starving all day, I couldn’t hold on any longer. My vision went black, and I passed out. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed. Daniel was looking at me with a mix of worry and anger. “Chloe, are you really that stubborn? You’d rather starve and pass out at the door than come inside and give in to me?” I looked at him and said calmly: “You told me to get out. You didn’t tell me to come back in.” Daniel was stumped for a moment, his attitude softening slightly. “Chloe, stop throwing a fit. Mia and I grew up running around bare-bottomed together, we’re bros. If there was ever going to be anything between us, do you think there’d be any room for you?” “Between bros, face is everything. Why are you so petty, insisting on disrespecting me in front of her? Sending you to that academy was just to teach you a lesson, to let you know you were wrong.” He said so much, but all I understood was that he said I was wrong. So I immediately responded: “I was wrong.” Hearing my apology, Daniel finally nodded in satisfaction. “Fine. Since you know you were wrong, we’ll let this go. Let’s just live a good life from now on.” I nodded mechanically. “Live a good life.” The next day, Daniel and Mia came together to pick me up from the hospital. While Daniel went to handle the discharge billing, Mia looked at me with disdain. “I really hate you pick-me girls. All you know how to do is act weak and pitiful in front of men, like you can’t survive without one.” “I’ll make Danny understand that only our brotherly bond is the most reliable thing. A clinging vine like you is just a dispensable decoration.” She threw harsh words at me for a long time, but seeing me stand there without a single extra expression, she got even more furious. When Daniel walked over, she grabbed him in a headlock, pressed his head against her chest, and started making dirty jokes like nobody else was around. “Are daddy’s boobs soft? When we played house as kids, you even said you wanted to suck daddy’s milk! How about a taste now?” Daniel unceremoniously grabbed her chest twice. “What are you talking about! My wife is watching!” Mia deliberately looked at me and said provocatively: “Sister-in-law is much more generous now. This is just us bros messing around, I don’t think she’ll mind.” Daniel looked at me, carrying a faint expectation in his eyes. I said with a blank expression: “I don’t mind.” Daniel’s face instantly darkened. He glared at me, turned around, and walked out. That night, Mia said she wanted to celebrate my discharge and specifically organized a party for everyone to go out and have some fun. Inside the dim VIP room, men and women gathered together, drinking and telling dirty jokes. Only I sat in the corner, my back ramrod straight, not saying a word. Mia forcefully pulled me over. “Sister-in-law, sitting there alone is so boring! Come play Truth or Dare with us.” I nodded and responded: “Yes, Miss Mia.” The Truth or Dare spinner pointed to Mia, instructing her to choose someone in the room to french kiss for one minute. Mia reached out and yanked Daniel over. Daniel instinctively looked at me. Mia looked at me and said: “It’s just a game. Sister-in-law definitely won’t mind. She might even lead the applause for us!” Receiving the command, my hands immediately started clapping unconsciously. The room erupted in cheers. “Sister-in-law, so generous!” “Sister-in-law, you rock!” A look of anger flashed across Daniel’s face, but he wrapped his arms around Mia and started kissing her. I stared blankly at the scene of the two of them kissing, but dull waves of pain radiated from my chest. The next round began, and this time the spinner pointed to me, instructing me to perform a striptease in front of everyone. Mia looked at me with a mocking smile. “Danny always said Sister-in-law has a great body. Now I finally have the chance to feast my eyes.” I stood up and reached out to unbutton my shirt. The jacket fell. Just as I was about to continue taking off my inner shirt… Daniel grabbed my hand. “Enough. This is just a joke. Are you really going to strip completely naked in front of all these people?” I looked at Daniel somewhat dazedly. Because there was no clear command, I didn’t know if I should continue stripping right now. Just then, Mia drawled: “Danny, we’re all bros here. Since Sister-in-law is willing to strip, what’s the harm in letting us look!” Everyone present loved a good show, and they immediately started chanting at me: “Strip! Strip! Strip!” I shook off Daniel’s hand and, without hesitation, took off my inner shirt. A wave of whistles echoed through the room instantly. I lowered my head, about to continue taking off my pants. Daniel rushed up and slapped me hard across the face. “Chloe, you’re such a slut! Just to spite me, you’d rather strip naked in front of all these people?” I was knocked to the ground. Sharp pain flared in my cheek, and blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. Furious, Daniel threw his own jacket over me and kicked me twice. “Aren’t you just blaming me for sending you to that Good Wife Academy?! Ever since you came back, you’ve been passive-aggressive and fighting me at every turn!” “Today I’m going to teach you a good lesson. I’ll make you realize who exactly wears the pants in this house!” I curled up on the floor, feeling the pain radiating from all over my body, but I didn’t know what I was supposed to do right now. Finally, someone couldn’t watch anymore and stepped forward to pull Daniel back. “Alright, Danny. We took the joke too far just now. We were the ones who told her to strip, she was just trying not to ruin the vibe.” Daniel looked at me, highly emotional, and roared: “At the end of the day, she’s just a loose, cheap slut! People tell her to strip, and she strips! Then why doesn’t she go die when I tell her to!” Receiving the new command, I immediately crawled up from the floor. “Yes, Husband.” I quickly walked over to the balcony, pushed open the window, and climbed onto the ledge. Everyone was stunned. The emotion in Daniel’s eyes shifted from anger to terror. “Chloe, what are you doing!” I stood on the eighth-floor ledge, looking down, without a trace of fear in my eyes, and answered flatly. “I am going to die.” After saying that, I jumped without a moment’s hesitation. The wind roared in my ears, and behind me, Daniel screamed heart-wrenchingly. With a loud bang, I crashed onto the roof of a car parked below. Thanks to the car breaking my fall, I wasn’t smashed to a pulp. But I suffered multiple bone fractures all over my body and passed out from a severe concussion. When I woke up again, I was lying in a hospital bed, wrapped in bandages. Daniel was sitting beside me, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. His clothes were speckled with blood. Seeing me open my eyes, he leaned in anxiously, wanting to touch me, but then tremblingly pulled his hand back. “Chloe, you scared me to death. Even if you’re mad at me, you can’t joke around with your own life…” I propped myself up against the mattress with my hands, trying to sit up. Noticing my movement, Daniel immediately asked: “What’s wrong? Do you need to use the bathroom? I’ll call the nurse right away.” I said calmly: “You told me to go die. I haven’t died yet. I need to go die.” Daniel froze completely, his voice laced with terror. “Chloe, what’s wrong with you? Don’t scare me.” Enduring the excruciating pain, I tried to climb out of bed. “I’m not scaring you. I just need to go die!” Hearing this, Daniel panicked even more and hurriedly hugged me. “Chloe, stop it. I only said that in anger. I don’t want you to die, I want you to live a good life.” The new command contradicted the previous one, so the new command became the protocol. I relaxed my body and lay calmly on the bed. “Yes, Husband. I will live a good life.” Daniel told me to lie in bed and rest properly, so I immediately closed my eyes. He quickly ran out in a panic to find a doctor, his voice trembling as he explained my situation. “Doctor, my wife has become so strange. She listens to whatever I say. I told her to go die, and she jumped off the building.” “She wasn’t like this before. Is she sick? Please, I beg you, you have to cure her…” The doctor pressed down on Daniel’s shoulder, motioning for him to calm down. Then he pulled out an examination report, looked at him, and asked: “Has Mrs. Davis undergone any cranial surgery recently? We found a surgical incision on the back of her head.” “And from this CT scan, we can confirm there is indeed a 2mm metallic foreign object in Mrs. Davis’s brain.” “The abnormal behavior you mentioned might be related to this object.” Daniel immediately shook his head. “No, my wife has always been healthy. She’s never had any…” Suddenly, his voice cut off. He remembered sending me to the Good Wife Academy recently, and how I had become abnormal right after coming out of there. Plus, when he went to pick me up, the headmaster had confidently assured him that I would be completely obedient to him from then on. Daniel suspected that I had been subjected to something in there that turned me into this, and immediately chose to call the police. Under the police investigation, the truth quickly came to light. The headmaster of the Good Wife Academy, Richard Zhang, was a medical research fanatic obsessed with human brain modification experiments. He had even tried to use his position as a researcher to secretly experiment on severely ill patients. After the research institute found out, they kicked him out. After being expelled, Richard used his entire life savings to create this Good Wife Academy. The students he recruited were his test subjects. And I was his very first test subject. After succeeding with me, Richard quickly wanted to target others, but before he could, he was arrested by the police. Daniel rushed forward and punched Richard hard. “You animal! How dare you experiment on my wife! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” The police quickly pulled the two apart. Richard wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, not believing for a second that he had done anything wrong. “You sent your wife to me to make her obedient, didn’t you? Isn’t she obedient now? She listens to your every word and will never disobey you again. Isn’t that a good thing?” Daniel cursed wildly: “Good my ass! I want a living, breathing human being, not an obedient puppet!” “If my wife can’t return to normal, I swear you’ll pay with your life!” Richard tilted his head back and laughed maniacally. “You were the one who handed your wife over to me. You were the one who wanted her to be obedient.” “If I’m a murderer, then you’re my biggest accomplice!” Those words struck Daniel like a precision bullet. His entire body’s strength seemed to drain away instantly, and he almost collapsed to the floor. He realized Richard was right. He himself was the main culprit who caused me to turn into this. Watching Richard be handcuffed and taken away in a police car. Daniel looked like he had lost his soul as he slowly returned to the hospital and walked over to my bed. He looked at my battered and bruised body, raising his hand to gently hold mine. “Chloe, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you into that Good Wife Academy just to save face for a moment.” I kept my eyes open, looking at him coldly, just like looking at a stranger. Daniel was stung by my gaze and dropped straight to his knees beside my bed. “Chloe, this is all my fault. You can curse me, hit me, whatever. Just please don’t look at me with such cold eyes.” I raised my hand, slapped him hard across the face, and then said flatly: “Bitch!” A glimmer of joy surfaced in Daniel’s eyes, thinking I had returned to normal. But seeing my eyes still completely devoid of emotion, the joy vanished in a flash. I was simply following his command. That afternoon, Mia brought a cheap fruit basket to the hospital to see me. Seeing Daniel sitting dejectedly by my bed, she playfully punched his arm. “It’s just a woman, do you really need to be this depressed? You acting like this really makes daddy look down on you!” Daniel was no longer in the mood to treat her jokes as flirting. He just glanced up at her and didn’t respond. Mia walked over, looked at me on the bed, and suddenly said: “Chloe, bark like a dog for me a couple of times.” I immediately opened my mouth and barked, “Woof, woof.” Mia burst out laughing. “Wow, that’s a really good impression! Bark a few more times for me to hear.” Daniel quickly spoke up to stop it. “Chloe, don’t bark. You rest properly.” Hearing that the newest command was for me to rest, I closed my eyes directly. Daniel yanked Mia out of the room with an angry expression. “What are you doing? Chloe is already miserable enough turning into this. How can you take advantage of the situation to bully her?” The smile on Mia’s face didn’t fade. “How is this bullying?! I was just joking with her! Plus, I don’t think she’s miserable at all right now!” “It’s great that she’s like this. You tell her to go East, she won’t go West. Even if we bros sleep in the same bed, she won’t get jealous. In my opinion, this is definitely a good thing!” Those words thoroughly enraged Daniel. He raised his hand and slapped her across the face. “Are those even human words?! Chloe is a living, breathing person with thoughts and feelings, not just a robot puppet that only knows how to obey!” “Chloe turning into this has everything to do with you! Not only do you feel zero guilt, but you’re actually here mocking her. You have absolutely no humanity!” Mia never expected Daniel to actually hit her. “You hit me over a woman? From now on, we’re not bros.” She lunged forward and started tearing into Daniel, both of them looking like they wanted to kill each other. In the end, medical staff had to call the police, and the police came to take them both away, finally ending the farce. Richard’s arrest and the Good Wife Academy scandal made the news. My parents saw the report about me on the news and immediately flew to New York overnight. Seeing me lying in the hospital bed, my mom immediately leaned over and hugged me. “My poor Chloe has suffered so much. Don’t be afraid, Mom is here.” Being held tightly in her arms, I didn’t know how to react, but I felt a warmth in my chest, and my eyes unconsciously grew moist. My dad rushed up and punched Daniel, whose face was already bruised and swollen. “When you begged me to let you marry my daughter, what did you say?” “You said you would treat her well, love her for a lifetime. Is this how you love her?” Daniel dropped straight to his knees in front of my parents. “Mom, Dad, I’m sorry. I was foolish. It’s all my fault. You can hit me, curse me, I absolutely won’t fight back…” My dad kicked him heavily a few more times, finally venting some of the anger pent up inside him.

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Six years into our marriage, I saw a woman on my husband’s phone. He didn’t show it to me on purpose. He was taking a shower when an unknown number texted him an intimate photo. A woman in pajamas, resting her head against his chest, throwing up a peace sign at the camera. I picked it up and tapped it open. I scrolled up. The chat history was completely wiped. The entire conversation window contained only this single photo. The contact name was just a letter: L. He hadn’t saved her full name, or any other identifying information. But it was glaringly obvious. He was cheating on me. 1 I placed the phone back on the coffee table, screen facing down. The water in the bathroom stopped running. He came out, drying his hair with a towel, and picked up his phone just like he always did. He swiped the screen a couple of times; his expression didn’t change at all. I stared at his profile. From college to now, eleven years. I could trace the lines of his face with my eyes closed. He suddenly turned to me. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” He smiled and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips brushed my earlobe. They were cool and smelled of his grapefruit body wash. “You must be exhausted today,” he said. “Go to sleep early.” I nodded, but I lay awake with my eyes open until dawn. The next morning, I called in sick to work. After his car pulled out of the driveway, I went back inside and opened his backup phone. There was no ‘L’ in the contacts, but the photo was still in the cache folder. And it wasn’t just the one from last night. There were photos from two years ago, a year ago, six months ago… different locations, but the same woman. In front of a hotel’s floor-to-ceiling window, wrapped in a bathrobe, holding a glass of red wine. On a boardwalk by the beach, her arm linked through his, a sunset in the background. At an expensive sushi restaurant, feeding him a piece of salmon with her chopsticks. The last photo was recent. Her stomach was slightly rounded. Her hand rested on it, and he was looking down, kissing her forehead. The timestamp was from two months ago. My phone buzzed. A text from him. [Things are slow at the institute today. I’ll be home for dinner. Let me know what you want to eat, I’ll pick it up.] I locked my screen. I didn’t reply. I dialed the number of the sushi restaurant from the photo. “Hi, I’d like to check a reservation record from about three months ago. For a table by the window. The reservation would be under the name Davis.” “Please hold for a moment… Mr. Davis, correct? Yes, we have that. A table for two. The lady accompanying him was a Ms. Lin.” I hung up the phone. He never took me to sushi restaurants. He always said he hated raw fish. Turns out, he didn’t hate raw fish. He just didn’t want to eat it with me. It took me a week to figure out who she was. Lily Lin, thirty-one years old, a cellist for the city symphony orchestra. She wasn’t some college sweetheart he was having a nostalgic affair with, nor a random, meaningless fling. She entered his life much earlier than I could have ever imagined. Eight years ago, he gave a guest lecture at the symphony hall. She was in the front row of the audience. Seven years ago, he was invited to the New Year’s concert. She performed a solo; he presented her with flowers. Six years ago, we got our marriage license. That was also the year a “Mr. Davis” started appearing frequently on her social media. Never showing his face, only his hands. A hand helping her out of a car, a hand carrying her cello case, a hand holding a wine glass on her birthday. I scrolled through five years of her posts, one by one. She posted a picture of sheet music with the caption: The seventh year since he taught me how to read music. She posted a picture of a Ragdoll cat with the caption: When you’re not here, he keeps me company for you. She posted a blurry photo of a view from a window with the caption: He said he’ll bring me here again next time. 2 I started living like a private investigator. When he showered, I went through his briefcase. When he was at meetings, I checked his dashcam. Late at night, when he was fast asleep, I used his fingerprint to unlock his phone. The passcode was our wedding anniversary. That discovery made me sick to my stomach for three whole days. He was using a passcode that tied him to me, while living an entirely separate life with another woman. ‘L’ was hidden in a contact group labeled “Work Contacts.” Her profile picture was a close-up of piano keys. He cleared their chat history every day, but occasionally, something slipped through the cracks. On the 10th of last month, he was on a business trip to Boston. She texted that she wanted to eat at a specific private kitchen near the harbor. He replied: Okay, I’ll take you. That same day, he texted me: Meetings are back-to-back. Just grabbing takeout. On March 17th, she said her music room was too cold. He replied: Bought you a space heater. It arrives tomorrow. That same day, I asked him if he was coming home for dinner over the weekend. He said he had to stay late at the lab supervising his grad students. On April 2nd, at 2 AM, she sent a selfie, her eyes red from crying. He replied instantly: Why are you still awake? She said: Had a dream about you. He replied: Silly girl. I’m always here. I stared at that message. I stared until the screen went dark, then tapped it to light it up again. I waited for the tears to come. But my eyes were dry. Not a single tear fell. The next day was Saturday. For once, he wasn’t working overtime. “We haven’t watched a movie together in a while,” he said, standing in the entryway putting on his shoes. “There’s a new one out with great reviews.” I looked at him. I had ironed his shirt last week. He had polished his dress shoes himself yesterday. He’d gotten a haircut recently, making him look sharp. He said we hadn’t watched a movie together in a while. He sounded like he actually meant it. “I can’t today,” I said. “I’m meeting Joanne to look at building materials.” He paused. “For the renovation?” “Yeah. I want to replace the bookshelves in the study.” “Thanks for handling all that.” He walked over and, just like always, put his arm around my shoulders. “I’m no help at all with these things.” His hand was warm, resting on my shoulder through my thin sweater. I used to crave that warmth. Now, it just felt heavy. I went to see Joanne. We weren’t looking at building materials. It was an asset evaluation. Joanne was a woman in her forties with short hair and sharp eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. “Mrs. Davis, what exactly are you looking for?” “The flow of marital assets post-wedding.” I pushed the bank account numbers and property deeds across the desk. “Specifically, any large expenditures over the past five years, or any transfers with an unknown destination.” She flipped through the paperwork, then looked up at me. “Are you prepared for this?” “What do you mean?” “A lot of wives come in here wanting an audit, but halfway through, they get too scared to keep digging.” She closed the folder. “It’s not that they can’t find anything; it’s that they can’t handle the truth.” I didn’t say anything. She studied me for two seconds, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll have a preliminary report for you in three days.” When I left her office, it was raining outside. I hadn’t brought an umbrella. I stood under the awning, staring blankly into the distance. My phone buzzed. It was him. [Made sweet and sour ribs for dinner. Left a portion for you on the second shelf of the fridge.] I stared at the text. Three years, and he still remembered that sweet and sour ribs were my favorite. He remembered that I hate cilantro. He remembered that I’m allergic to cats. He remembered everything he was supposed to remember. So how did we end up here? The rain fell harder. I didn’t text him back. 3 Three days later, Joanne emailed me the report. The moment I opened the attachment, my hand shook on the mouse. Item 1: March, four years ago. Wire transfer of $35,000. Memo: “Renovation.” Joanne’s annotation: Recipient Lily Lin. No contractor license. Purpose of funds unknown. Item 2: August, three years ago. Payment of $68,000. Memo: “Car Purchase.” Joanne’s annotation: Vehicle registered under the name Lily Lin. Item 3: November, two years ago. Credit card charge of $18,000. Location: Paris. Joanne’s annotation: Mr. Davis has no record of international travel during this period. Item 4, Item 5, Item 6. Five years. Over two hundred thousand dollars. A hundred thousand of that came directly from our joint savings account. The account was in my name, and I set the PIN. He had never once mentioned touching that money. I pulled out the bank statements. The last time I checked was a year ago, and the balance hadn’t changed. Did he transfer the money out and secretly deposit cash back in to cover his tracks? Or had he been keeping two sets of books from the very beginning? I called the bank. The customer service rep checked for five minutes. “Mrs. Davis, there are no records of large withdrawals from this account over the past five years.” “That’s impossible.” “The system shows that all transfers were replenished with cash deposits on the exact same day.” I hung up. He had a secret bank account I knew nothing about. He used that account to wire money out, then used cash to refill our joint account. Clean and flawless. I went to his workplace. Not to confront him, but to see Brenda. Brenda was the Deputy Director of Finance. She sat at the head table at our wedding; she was a former subordinate of his late father. I didn’t beat around the bush. I just said I wanted to see his payroll records. Brenda didn’t ask questions. Half an hour later, she slid a piece of paper across her desk to me. Nathan Davis. Monthly salary: $8,500. Annual performance bonus: $15,000 to $25,000. Total income over the past five years: roughly $600,000. Account balance: $12,000. I stared at it for a long time. “Where is the rest of the money?” Brenda shook her head. “It’s not my place to ask.” She paused. “Nathan… I watched that boy grow up. His parents passed away early. When Old Mr. Davis entrusted him to me, he said Nathan was cold on the outside but warm on the inside, that he didn’t know how to navigate the world. He asked me to look out for him.” She looked at me. “Stella, did you find something?” I folded the paper and put it in my pocket. “Brenda,” I said. “His father asked you to look out for him. If my dad were still alive, I doubt he’d let me suffer like this.” I didn’t wait for her to respond. I got up and left. I was alone in the elevator. My face in the mirror was calm, as if nothing had happened. But my fingers were gripping that piece of paper so tightly my palms were sweating. He came home early that night. I was in the kitchen serving soup, and he leaned against the doorframe watching me. “Joanne mentioned you guys went looking at floor tiles today?” “Yeah.” “Did you decide on anything?” “Still looking.” He walked over and took the soup bowl from my hands. “I’m heading to Seattle tomorrow for a business trip. Three days.” “Okay.” He hesitated. “Stella, has something been bothering you lately?” I looked up. He was looking at me, his brow slightly furrowed. I knew that expression intimately. He looked like that when work was stressful, when his students caused trouble, when he was worried about his tenure review. In the past, I would have pressed him, tried to comfort him, done everything I could to make him smile. Now, I just offered a faint smile. “No. Just exhausted from the renovation stuff.” He nodded and didn’t push it. He slept deeply that night. I lay on my side, using the sliver of light from the streetlamp outside the window to trace his profile. His eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, his lips. Eleven years. I had looked at this face countless times. The first time was during freshman orientation. He was standing in the front row of the formation, sweat dripping down his forehead without him wiping it away, his jaw clenched, stubborn and unyielding. I remember thinking back then, This guy is interesting. Later, when he was pursuing me, he stuttered three times while asking me out. My roommate told me, “For a block of wood like Nathan to gather that kind of courage isn’t easy. Don’t make it too hard on him.” I nodded and said, “Okay.” Then he pulled me into his arms, our chests pressed together, his heart beating heavy and fast against mine. The leaves on the sycamore trees fell and grew back, grew back and fell, eleven times. I pulled my hand back from his face. I rolled over and closed my eyes. A small patch on my pillow was wet. I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep. 4 During the three days he was in Seattle, I did two things. First, I found out Lily Lin’s address. I asked a friend in real estate to check the property records for her complex over the past three years. The purchase date was one month after she bought her car. The total price was $1.2 million. Second, I met with someone. A former colleague of Lily’s who had left the symphony six months ago and now ran a private violin studio. I paid $3,000 for a package of adult lessons. She taught me for twenty minutes, took the money, and was in a great mood. I took her out for coffee. We talked about the orchestra, the concertmaster, the cellists. “Lily Lin,” she said, stirring her latte. “Pretty face, plays decently enough. But man, she’s lucky.” “How so?” “She’s got a sugar daddy.” She lowered her voice. “Claims he’s her boyfriend, some science guy. Every year during the orchestra’s fundraising drive, this guy makes an anonymous donation of a hundred grand. It’s been going on for three years. And guess what? The money is earmarked specifically for the cello section, with the stipulation that Lily be made the principal cellist.” She set her coffee cup down with a clatter. “That position was supposed to go to our associate principal. She’d put in ten years of hard work, but I guess ten years doesn’t compare to having a rich boyfriend.” I didn’t say anything. My coffee went cold. That afternoon, I drove past the Oceanview Residences and parked outside the gate for ten minutes. It was a high-security complex; you needed a keycard to get in or out. But I saw her. She looked a bit thinner than in the photos, wearing a loose knit dress and flat shoes. She was walking a Corgi on a leash, strolling leisurely out of the complex to the convenience store across the street to buy water. When she came out, she opened the bottle and crouched down to water the dog first. The Corgi clearly adored her, constantly nuzzling the palm of her hand. She laughed and leaned down to kiss the dog’s forehead. I started the car and drove away. He came back that night, bringing a box of specialties from Seattle. I opened it. It was a box of artisanal salted egg yolk pastries. “You mentioned you wanted to try these,” he said, sitting on the sofa looking at his phone. “I happened to be passing by the bakery, so I picked some up.” Mentioned. Back in my sophomore year of college, his roommate went to Seattle for an internship and posted on Facebook about how good these pastries were. I had casually commented that they looked good. He remembered that. I picked one up and took a bite. The red bean paste was sweet, the salted egg yolk savory. He asked, “Are they good?” “They’re good.” He put his phone down and looked at me. “Stella, I actually took care of something else while I was in Seattle.” I didn’t look up. “What is it?” “I looked at a condo,” he said. “In Bellevue, really close to the water. We have enough for the down payment. I want to put it in your name.” I put the pastry down. “Why buy a place there all of a sudden?” He paused. “I wanted to surprise you.” He smiled. “You’ve always said you wanted a place near the ocean.” I wanted a place near the ocean. He gave another woman the sunset on a beach boardwalk. I wanted to buy a house. He paid entirely in cash for a two-bedroom condo for another woman. I closed the box of pastries. “It’s too expensive,” I said. “We don’t have that kind of money.” “We can scrape together the down payment.” He hesitated. “We can also dip into our retirement funds.” “We can’t afford it.” He was silent for a few seconds. “Are you… worried about money?” I turned to look at him. His eyes were so sincere. So sincere that I almost believed those bank transfers, the property deeds, the orchestra donations were all figments of my imagination. “Nathan,” I said. “Are you hiding something from me?” He froze. “Why would you ask that?” “No reason.” I put the pastries in the fridge. “We’re not buying a condo right now. The renovations are costing too much as it is.” He didn’t push the issue. I went to bed early that night. Thinking I was tired, he dimmed the bedroom lights and quietly pulled the door shut. I lay there with my eyes open, listening until his breathing became long and steady. At 2 AM, I got up. His phone was charging on the nightstand. The passcode was still those same six digits. I unlocked it. He had wiped the chat with ‘L’ completely clean. But in his Notes app, there was a draft saved. The title was just one word: Chloe. I tapped it open. It was a letter. Written to his unborn child.

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Chapter 1 On the day of my divorce, my ex-husband wired five million dollars into my bank account. When I got home, my mother immediately asked me how much I got in the settlement. I lowered my head and said, “I walked away with nothing. I just wanted to prove a point.” She slapped me hard across the face. “You worthless brat! I raised you for nothing!” My dad pointed at the front door. “Get out. There’s no place for you in this house.” My younger brother “kindly” offered to let me stay in their storage closet—for five hundred dollars a month in rent. My sister-in-law laid down the ground rules: “Sam, we don’t raise freeloaders here. You have to pay for your own groceries, too.” I smiled and agreed. I lay on the broken folding bed and looked at the text message from my bank. Balance: $5,000,327. When I walked out of the courthouse, the sky was heavily overcast. My ex-husband, David Miller, stood on the steps, lighting a cigarette without looking at me. “The money was wired to your account. Five million, not a penny less.” “Mhm,” I murmured, nodding. He exhaled a plume of smoke. “Samantha, we got to this point, and there’s no one to blame. We just aren’t right for each other anymore.” “I know.” “Live a good life.” “You too.” He stubbed out his cigarette, turned, and walked away. I stood there, watching his car pull away. A black Mercedes. I picked it out for him three years ago. He said if I liked it, we’d buy it and slowly pay off the loan. Now, the loan is paid off. The car is his, the house is his, the company is his. Aside from the five million dollars, I had nothing left. Just then, my phone chimed with a text message. [A wire transfer of $5,000,000.00 has been deposited into your account ending in 8848. Available balance: $5,000,327.18.] I turned around and texted my family group chat. [Mom, I’m divorced.] Three seconds later, my phone blew up with a call. “Divorced? How much did you get? Who gets the house? What about the car?” I paused for a second, then regained my composure. “I walked away with nothing. I just wanted to prove a point.” Silence on the other end. A long, heavy silence. I didn’t dare make a sound, waiting for her to speak. Suddenly, my mom started screaming into the receiver. “Samantha Davis, are you out of your damn mind?! Walked away with nothing? Do you have brain damage? You’re 32 years old! You’re divorced, with no money and no house! How are you supposed to survive?!” “I’m moving back home.” “There’s no room for you here! Your brother is about to have a baby, we don’t even have enough rooms as it is.” “I can just sleep in the storage closet.” Chapter 2 She let out a long, ragged breath. “Fine, come back. But let me tell you, this isn’t over! Wait until I see you, I’m going to curse you out until you wish you were deaf!” She hung up. I stood on the courthouse steps. The wind blew past, carrying a biting chill. I ordered a ride home. No, back to my mother’s house. It was an old apartment building, sixth floor, no elevator. I dragged my heavy suitcase all the way up. When I reached the door, I could hear the TV blaring loudly inside. I knocked. My dad opened the door. When he saw me, he just shook his head and sighed. “Dad.” “Mhm.” In the living room. My mom, my brother Tyler, and my sister-in-law Chloe were all there. The TV was playing a reality show, but no one was watching it. Three pairs of eyes were locked onto me. Tyler was the first to speak, a hint of schadenfreude in his tone. “Sam, you really got divorced?” “Yeah.” Chloe leaned in. “Why? Was David seeing someone else?” I kept the truth from her and said, “No. We just didn’t get along anymore.” My mom sat on the sofa, legs crossed, arms folded, looking like a detective ready for an interrogation. “Samantha, explain this to me right now. Why did you walk away with nothing? David has a massive business, and you didn’t ask for a single penny?” “If I asked for money, I wouldn’t have been the one initiating the divorce.” My mom sat up rigidly, her voice shrill: “Initiating it my ass! Did you ever bother asking for our opinion? Even if your brain was flooded with water, you couldn’t possibly be this stupid!” Tyler pressed a hand to her shoulder to calm her down. “Mom, don’t get worked up. Sam must have had her reasons, right, Sis?” I lowered my head and stayed silent. My mom pointed a finger at me, scolding: “What kind of twisted reason could she have?! She’s 32, no job, no money, no house! Samantha, what are you going to do now? Huh? Are you expecting us to feed you?” “I’ll find a job.” Chapter 3 “What kind of damn job can you find?! You got married right out of college and have been a stay-at-home wife for seven years. What company is going to hire you?” My dad finally chimed in: “Just drop it. The divorce is already done, what’s the point of yelling about it now.” My mom turned her fury on him: “What do you mean, what’s the point?! This is all because of how you spoiled her! You spoiled her from the day she was born, and now she thinks she can do whatever the hell she wants! A divorce is a huge deal, and she just does it on a whim! She walks away with nothing on a whim! How is she supposed to survive?!” “I’ll survive on my own.” My mom sneered. “Survive on your own? With what? Where are you going to live? What are you going to eat? What are you going to wear? Let me make this clear, Samantha: in this house, there is no free ride for you!” Tyler interjected: “Mom, let her stay. The storage closet is empty, isn’t it? We can clear it out and it’ll be livable.” “The storage closet is full of junk, how is she supposed to sleep there?” Tyler looked at me, a meaningful smile on his face. “We can make room. Sis, you can stay, but we need to set some ground rules. You’re in a tough spot right now, and the family is taking you in, but you can’t just live here for free. How about this: $500 a month for rent, and we split the utilities and HOA fees. Fair?” The storage closet? Charging me $500? I was so speechless I almost laughed. My 28-year-old brother, spoiled rotten since childhood. He had changed jobs seven or eight times. Never lasted more than six months at any of them. The $40,000 down payment for his wedding house? I paid for it. The $20,000 for his wedding reception? I covered it. And now. I have to sleep in the family storage closet. And he’s charging me rent. “Fine.” Chloe chimed in: “And there’s the grocery money, Sam. I usually handle buying the food and cooking for the house. Since you’re moving in, we have to keep the math straight. We’ll count your share of the groceries as $250 a month. That’s not too much, right?” Chapter 4 “Not too much.” My mom added her own terms: “You have to do chores, too. Chloe is pregnant, she can’t be exhausted. From now on, you’re in charge of all the cooking, dishwashing, and mopping.” “Okay.” Chloe added another rule: “Don’t use the washing machine, it wastes water and electricity. You wash your clothes by hand.” “Fine.” “And don’t take a shower after 10 PM. It wakes us up.” “Mhm.” Rule after rule was laid down. And I agreed to every single one. Their eyes were filled with disdain, completely devoid of any sympathy. Seeing that I accepted everything, Tyler gave the final word: “Then it’s settled. Sis, go unpack. The storage closet is a bit messy, you’ll have to clean it yourself.” I grabbed my suitcase and walked toward the storage closet at the end of the hallway. When I opened the door, a musty smell wafted out. It was crammed with old furniture, torn cardboard boxes, and broken appliances. Near the window was a rusted folding bed, covered in a thick layer of dust. I set my suitcase down and started cleaning. From outside, I could hear their poorly muffled voices. Chloe asked, “Did she really not take a single penny?” “That’s what she said. Walked away with nothing.” Tyler scoffed. “What a total idiot. David’s company is worth tens of millions, easily. She was with him for seven years and didn’t take a cut? Her brain must have been crushed by a door.” My mom sighed. “What do we do now? Do we really let her live here long-term? Five hundred bucks in rent, what’s that going to do for us?” Tyler said, “Let her stay for now. We’ll make her do the chores to earn her keep. In a little while, we’ll find some divorced guy and marry her off as fast as possible.” “Who would want her? Thirty-two, second marriage, and broke.” “Some desperate old bachelor will take her.” I crouched on the floor, wiping the dust off the folding bed. Tears unconsciously fell from my eyes. Chapter 5 The storage closet was tiny, less than a hundred square feet. Once I unfolded the bed and put down my suitcase, there was no floor space left. The window was broken and let in a draft. I taped some plastic bags over it, but it was still freezing. It was March, and the temperature at night dipped into the forties. My mom had given me an old, thin, drafty blanket. I huddled under it, listening to the sounds outside. The master bedroom was my parents’. The guest room belonged to Tyler and Chloe. They went to sleep by 11 PM. The sound of snoring drifted through the thin walls. I couldn’t sleep. I opened my phone. My banking app. Balance: $5,000,327.18. I took a screenshot and emailed it to a secure secondary account. Then I deleted the text messages and deleted the banking app entirely. I couldn’t risk them seeing it. The next morning, 6 AM. I got up to make breakfast. The fridge had eggs, milk, and bread. I fried some eggs, heated the milk, and toasted the bread. Just as I set the table, they started waking up one by one. Tyler sat down, yawning. “Sis, you don’t need to make breakfast for us from now on. We can’t wake up this early.” “Then what are you going to eat?” Chloe sat down, resting her chin in her hand as she glared at the fried eggs. “We’ll grab something outside. There’s way too much oil here. I can’t eat greasy food while I’m pregnant.” “I’ll be careful next time.” “The milk is overheated. All the nutrients are gone.” “Mhm.” My mom sat down, glancing critically at the table. “Is this it? No oatmeal? No hash browns?” “I can make some right now.” My mom waved her hand in dismissal. “Forget it, there’s no time.” “Mom, I want barbecue ribs for dinner tonight,” Tyler said. My mom turned to look at me. Chapter 6 “Samantha, go buy groceries this afternoon. Ribs, a whole fish, and some greens. Cover the cost yourself for now, we’ll settle it at the end of the month.” “Okay.” Chloe added: “Oh, right, Sam. Give the bathroom a deep clean today. The back of the toilet is turning yellow, it makes me sick to look at it.” “Fine.” They finished eating and left. Tyler went to “work.” Who knows what new temp job he had found this time. Chloe went back to her parents’ house, claiming she had a prenatal appointment. My dad went to the park to play chess. My mom went to play bingo with her friends. I was the only one left in the apartment. I cleaned the bathroom first. The back of the toilet was indeed stained yellow. I had to scrub for half an hour to get it clean. Then I mopped the floors, wiped the windows, and washed the curtains. I was busy until noon. I made myself a simple bowl of noodles. In the afternoon, I went grocery shopping. The supermarket wasn’t far. I bought ribs, fish, spinach, and a little fruit. When I checked out, the total was $42.50. Carrying the groceries home, I bumped into our neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins. “Oh, Samantha, you’re back? I heard you got a divorce?” “Yeah.” “Oh my, why would you do something so foolish? David was such a good man. Rich, and he treated you well.” “Mrs. Jenkins, I’ve got things to do. I have to go.” I sped up my pace, practically fleeing back to the apartment. I cooked dinner that evening. Braised ribs, steamed fish, sautéed greens. Just as I set everything on the table, they walked in. Tyler tasted a piece of the ribs: “Sis, are you rationing the salt or something?” “Pregnant women shouldn’t have too much sodium.” Tyler grabbed another piece, complaining: “Well, I’m not pregnant. Make bigger portions next time. Who is this supposed to feed?” “Understood.” Chapter 7 Chloe took a small bite of the fish and suddenly frowned. “Is this fish undercooked? It tastes too fishy.” “I steamed it for fifteen minutes.” “Then it must not be fresh. Sam, you need to be more careful when you buy groceries. Don’t just buy stale food because it’s on sale.” “Okay.” My dad ate in silence, not saying a word. My mom took two bites and put down her chopsticks. “Samantha, how is the job hunt going?” “I sent out a few resumes, but I haven’t heard back yet.” “Hurry up and find something. We don’t raise freeloaders here.” “Mhm.” After dinner, I washed the dishes. They were in the living room watching TV, laughing loudly. I washed the dishes while looking out the window. It was dark, and the lights in the apartment building across the street were turning on one by one. Behind each of those lights was a family. I used to have a family, too. David used to help me wash the dishes. I used to massage his shoulders. On weekends, we would watch movies and cook together. But later, he got busier and busier, coming home later and later. Eventually, he stopped coming home at all. He said, “Samantha, we just don’t have anything to talk about anymore.” I said, “Then let’s get a divorce.” He offered me money, a house, and a car. I told him I only wanted what I deserved. He asked how much that was. I told him, “We were married for seven years. I stayed with you when the company was in debt, and I stayed until it was worth fifty million. I want five million dollars. That’s more than fair.” He gave it to me. Five million dollars. I had run the numbers; I knew he could afford it. I had hired a private investigator long ago to audit his company’s books and track the assets he was trying to hide. I took the money with a completely clear conscience. He signed the papers so quickly because he thought I was stupid, because he thought I was sentimental, because he thought I still loved him. Chapter 8 He was wrong. I was just tired. I finished washing the dishes. I went back to the storage closet. I closed the door, and the world went quiet. I opened my phone to check the stock market. Before the divorce, I had used my personal savings to buy some stocks, making a decent profit. I checked my other investments; the returns were good. I hadn’t touched the five million dollars. It was sitting safely in the bank. Generating over ten thousand dollars a month in interest alone. It was enough for me to survive. But it wasn’t enough for me to live well. And I fully intended to live well. But before that. I needed to see certain people for who they truly were. Like my own family. During my second week there. Tyler came looking for me. “Sis, I need to talk to you about something.” “Speak.” “I want to upgrade my car. That beat-up Hyundai is five years old, it’s time for a change.” “What are you looking at?” “An Audi A4. It’s about forty grand. I need a ten-thousand-dollar down payment, and I’ll cover the monthly loan myself. Sis, do you have any cash? Let me borrow some.” “I don’t have any money.” “Just ten grand. You got divorced from David, he must have given you something, right? You don’t even have ten grand?” “I walked away with nothing. You already knew that.” “You really didn’t ask for a single penny? Sis, don’t lie to me. David is loaded. Just what slips through his fingers is enough to live on. Are you hiding a secret stash?” “No.” His expression turned cold, tearing off his friendly mask: “Fine. If you won’t lend it, you won’t. I don’t know why I even bothered asking. And to think I was so good to you when we were kids. Whenever I had anything good to eat, I always gave you half.” He stormed out. I kept wiping the desk. When we were kids, whatever “good food” there was… He always ate first, and I only got what he couldn’t finish. Chapter 9 What he meant by “giving me half”… Was giving me the parts he hated, the parts he was sick of. That night, Chloe came looking for me. “Sam, I need to talk to you.” “Go ahead.” “My parents are coming to visit next month, and they need to stay for a few days. We only have three bedrooms, so there’s not enough space. Do you think you could stay somewhere else for a few days? We’ll pay for the hotel.” “Stay where?” “Just that budget motel across from our complex. It’s $50 a night. For a week, that’s $350. Is that okay?” “I’ll think about it.” “Sam, it’s not that I want to kick you out. It’s just that my parents are older, it’s not appropriate to make them sleep in the storage closet. You’re young, you can rough it for a few days.” “Mhm.” She suddenly lowered her voice: “Also, Tyler wants to get a new car, and he’s short ten grand. Sam, if you have the money, you should help him out. He’s your only brother. If you don’t help him, who will?” “I really don’t have any money.” She frowned and sneered: “Then what was the point of your divorce? You walked away without a single penny, just to prove a point? Sam, can pride put food on the table? You’re living in a storage closet, eating our food, using our electricity. Are you satisfied with your ‘pride’ now?” “I am.” She looked at me like I was a complete idiot, shook her head, and left. The next day, my mom cornered me. “Samantha, your brother is buying a car and needs ten grand. Do you have it or not?” “I don’t.” “You really don’t?” “I really don’t.” “Then what about the jewelry and designer bags from your marriage? If you sell those, they’re worth something.” “I gave them all back to him.”

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On the eve of Valentine’s Day, my fiancé, who works for a classified military intelligence unit, sent me a text. [Babe, I’m so sorry. The team got hit with an emergency deployment. My wedding leave was just canceled.] The moment I received that message, I was standing less than thirty feet from the security gates of his agency. I watched with my own eyes as he wrapped his “bro,” Riley Brooks, tightly inside his heavy tactical coat. “Just to satisfy this sick fetish of yours, I’ve bailed on Chloe six times already.” “This is the last time. Next year, no matter what, I am marrying her.” Riley laughed, lifting her half-empty iced coffee to his lips. “Didn’t you just buy the new mattress for the bridal suite? I’m gonna go help my future sister-in-law break it in.” “You don’t even have to thank me. Consider it an early wedding gift.” Hearing this, I dug my fingernails so hard into my palms that they almost bled. I pulled out my phone and dialed his parents. [Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, let’s gather everyone tonight and decorate the new house early.] [Yes, exactly. I want to give Liam a massive surprise.] Since he didn’t care about his dignity. Then he couldn’t blame me for burning everything to the ground. …… [Let’s keep the fact that we’re all in Virginia a secret from Liam for now.] [Okay, I’ll wait for you guys downstairs by the apartment lobby.] After hanging up the phone, I opened the app for the hidden security cameras I had installed just yesterday. On the screen, I watched them stumble through the entryway, aggressively making out all the way into the master bedroom. I saw the silver St. Michael’s medal—the one I had spent hours on my knees praying over at the cathedral to keep him safe on his deployments. Right now, it was lying completely abandoned amidst a filthy pile of discarded clothes. My body went completely rigid, letting the freezing winter wind bite through my coat. It didn’t take long before both our families and closest friends arrived. Before they even reached me, my parents hurried over, their faces full of concern. “How is it, Chloe? Did you see that idiot Liam?” “Don’t worry,” my dad sneered. “Your Grandpa already made a call to his commanding officer at the Pentagon.” “Even if the sky was falling tomorrow, his unit wouldn’t be calling him in for an emergency deployment.” I forced down the devastating urge to break down and scream. I squeezed out the most convincing smile I could muster. “Okay.” “Chloe, didn’t you say you wanted to give Liam a surprise?” “What are we standing around for? Let’s go up and start decorating!” Looking at the bright red balloons and wedding ribbons in my family’s hands, my nose stung fiercely. I let the tears spill silently over my eyelashes. I had known Liam for ten years. We had been dating for eight. We had been engaged for six. Six years ago, exactly one month before our wedding. He said he was applying for a highly competitive Captain’s slot, so I agreed to postpone the wedding for a year. Three years ago, exactly one week before our wedding. He said he was selected for a black-ops mission, and I agreed to postpone the wedding once again. Until this year, when both sets of parents finally lost their patience. Three days ago, we brought all our relatives and friends to the city where his base was located, arriving early to prep the final wedding details. But I never, in my wildest nightmares, could have imagined this. The bridal home I had spent six years meticulously designing and furnishing… Every piece of furniture, every inch of the hardwood floors… Had already been defiled and claimed by his “tomboy bro,” Riley. Thinking about it made my stomach violently churn. I rushed to a nearby trash can and dry-heaved for a long time. I wanted so badly to tell them. To tell everyone. That just half an hour ago. Liam had personally texted me to announce that our wedding—scheduled for tomorrow morning—was being delayed for another year. I wanted to tell my parents that Liam had betrayed me. That over the last six years, every single time he claimed his leave was canceled due to national security. He was actually just screwing his “bro,” Riley Brooks. But I realized my throat felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t squeeze out a single word or make a sound. As we walked into the apartment building, I chugged a bottle of ice-cold water. Liam. It’s time for you to taste exactly what it feels like to be played for a clown. The moment everyone stepped off the elevator. We immediately saw the tactical boots and a woman’s lace top scattered in the hallway. Seeing my face flush with “embarrassment” as I quickly kicked the clothes against the wall, Liam’s mother covered her mouth to hide a knowing smirk. Assuming Liam was inside prepping a romantic surprise, she excitedly unlocked the front door. At the exact same moment, unspeakable, filthy moans echoed loudly from the master bedroom. “Damn, your bed is comfy…” “If you do it with Chloe here later, are you gonna think about your bro?” “You should swap the sofa for leather though. This fabric is chafing my skin.” Hearing this, everyone’s expressions froze. It was as if a freezing spell had been cast over the entire group. No one stepped closer to see what was happening. No one dared to make a sound. I forced my legs—which felt like they weighed a thousand pounds—to move forward. I reached down into the pile of discarded bras and shirts and picked up the St. Michael’s medal. It had been stepped on and cracked. Even though I had mentally prepared myself for this. Actually standing in the room, I felt as terrified and cowardly as a child who had done something terribly wrong. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted copper, letting the blood fill my throat. “Liam Hayes! Get your ass out here right now!” “Liam, do you hear me?!” “You actually dared to betray my daughter?! You must have a death wish!” My dad lost his mind and charged toward the master bedroom. He pounded his heavy fists against the solid wood door. Just as he was blinded by rage, raising his leg to kick the door off its hinges… Liam slipped out through a crack in the door, hastily wrapped in a towel. “Mr. Vance, Dad, Mom, cousin…” “Why… why are you all here?” “Why didn’t anyone tell me…” Before he could finish his sentence, my dad delivered a brutal right hook to his jaw. “You soulless piece of trash! You have the nerve to ask us that?!” “Our Chloe waited for you for six agonizing years!” “Did she wait just to see how creatively you could betray her?!” Before Liam could even recover from the shock of the punch. My mom had already stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet. “Where is that little bitch?! How dare she ruin my daughter’s marriage!” “I’m going to kill her! I’m going to smash that homewrecker’s face in!” Just as she raised the skillet to storm the master bedroom, Liam lunged forward, desperately grabbing the pan and tossing it to the floor. “Mr. and Mrs. Vance, you’re misunderstanding!” “My original plan was to leave the base tomorrow morning at 0700 to go home.” “But I wanted to give Chloe a massive surprise! That’s why I came back early.” “I was just taking a shower and changing clothes, and suddenly you’re all here!” While he was speaking, my cousin had already kicked the bedroom door wide open. “Liam, if you really cheated on my sister, I will literally end you.” But the moment the door swung open… The bridal bed was immaculately made. Scanning the entire room, there was absolutely no sign of a second person. Seeing this, Liam’s mother immediately jumped in to control the narrative. “See? I told you! There’s no way our Liam would do something like that.” “Looks like we all just completely misunderstood him.” “Chloe, really, you should have just waited upstairs with him.” “What, were you afraid we’d get lost finding the apartment with this many people?” She rolled her eyes, picking up Liam’s tactical jacket from the floor and tossing it at him. “And you! If you’re going to take a shower, take a shower! Why the hell are you blasting cheap porn on your phone?!” “Now look what happened. You made everyone misunderstand!” Liam’s cousin quickly chimed in from the side. “Honestly man, did you and Chloe already go at it before we got here?” “You didn’t even clean up the battlefield before making everyone come decorate your bridal suite.” “Seriously, way to treat us like we aren’t even guests.” Having quickly thrown on a t-shirt and sweatpants, Liam seized the perfect excuse and ran with it. “Talk about terrible luck.” “Who gets caught ‘cheating’ by their entire family just for watching a little video in their own house?” He faked an awkward, embarrassed cough. “Since everyone is already here, why don’t we all go out to a nice steakhouse?” “Chloe, what do you think?” Seeing that I was standing there completely motionless, he walked straight up and pulled me into his arms. “Weren’t you just cuddling in my arms a few minutes ago?” “Why are you acting so shy now that everyone is watching?” As he said this, he lowered his head, pressing his lips to my ear to whisper. “Let’s just take everyone out to dinner first. I’ll explain the video to you later.” “It’s not what you think. Trust me.” “Say something quickly. Everyone is waiting.” Heh. Was he afraid that everyone was waiting? Or was he terrified of keeping the person hiding in the master bedroom waiting? Having been together for ten years, Liam knew exactly how to manipulate me. He knew that every time he and Riley crossed the line using the excuse of being “bros,” I would always painstakingly swallow his excuses and believe him. But what he didn’t know was that the moment I found out he had been faking canceled military deployments for six years just to be with this so-called “tomboy bro”… I had absolutely zero desire to marry him anymore. But I didn’t want to just rip the band-aid off and let them walk away easily. I wanted to watch with my own eyes as they choked on the consequences of their own filthy actions. I let out a cold laugh, slipping smoothly out of his embrace. “What just happened really was a huge misunderstanding.” “It’s our fault for not being more careful. Sorry for making a joke out of ourselves.” “Mom, Dad, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes… since it took so much effort to get everyone together tonight, why don’t we just order a massive spread of food here? It’s the perfect way to warm up the new house.” “No!” The moment the words left my mouth, the three members of the Hayes family objected simultaneously. Seeing my feigned look of confusion, Liam’s mother was the first to explain. “There are no groceries in the new house! If we just order cheap takeout here, wouldn’t we be disrespecting our guests?” “Plus, it’s getting late. We don’t have time to wait for a delivery.” “Liam’s mom is right. Let’s just all go out to a nice restaurant,” my mom agreed. “Yeah, Chloe, Mr. Vance, Mrs. Vance, let’s just go out to eat,” Liam quickly added. In the entire room. Only I and the three members of the Hayes family knew the truth. Behind the hidden bookshelf door in the master bedroom was a private en-suite bathroom. They wanted to use dinner as an excuse to get me and the rest of the family out of the apartment. So Riley could sneak out undetected? Keep dreaming! I completely ignored the forced, panicky looks in the Hayes family’s eyes. I grabbed my parents and dragged them onto the plush living room sofa. “Oh, come on! Everyone is exhausted from traveling all day. Let’s not drag everyone back out into the cold.” “I just put in a massive DoorDash order from that high-end Italian place down the street. It’ll be here in twenty minutes.” “Garlic bread and extra parmesan for everyone, right? Cousin, you don’t like spicy marinara, right?” “Perfect. It’s already paid for.” Though their faces were twisted with immense reluctance, the Hayes family had no choice but to bite the bullet and sit down. While I was in the kitchen brewing a large pot of tea for everyone, Liam cornered me, looking incredibly distressed. “Chloe, did you get my text earlier? I was originally trying to surprise you with the deployment thing, but I guess I totally screwed it up.” I pretended nothing was wrong, looking at him casually. “What text? Did you text me?” “Sorry, I was so focused on decorating the bridal suite I haven’t even looked at my phone.” I reached into my pocket to pull out my phone, but he immediately grabbed my hand to stop me. “It’s better you didn’t see it! The wedding is proceeding exactly as planned. After tomorrow, you will officially be my legal wife.” I smirked coldly and pushed past him. I walked back into the living room, warmly entertaining our family. While we waited for the food to arrive. Everyone got to work. Some were taping up wedding decorations. Others were inflating balloons. And the task of decorating the master bedroom… Fell to the two of us—the bride and groom. I walked up to the bridal bed, fully intending to pull back the duvet to scatter the traditional red dates and peanuts. But Liam instantly grabbed the duvet and the fitted sheet, violently ripping them off the mattress and throwing them onto the floor. Seeing my suspicious glare, he explained with a deeply awkward expression. “It’s been empty for so long, I was worried it was dusty.” He scrambled to the closet and pulled out a brand-new set of luxury sheets. “You just sit down and rest. I’ll change them.” “Chloe, I know how incredibly hard you’ve worked organizing this wedding by yourself all these years.” “Don’t worry. Once I get my Major’s leaf next month, I’m putting in my papers to transfer to a civilian desk job.” “Then, we can finally live that normal, nine-to-five, peaceful life you’ve always wanted.” I was too disgusted to listen to his lies. I raised my hand to push open the hidden door leading to the en-suite bathroom. Instantly, he lunged from behind and wrapped his arms around my waist in a death grip. “Wait!”

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I stared at that line of text for a very long time. It was printed in black and white on the lab results—”The test concludes that there is no paternity relationship between the child and the alleged father (Mark Miller).” It wasn’t him. I had prepared myself a hundred ways to face the absolute worst outcome. I was going to smash things, scream, call the cops, and shove that report right in his cheating face. But it wasn’t him. Then who is Leo’s father? The administrator at the DNA center noted that the child’s Y-chromosome markers were an exact match for the Miller family lineage. The Millers. Not Mark Miller. But a Miller. I closed my eyes. The smiling, cheerful face of my father-in-law, Robert Miller, drifted up out of the darkness. 1 Three months ago, Chloe came over for dinner. She brought Leo. He was three, a chubby little boy, incredibly sweet and impossible not to like. I asked her, “Chloe, Leo is getting cuter every day. He really looks like his dad.” Chloe offered a tight smile, looking down to wipe Leo’s mouth. “Don’t bring him up.” Chloe had always said Leo’s father was an ex from college, that she hadn’t realized she was pregnant until after they broke up. She had the baby alone, raised him alone. My heart ached for her. Chloe and I had been best friends in college; I’d known her for twelve years. I helped her find her job, I went with her to look at apartments, and I sat outside the delivery room waiting when she had Leo. Mark used to tease me about it: “You treat Chloe better than you treat your own sister.” I always said, “It’s hard for her, doing it all alone.” After dinner that night, my mother-in-law, Eleanor, stopped by. The second she walked in and saw Leo, her eyes lit up. “Oh, look, little Leo is here!” She crouched down, pulling a sleek, expensive Transformer toy out of her purse. I froze. I’d seen that exact Transformer. It was a collector’s item displayed in the department store, priced at over fifty dollars. My son, Toby, had asked for it last month. I told him it was too expensive and we should wait for a sale. Eleanor handed the Transformer to Leo, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. Leo took it, saying in his adorable toddler voice, “Grandma.” I glanced at Toby. Toby was standing to the side, staring at the Transformer. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything, either. Eleanor never even looked at Toby. Later that night, as I lay in bed, a sudden realization hit me. Leo called my mother-in-law “Grandma.” When did Chloe teach him that? I tossed and turned. Forget it, I told myself. Kids are just sweet-talkers. They call older people ‘Grandma’ or ‘Grandpa’ all the time. But the next morning, as I was stuffing a water bottle into Toby’s backpack, I saw he’d drawn a square box in his notebook with a pencil. Next to the box, he had painstakingly written one word. “ROBOT.” The letters were crooked and wobbly. I stared at that word for five full seconds. Then I stuffed the bottle in and zipped the bag shut. Chloe texted me later that afternoon: “Sarah, Leo’s preschool needs some paperwork. A paternity test, actually. Do you know where I can get one done quickly?” I wrote back: “Just go to the health clinic. It only costs a couple of hundred bucks.” Hours later, she replied: “Never mind. I’ll figure something else out.” I said: “Paternity tests are fast, Chloe. Just a blood draw.” She didn’t reply. That evening, I asked her again. She said: “I don’t want to do it. Too much trouble.” What was so troublesome about a paternity test? Blood draw, wait a few days, get the report. It was the first time I felt like Chloe was hiding something. But back then, I thought she was hiding from her ex. Maybe the ex was married now. Maybe she didn’t want anyone tracking down who the father was. I didn’t think much more of it. But with those two incidents stacked on top of each other, I couldn’t sleep soundly anymore. Eleanor’s attitude toward Leo. Chloe refusing to take the test. Was there a connection between these two things? I told myself there wasn’t. But that night, I dreamed that Leo was sitting on my living room sofa, calling my husband, Mark, “Daddy.” I woke up from the nightmare. Drenched in sweat. 2 I started noticing things I’d ignored before. Like how often my mother-in-law visited. It used to be once, maybe twice a month. After Leo was born, she started coming two or three times a week. Every time she came, she brought things. For Leo. Designer clothes, shoes, fancy snacks, brand-name toys. For Toby—nothing. Once, I couldn’t help but say, “Mom, Toby’s birthday is coming up soon, too.” Eleanor didn’t even look up. “Toby doesn’t need for anything.” “Leo doesn’t need for anything, either.” Eleanor looked up at me then. I will never forget that look. It wasn’t anger. It was defensiveness. Like I had just said something I was absolutely forbidden to say. She set down the apple she was peeling and said slowly, “Chloe is raising that boy on her own. It’s hard. You’re her best friend; don’t you have any compassion for her?” I said nothing. She continued, “You shouldn’t be so keeping score all the time.” Keeping score. I have cooked dinner for her son for eight years, done his laundry for eight years, given birth to her grandson, and raised him. She comes over three times a week, bringing gifts every time for someone else’s child, and if I even ask about it, I’m “keeping score.” I lowered my head and continued peeling the shrimp for dinner. Mark was next to me, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t say a single word from beginning to end. That night, Toby was in his room doing homework while I washed dishes in the kitchen. In the living room, Eleanor was holding Leo, reading him a story. Leo was giggling wildly. I looked out through the glass kitchen door. Eleanor leaned down and kissed Leo’s forehead. She had never kissed Toby. Not once. I turned back to the sink. Kept washing the dishes. I turned the faucet on full blast. I couldn’t hear the laughter in the living room anymore. Chloe came to pick up Leo the next day. As I was helping Leo put on his shoes, I felt the socks on his feet. They were thick cotton, the brand tag still attached. I glanced at the tag. Fifteen dollars for one pair of socks. I buy Toby’s socks at Target—ten bucks for a six-pack. I said nothing. I finished putting on his shoes, picked Leo up, and handed him to Chloe. Chloe said, “Thanks so much, Sarah. I’m always imposing on you.” I said it was fine. After she left, I stood at the door, watching her get into a taxi. A taxi. Chloe worked as an administrator at a small company, making less than forty thousand a year. Single mom, forty thousand a year, fifteen-dollar socks for her kid, riding in taxis. Where was her money coming from? I’d never thought about this question before. Because I assumed her life was incredibly difficult. Raising a kid alone, renting an apartment, nobody to help. I’d been transferring her five hundred dollars every month, telling her it was “a little something for the groceries.” Every time, she would say, “No, no, you don’t have to,” but she always accepted it. But still. Does a person who wears fifteen-dollar socks need me to “help out” with five hundred dollars a month? I stood at the door, watching the taxi turn the corner and vanish. The wind blew in. It was pretty cold. 3 I started checking Chloe’s Instagram. Her profile was very sterile. Occasionally a picture of Leo, occasionally reposting parenting articles. But she had posted something once, a long time ago, and then deleted it. I remembered what it was. It was a photo. Leo was sitting on a leather sofa in front of a massive floor-to-ceiling window. Neither the sofa nor the window looked like they belonged in the cramped little apartment she was renting. I’d even commented on it at the time: “Where was this taken? It’s beautiful.” She replied: “A friend’s place.” And the next day, that post was gone. I opened up Amazon and searched for the brands of clothes Leo wore. A winter coat—a hundred and fifty dollars. Sneakers—eighty dollars. I scrolled down. Nothing Leo wore cost less than forty or五十 dollars. A single mom making forty thousand a year. I turned off my phone. That Saturday was my birthday. I had told Mark the day before: “It’s my birthday tomorrow. Let’s just eat at home; I’ll cook a nice dinner.” He said okay. I also called Eleanor: “Mom, tomorrow is my birthday, come over for dinner.” Eleanor said: “Okay, I got it.” I went grocery shopping early the next morning. I came back and made a huge meal. Ribeye steaks, roasted salmon, Caesar salad, garlic butter shrimp, and a potato soup. Toby helped me set the table. “Mom, when is Grandma coming?” “Soon.” I waited until 5:30. I called Eleanor. No answer. I called Mark. “Where are you?” “My mom said she took Leo to the zoo, and she wanted me to pick them up. I’m on my way.” “Leo?” “Chloe had something come up, so she dropped Leo off at my mom’s.” “Today is my birthday.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I know. We’ll celebrate when I get back.” He hung up. I sat at the dinner table. Steaks and salmon. The grease on the steaks had already congealed. The salmon was cold. Toby sat opposite me, poking a shrimp with his fork. “Mom, let’s eat.” “Let’s eat.” I put a steak on his plate. I didn’t eat. They all came back later that evening. Eleanor walked in saying, “The zoo was so packed today.” Nobody mentioned my birthday. Mark hung his coat at the door, put on his slippers, and went straight into the home office. I went to the kitchen and poured the potato soup down the drain. I had never cried in that house. I didn’t that day, either. I washed the dishes, wiped the counter, mopped the floor. Then I went to the bedroom, turned off the light. Lied there in the dark with my eyes open. Thinking about one thing. Where was Chloe’s money really coming from? I made a decision the next day. When Chloe brought Leo over to play, I waited for my moment. Leo was on the sofa watching cartoons. I walked over, crouched down, and stroked his head. “Leo, honey, let me get this little stray thread out of your hair for you.” Toddlers don’t know the difference. I pulled three hairs, ensuring I got the roots, and sealed them in a plastic baggie. I slipped it into my pocket. Chloe was in the kitchen helping me wash fruit. She didn’t suspect a thing. 我把口袋里的密封袋攥了一下。 My palm was covered in sweat. 4 I needed a comparison sample. I thought about it for two days. I knew a paternity test required samples from two people to compare. Initially, I only wanted to test Chloe’s “ex-boyfriend”—but I didn’t have his DNA. All I had were samples from Miller men. Mark Miller. If my suspicion was correct—if Leo was Mark’s child—then comparing it against him would be enough. I snagged a few hairs from Mark’s hairbrush. Hairs with the roots attached. I sent them to the testing center. I waited seven days. Those seven days felt like I was walking on air. I cooked, did laundry, picked up Toby from school, helped him with his homework every day. Everything was normal. But every night, I lied awake until two or three in the morning. Next to me, Mark was sleeping soundly. Snoring. On the seventh day, the testing center called. “The results are in. You can come pick them up.” I took a half-day off work. I took the bus there. My hands were cold the whole way. When I got the report, I sat on a bench in the hallway for a very long time. “It concludes that there is no paternity relationship between Test Sample 1 (Child) and Test Sample 2 (Adult Male).” It wasn’t Mark. I stared at that line of text, my mind a complete blank. It wasn’t him. Then whose was it? I thought the worst-case scenario was—husband and best friend. I was prepared for anger, prepared to storm out, prepared to file for a divorce and take him for everything he had. But now I was being told it wasn’t him. Then who the hell does this child belong to? I walked out of the testing center holding the report. Standing under the bright sun. One phrase kept looping in my head— “Y-chromosome markers were an exact match for the Miller family lineage.” That’s what the administrator at the center had said. “While it’s not a paternity match, the Y-chromosome markers are a highly significant match, meaning the child’s biological father and the sample you provided belong to the exact same paternal line.” The exact same paternal line. Not Mark Miller. But a Miller. How many Miller men were there? Mark Miller. Mark’s younger brother, Steven Miller, who lived across the country and only came back once a year. Mark’s father. Robert Miller. No. Impossible. I stood by the side of the road for a long time. Then I bought a bus ticket home. The whole way back, I kept thinking: Impossible. Robert Miller was fifty-eight years old. He was the archetypal wholesome American grandpa. Retired, loved playing chess, went for walks in the park every morning. Every time he came over for dinner, he was dressed neatly, spoke to Mark in a booming voice, and loved to preach about “living with integrity.” Eleanor often said, “The best thing about your father is that he’s a decent man.” Decent. I suddenly remembered something. The year Chloe had Leo, I went over to her place to drop off some homemade casserole. The door wasn’t shut all the way. I pushed it open and saw Robert Miller sitting on her sofa. He was holding a grocery bag full of fruit. When he saw me, he stood up and offered a polite smile. “Mark asked me to stop by and check on Chloe, said it’s hard for her on her own.” I didn’t think much of it at the time. A father-in-law checking on his daughter-in-law’s best friend—what was strange about that? But looking back now— Mark asked him to go? I got home and called Mark. “Your dad went to see Chloe at her apartment a few years back. Did you ask him to do that?” There was a pause on the other end. “What? No, I didn’t. He went by himself? I didn’t know that.” He went by himself. Mark didn’t know. I hung up the phone. It almost slipped from my hand.

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My husband just bought a new car, saying it would be safer for picking up me and our daughter from now on. Today there was a torrential downpour, so I opened the car company’s app, wanting to turn on the air conditioning for him in advance. But the location wasn’t at his office at all—it was at the City Maternity Hospital. I clicked on the vehicle status and froze. The passenger seat memory had been adjusted to “pregnant woman recline mode.” The rear entertainment screen was playing “Prenatal Music Collection.” And my daughter was standing at the elementary school entrance with a broken umbrella, waiting for him to pick her up. I silently saved the driving route and called an Uber for my daughter. When I got home, my daughter had already finished dinner and was doing homework. The Uber I called arrived half an hour before Brooks did. When he came through the door, he was soaked through, looking exhausted. “Traffic was insane out there. This rain is unreal.” He complained while changing his shoes. “Did you pick up Bonnie?” “Yeah, I called a car for her,” I said flatly. He paused, then put on a guilty expression. “Ah, that’s my fault. The office had a last-minute meeting I couldn’t get out of. Sorry you and the kid had to deal with that.” He walked over to hug me. I stepped aside and handed him a dry towel. “Go take a shower. Don’t catch a cold.” He didn’t notice anything unusual about me and headed to the bathroom with the towel. I picked up his phone. Face recognition unlocked it instantly. At the top were messages from me, our daughter’s class group chat, and the company group. Scrolling down, everything was work-related. I opened his photo album. The recently deleted folder was empty. He was careful, but the car wasn’t. I opened my phone and clicked on the car app. In the vehicle data, there was an energy consumption log. Every trip’s starting point, destination, duration, and power consumption were crystal clear. At 3 PM, departure from his office, destination City Maternity Hospital, stop duration one hour and twenty minutes. Then, departure from the maternity hospital, destination a residential complex I’d never been to. Golden Sky, one of the most upscale developments in the city, twelve thousand dollars per square foot. The car was still parked there. So how did he get home? I zoomed in on the map. Right next to Golden Sky was a subway station. The sound of running water in the bathroom stopped. Brooks came out wrapped in a bathrobe, his hair still dripping. “Honey, come help me dry my hair.” He smiled at me. I walked over and picked up the hairdryer. The warm air blew through his hair and across the skin of his neck. There was a long hair there—not mine. My hair was long, straight, and black. This one was brown and wavy. I didn’t move it. After drying his hair, he went to the study to work overtime, satisfied. I returned to the bedroom and closed the door. I opened our joint bank account. On the 15th of this month, there was a fifty-thousand-dollar withdrawal. Description: Sister’s loan. Brooks was an only child. Where did he get a sister? I scrolled back. Last month on the 15th, fifty thousand. The month before that on the 15th, fifty thousand. This “sister’s loan” had been going on for half a year. Every month, right on schedule. Six months, three hundred thousand dollars. Exactly the price of that car. My hands felt cold. I closed the banking app. I opened Brooks’s Twitter. Three months ago, he’d posted something. “My little sister’s all grown up, coming to the big city to make it. Gotta take good care of her.” The attached photo showed a girl’s silhouette standing at an airport exit, wearing a white dress, pulling a pink suitcase. At the time, I’d even commented below: “Your sister looks beautiful, when are you bringing her home to visit?” He’d replied: “She just got here, she’s shy. I’ll bring her over once she’s settled in.” Looking back now, this was probably that sister. A sister who needed him to drive a three-hundred-thousand-dollar car, adjust it to pregnant woman mode, play prenatal music, and take her for prenatal checkups at the maternity hospital.

The next day, I took half a day off. I didn’t go to Golden Sky. I knew he wouldn’t hide that woman in such an obvious place. Golden Sky was most likely rented or bought by him for convenient meetings. I went to Brooks’s company. The company we’d founded together. Although I was basically semi-retired now, the receptionist and veteran employees still recognized me. “Lester’s here.” “Lester, what brings you in today?” I smiled and nodded in response. I went straight to the finance office. The CFO was someone I’d personally hired. “Betty, I need a favor.” I gave her the name and passport information for Brooks’s “sister.” I’d found this information from the bank transfer records. Payee: Marta. “Help me check if this person has any business dealings with our company, or if she’s related to any employee who submitted expense reimbursements.” Betty was smart. She didn’t ask any questions, just nodded. “Lester, give me a moment.” Half an hour later, Betty placed a file in front of me. “Lester, this Marta interned in our design department for three months last year.” “She didn’t stay after the internship?” Betty shook her head. “At the time, her direct supervisor’s evaluation was that her abilities were mediocre and her attitude flighty. So she wasn’t offered a permanent position.” “Who was her direct supervisor?” “Mark, the design department manager.” I picked up my phone and called Mark directly. I arranged to meet him at the coffee shop downstairs from the office. When Mark saw me, he seemed nervous. “Lester, you wanted to see me?” “Mark, relax. I just want to ask you something. Last year, did you have an intern named Marta?” Mark’s expression immediately became somewhat strange. “Yes… there was someone like that.” “Why wasn’t she given a permanent position?” Mark hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Lester, about this… I wasn’t planning to say anything. This Marta, during her internship, her mind wasn’t on her work at all. Every day she’d dress up to the nines and run to Brooks’s office.” My heart sank. “Brooks said she was a child of some distant relatives, asked me to take care of her. But she… the designs she produced were just sloppy. I called her out on it twice, and she threw the files on my desk, saying I didn’t appreciate them.” Mark sighed. “Then one time, I personally saw… her getting out of Brooks’s car, and on her neck… there were lipstick marks.” The coffee shop’s air conditioning was strong, but I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “Who else knows about this?” “Just a few of us old-timers in the department. Everyone kept quiet out of respect for Brooks. Later when she didn’t get the permanent position, we all thought the matter was over.” Over? No, it had just continued in a more covert way. From company intern to “shy little sister.” I thanked Mark and went back to the office. Betty was still waiting for me. She handed me another file. “Lester, I also checked Brooks’s personal expense reimbursements from the past six months. There are a few that I found… odd.” I took it. One was a five-star hotel dining receipt for thirty-eight thousand dollars. Reason: Important client entertainment. But the receipt date was our daughter’s birthday. That day, Brooks told me a client had a last-minute appointment, he had to entertain them, and came home very late. Our daughter waited for him to cut the cake until she fell asleep. The second one was a purchase record from the Hermès boutique, eighty-six thousand dollars. Reimbursement category: Client gifts. The third was a deposit receipt from an upscale maternity center next to Golden Sky, fifty thousand dollars. Reimbursement category: Company team-building venue reservation. I looked at that maternity center receipt. The customer signature was in Brooks’s handwriting. I gripped the papers in my hand. The edges of the paper dug painfully into my palm. Betty looked at me, concern in her eyes. “Lester, are you…” “I’m fine.” I stood up. “Betty, thank you for today. Please keep this completely confidential.” “You have my word.” I walked out of the office building. The sunlight was blinding. I suddenly remembered that when I got married, I never bought any Hermès. Brooks said those things were an intelligence tax, that the money would be better spent on solid investments. I believed him. I saved money for him, for this family. He took the money we earned together and paid that “intelligence tax” for another woman. Using the company’s name, no less.

I didn’t go home. I took a cab to Golden Sky. The security at the upscale complex was tight. I couldn’t get in. I sat down at a coffee shop across from the complex entrance and ordered an iced Americano. Facing the main gate directly. At 4 PM, a white Porsche Panamera drove into the complex. The driver was a young woman, with big waves in her hair and exquisite makeup. I recognized her—the silhouette of Brooks’s “sister” from his social media. Marta. She was pregnant, her belly already quite prominent, probably six or seven months along. She parked the car, carried several luxury brand shopping bags, and walked into the building entrance with an elegant posture. That Porsche, market price over a million dollars. Brooks’s “sister,” an intern with mediocre abilities and a flighty attitude, driving a million-dollar luxury car, living in a multimillion-dollar mansion. Who would believe it? I sat there until dark. At 7:30, Brooks’s car arrived. He got out, carrying a thermos container. It was the chicken soup I’d prepared for him this morning. He said he’d be working late with the team tonight, asked me to make extra so he could take it to the office for everyone. Now, that thermos had appeared at Golden Sky. He swiped the access card expertly and walked into the building. A few minutes later, a window on the 18th floor lit up. I looked at that window. My phone rang. It was Brooks. “Honey, just finished the meeting, I’m exhausted. What are you doing at home?” His voice carried a hint of laughter, sounding like he was in a good mood. “Getting ready for bed.” “So early? Where’s Bonnie?” “Finished her homework, watching TV.” “Mm, I’ll probably be home late tonight, still have some project details to hammer out. You and Bonnie go to bed early, don’t wait up for me.” “Okay.” I hung up. I looked at the lights on the 18th floor. His project, his team, were all behind that window. I took out my phone and started searching for information on Marta. Her social media name was “Princess Marta,” very fitting for her image. The account was private, but the profile picture wasn’t locked—it was a selfie. The background showed a yacht, sea breeze blowing through her long hair, her smile radiant. Around her neck was a necklace, a Bvlgari charity edition. I had one too. Two years ago on our wedding anniversary, I’d dragged Brooks to buy it. At the time, he said the chain was too thin and small, terrible value. I said it was a gift for our first wedding anniversary, the meaning was different. He couldn’t argue with me, so he bought it. Now, an identical necklace hung around Marta’s neck. I continued scrolling through her profile. Although the content was private, the likes list was public. I saw a familiar avatar—Brooks’s alternate account. He’d told me this account was for gaming, with only a few people on the friends list. He’d liked every single one of Marta’s posts. Following the trail, I clicked into his alternate account’s profile. The photo album was locked, but I could see the cover photo. Two hands, a man’s hand and a woman’s hand. Fingers intertwined, the woman’s hand wearing a huge diamond ring, the size of a pigeon egg. The background was the Eiffel Tower. Date taken: October last year. Last October, Brooks said he was going on a two-week business trip to Europe to research the market. I’d specifically bought him a thick coat, reminding him it was cold there and to dress warmly. Turns out, his “market research” was taking Marta to Paris to buy a diamond ring. I opened Marta’s other social media platform. This account was public, mostly photos of quiet beautiful moments and inspirational quotes. One post from six months ago stood out. “The arrival of new life is heaven’s best gift. Thank you, husband, for giving me a home.” The attached images showed an ultrasound report. And a pregnancy test with two red lines. The first comment was from Brooks’s gaming alternate account. He’d commented two words: “My love.” Followed by a heart emoji. I stared at his comment. He had two wives. One was me—who’d built the company with him from nothing, bore and raised his child, stayed home cooking and keeping house. The other was Marta—young and beautiful, able to satisfy all his vanity, carrying his “son.” I closed my phone. The iced Americano had melted into water. Not cold at all anymore.

The next few days. Picking up my daughter, cooking, handling household chores. Brooks didn’t notice anything unusual. He was even more attentive than before. He’d proactively buy me gifts, saying “you’ve worked hard.” He gave me a lipstick. Probably from some “gifts for your wife that can’t go wrong” list he’d found somewhere. He didn’t know I’d stopped wearing that color long ago. I smiled and accepted it. “Thank you.” He was satisfied. Thinking a three-hundred-dollar lipstick could smooth over all his debts. Behind his back, I met with two people. The first was my college senior Tony, who now ran his own cybersecurity company. I gave him all of Brooks’s and Marta’s social media accounts. “Tony, I need a favor. I need all their chat logs, emails, cloud storage content. Everything.” My senior looked at me. “Lester, this is illegal.” “I know.” I looked at him. “But I’ve been wronged right in my own home. I need to know where I lost.” Tony was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Three days.” The second person was my father. My father was an entrepreneur of the old generation, self-made, lived his whole life upright and honest, hated nothing more than betrayal. Our company was something Brooks and I built together after marriage, but the startup capital came from my father. Five hundred thousand dollars. At the time, Brooks had beaten his chest promising my father: “Don’t worry, I’ll never let Lester down in this lifetime.” My father had designated that five hundred thousand as my premarital property, clearly stating it was a gift to me alone. But when registering the company, Brooks said that husband and wife were one, shares should be 60% his, 40% mine—that way he’d have more face when doing business outside. I loved him then, trusted him. I said okay. Now, he was using that 60% stake to keep a mistress outside, raise an illegitimate child, buy cars and houses. I met my father at the old family estate. I laid everything out. From the car app to the maternity center. My father listened without a word. He smoked half a pack of cigarettes until the study was thick with smoke. Finally, he crushed the cigarette butt in the ashtray. “Lester, what do you want to do?” “Dad, I want to take back everything that belongs to me.” “What about the company?” “The company is something he and I built together. I can’t let him take my life’s work and use it as a dowry for someone else.” My father looked at me, heartache in his eyes. “Alright.” He said just one word. “Dad, I need you to help me contact someone.” “Who?” “Weber.” Weber was my father’s old war buddy who later transferred to the tax system. He was retired now. But I knew his connections and prestige were still intact. My father understood what I meant. “I’ll arrange it.” Three days later, Tony gave me a hard drive. Inside were all of Brooks’s and Marta’s communication records. I spent an entire night reading through everything. Their chats had started two years ago. Back then, Marta was a new intern at the company. Brooks was the high-and-mighty boss. Their conversations were full of the tacit pulling and testing between adults. Marta would send him some suggestive selfies. “Brooks, does this outfit look good today?” Brooks would reply: “Too good, not suitable for the office.” Marta: “Then where is it suitable for?” Brooks: “In my car.” I saw records of their first hotel rendezvous, at a hotel right next to the office. That day, Brooks told me he had to work overtime. I saw the long message Marta sent Brooks after getting pregnant. “Brooks, I’m so scared. I haven’t even graduated yet. I can’t let the child be born without status. Lester is so wonderful, I don’t want to destroy your family. Maybe… I should just abort the baby.” Every word, every sentence talked about “abortion,” but every single word was actually an ultimatum. Brooks’s reply was long. “Marta, don’t be afraid. I’m sorry you have to go through this. Don’t worry, you’re the person I’ve wronged most in this life. She and I have no feelings left, we’re just going through the motions. Once the child is born, I’ll have a showdown with her. The company, the house, the car—everything will belong to us and the child from now on.” I saw the company equity structure diagram he’d sent to Marta. He’d circled his 60% in red pen, with a note beside it: “This will all be my son’s someday.” I saw a draft divorce agreement he’d made, stored in his private cloud. Party A: Brooks. Party B: Lester. Property division: The house we lived in together after marriage goes to me. But I must bear the remaining twenty years of mortgage payments. The eight-year-old BMW Mini in my name goes to me. Custody of our daughter goes to me. He’ll pay three thousand dollars monthly in child support. The company equity, as his premarital investment return, has nothing to do with me. Deposits and investments in his name also have nothing to do with me. He planned to leave me with nothing. He wanted to kick my daughter and me out of the life we’d built together. At the bottom was another note. “Lester has a gentle personality and no opinions of her own. She should sign quickly.” I stared at that line. Gentle personality, no opinions of her own. I put away the hard drive. Then I dialed Weber’s number.

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When Ethan slipped that pink diamond ring onto my finger, it was too small and got forcefully stuck at my knuckle. He just laughed carelessly. “Looks like Chloe’s fingers are thinner after all. It fit her perfectly, dangling so cutely.” He casually twisted the ring on my reddened finger. He told me that this custom engagement ring, originally meant for me, had been worn by his intern, flaunted all over her Instagram for an entire week. “The poor girl hasn’t worked a hard day in her life, so her hands are soft. Her knuckles aren’t as thick as yours.” “She said she wanted to know what it felt like to be proposed to and started crying her eyes out. I couldn’t say no.” Feeling the cold, hard diamond digging into my skin, I looked up at him stiffly. “You let her wear our engagement ring?” His eyes swept coldly over my hands, no longer delicate after years of hard work. “It’s not a big deal. I just thought the delicate pink suited a young girl her age much better.” “If you’re disgusted that someone else wore the ring, you can throw it away. If you’re disgusted by a man someone else slept with…” The corner of his mouth twitched, his tone icy. “…you don’t have to marry me.” “It’s up to you.” Standing in the empty jewelry store, the dazzling diamond on my finger suddenly felt like a needle piercing my flesh, the pain excruciating. “Take it off.” My voice was hoarse as I stared at the ring lodged in my skin. Ethan looked at me as if he’d just heard a joke, raising an eyebrow. “Stella, stop throwing a tantrum. The sales associates are watching.” “It’s your own fault for gaining weight lately, even your fingers got thicker. Who else can you blame?” He didn’t even bother to look at me, staring down at his phone, replying to messages. The screen’s glow reflected on his face, revealing a tender expression he had never shown me. I yanked at the ring with all my might. The skin on my knuckle tore, and blood seeped out. A piercing pain. But I couldn’t feel it. Because the place where my heart was hurt far worse than my finger. “You know this is my engagement ring.” I stared at him intently. “If it’s mine, why did you let Chloe wear it?” Ethan clicked his tongue in annoyance and finally put his phone away. “She’s just an intern, fresh out of college. She’s completely innocent.” “She saw a pretty ring, got curious, and wanted to try it on. What’s the big deal?” “Why are you being so petty, holding a grudge against a girl who just graduated?” He spoke so self-righteously, as if I was the one being unreasonable. “Innocent?” I let out a cold laugh, pulled out my phone, and opened Chloe’s Instagram. In the photo, a pale, delicate hand wore my engagement ring, striking various poses in the sunlight. The caption read: [The boss says only clean hands like mine are worthy of this shade of pink. Some washed-up housewives are only good for scrubbing pots and pans.] Ethan glanced at it, his expression shifting slightly, but he quickly returned to his careless demeanor. “She was just joking. Are you seriously taking that to heart?” “Alright, I have things to do at the company. Take an Uber home.” “Since the ring is on, just leave it on, so you don’t lose it.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked away without a second glance. He didn’t even bother to ask if my hand hurt. Watching his resolute back, I suddenly found it somewhat hilarious. Seven years. I stood by his side as he went from having nothing to being worth over a hundred million. To save money for his startup, I washed our clothes in freezing water during the dead of winter, my hands covered in chilblains. To help him secure investments, I drank with clients until my stomach bled, landing me in the hospital for three days. Whose fault was it that my hands were now rough? Whose fault was it that my knuckles were deformed? And now, he despised these very hands, deeming them unworthy of the engagement ring that symbolized our commitment. He even indulged another woman as she publicly trampled on my dignity. I gave a violent yank. “Hiss—” The ring was forcefully ripped off, taking a chunk of flesh with it. The pink diamond flashed with an eerie light under the store lamps, stained with my blood and the cheap perfume Chloe had left behind. So dirty. I raised my hand and threw the million-dollar diamond ring into the nearby trash can without a shred of hesitation. “You’re right.” “A man someone else slept with is just like a ring someone else wore.” “They’re both trash.” By the time I got home, it was already 10 PM. I pushed open the door to a pitch-black apartment. Ethan wasn’t home yet. Normally, no matter how late it was, I would always leave a light on, waiting for him. But tonight, I didn’t turn on a single light. By the moonlight streaming through the window, I saw a thermos sitting on the dining table. It held the fish soup I had spent four hours simmering that afternoon. Ethan’s stomach had been acting up lately, so I specifically went to the market to buy wild-caught carp, boiling it down until the broth was thick, white, and fragrant. Before I left the house, I texted him, reminding him to drink it. Now, the lid of the thermos was off. Half the soup was gone. I walked over, picked up a spoon, and stirred it. Suddenly, my hand froze. Floating in the soup was a long strand of hair. Chestnut brown, with loose waves. My hair is straight and black. Chloe has chestnut brown hair with loose waves. A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach. Just then, the sound of the key turning in the lock came from the entryway. The lights flicked on, and Ethan walked in. He jumped when he saw me standing in the dark, then frowned deeply. “What are you doing creeping around in the dark without turning the lights on?” He loosened his tie as he kicked off his shoes, reeking of alcohol. On his collar, a faint lipstick smudge was barely visible. I recognized that shade. It was the exact same color Chloe was wearing in her selfie today. “Did you drink the soup?” I pointed at the thermos on the table, my tone frighteningly calm. Ethan paused, his eyes darting away for a second. “Yeah, it was good.” “Just a little bland. Add more salt next time.” He gave a dismissive answer and started heading for the bathroom. “Is that so?” I let out a soft laugh. “Did Chloe think it was bland too?” Ethan stopped dead in his tracks, turned around, his face dark. “Stella, are you ever going to drop this?” “I was just dropping Chloe off on my way back. She was hungry, so I let her have a few sips.” “It’s just a bowl of soup. Do you have to interrogate me like a criminal?” “You never used to be like this.” “You used to be so gentle and understanding. You never picked fights over trivial things.” He looked at me with disappointment, as if I had turned into an unreasonable shrew. Used to be? I used to think you were worth it. Looking at the man in front of me, I felt a sudden, profound sense of unfamiliarity. Where did the Ethan who swore to give me a good life disappear to? “Ethan.” “I spent four hours making that soup.” “I washed my hands until they wrinkled just to get the fish smell out.” “You gave it to another woman, and you have the nerve to complain it’s bland?” Ethan rubbed his temples in annoyance. “Alright, it’s just soup. I’ll have the maid make you ten bowls tomorrow.” “Chloe had an emergency. Her blood sugar dropped, and she almost fainted.” “Saving a life is a good deed. Can’t you show a little compassion?” Low blood sugar? More like a low IQ. “Ding—” Ethan’s phone chimed. He glanced at the screen, and his dark expression instantly softened. It even held a trace of doting fondness. Although he quickly turned off the screen, I still saw it. Sender: Unforgettable Chloe. Message: [Mr. Sterling, thank you for the loving fish soup. My body is warm, and my heart is warm too~] Followed by a shy emoji. I felt nothing but pure irony. My hard work had become a tool for their flirtation. “Who was that?” I asked, knowing the answer. “A work group chat.” Ethan lied without missing a beat. “Something urgent came up at the company. I need to go handle it in the study.” With that, he grabbed his phone, hurried into the study, and locked the door behind him. Leaving me alone with half a thermos of fish soup tainted with another woman’s saliva. I picked up the thermos, walked over to the toilet. And dumped the soup, fish and all, straight in. I flushed. Whoosh— Trash belongs where trash goes. The next day was scheduled for my wedding dress fitting. We had booked this six months in advance. A custom-made piece by a renowned French designer, the only one of its kind in the world. I flew to Paris three times just for this dress, having my measurements taken over and over. It was my dream. Ethan was an hour late. When he finally arrived, Chloe was trailing right behind him. “Chloe said she’s never seen a haute couture wedding dress, so she wanted to come open her eyes.” Ethan explained, his tone so natural, as if bringing your mistress to your wedding dress fitting was the most normal thing in the world. Chloe, wearing a pink cocktail dress and clinging to Ethan’s arm, smiled with absolute, innocent naivety. “Stella, you don’t mind, do you?” “I’m just curious. I’ll just look and leave, I promise I won’t bother you.” She blinked her big eyes, looking entirely harmless. I stared at her arm looped through Ethan’s and said coldly, “I do mind.” “Get out.” The air instantly froze. The sales associates exchanged panicked glances, not daring to breathe. Chloe’s eyes instantly welled up, tears falling on command. “Stella, why are you being so mean…” “I was just envious of your relationship with Mr. Sterling and wanted to soak up some of the good vibes…” “If I made you unhappy, I’ll leave right now…” She turned to go, but Ethan grabbed her arm. “Stella! Are you out of your mind?!” He glared at me furiously. “Chloe is practically a child! Why are you picking on her?” “I brought her here. If anyone’s getting out, it’s me!” What a protective knight in shining armor. I laughed out loud, fueled by pure anger. “Fine. Then take her and get out.” “I’m not trying on this dress.” I turned to leave. “Stop right there!” Ethan lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. “I already paid for it. You will try it on!” “Stop embarrassing me in public!” Without another word, he shoved me into the fitting room. The terrified associates brought the dress in. I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage bubbling inside me. One last time. If this dress still fit, I’d give him one more chance. After all, seven years of history couldn’t be erased in an instant. However, the moment I put the dress on, my heart went completely cold. The zipper wouldn’t close. The waist was a full size too small. The bust was so tight I could barely breathe. This wasn’t my size at all. “What is the meaning of this?” I frowned at the associate. She stammered, avoiding my gaze. “Um… Mr. Sterling called a couple of days ago and said you had lost weight, so he asked us to take it in a bit…” Lost weight? I had actually gained five pounds recently because Ethan was forcing me to take supplements to prepare for pregnancy! “He also said…” The associate glanced nervously at Chloe waiting outside, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He said he wanted to change the design… make it a bit more… youthful.” I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The originally elegant, sophisticated mermaid gown had been transformed into a poofy ballgown. The bodice was now plastered with cheap-looking bows. How was this my wedding dress? This was clearly Chloe’s style! I violently yanked the curtain open. Ethan was sitting on the sofa, feeding Chloe grapes. When he saw me, he froze, then his brow furrowed. “Why are you dressed like that?” “You look like a stuffed sausage.” Chloe covered her mouth, giggling. “Oh my, Stella, did you gain weight?” “Look how tight it is on you, you’re spilling out.” “Mr. Sterling, it seems my taste really doesn’t suit Stella after all.” “I told you, this youthful, girly style only looks good on petite girls.” She stood up, walked over to me, and reached out to touch a bow on the dress. “But the fabric is gorgeous. If I were wearing it…” She shot Ethan a loaded look. And Ethan actually nodded. “True. This style definitely suits Chloe better.” “Stella, you’re older now. You really can’t pull off these pale pink colors.” “Why don’t we just give this to Chloe to use as a bridesmaid dress, and you can pick out a new one.” Boom— The final string holding my sanity together snapped. Give it to her as a bridesmaid dress? My main wedding gown, as her bridesmaid dress? Ethan, just how low are you going to trample on me? I looked at the disgusting pair standing before me, and a wave of pure revulsion washed over me. I ripped the veil off my head and threw it hard onto the floor. “No need.” “I’m not wearing this dress.” “And I’m not going through with this wedding.” Ethan thought I was just throwing a tantrum. “Acting out again?” “Stella, is your menopause starting early?” “Always threatening to break up or cancel the wedding over every little thing. Is it fun for you?” “Hurry up and change. Stop making a fool of yourself in front of outsiders.” He picked up the veil, dusted it off, and tossed it to the sales associate. “Box it up and have it delivered to Ms. Hayes’ apartment.” I didn’t say a word. I turned back into the fitting room and changed back into my own clothes. When I came out, Ethan was already waiting in the car. Chloe was sitting in the passenger seat. That was my designated seat. “Stella, I get carsick easily, so I’m more comfortable up front. You don’t mind, do you?” Chloe poked her head out the window, looking the picture of innocence. I opened the back door and slid in. “I don’t mind.” “I don’t fight over seats reserved for the dead.” Chloe’s face went white, and she immediately turned to Ethan to complain. “Mr. Sterling, listen to Stella…” Ethan glared at me through the rearview mirror. “Stella, watch your mouth.” “Show some class!” I closed my eyes, entirely done with him. The car sped along, arriving at the Sterling family estate. Today was the monthly Sterling family dinner. Both of Ethan’s parents were there. When they saw Chloe walking in behind Ethan, their expressions soured. “Ethan, who is this?” His mother asked. “A new intern at the company, Chloe Hayes.” Ethan introduced her. “She’s working hard all alone in a new city; it’s not easy for her. I brought her over for a home-cooked meal.” “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, I’m Chloe.” Chloe bowed politely, presenting the gifts she had prepared in advance. “I bought these supplements specifically for you. They aren’t expensive, but it’s the thought that counts.” You can’t slap a smiling face. Even though his parents were displeased, they didn’t say anything and let her sit down. During the meal, Chloe went out of her way to flatter them. She poured wine for Ethan’s father, served food to his mother, her mouth as sweet as honey. She had the older couple beaming with delight. Meanwhile, I sat in silence, my mood plummeting. “Stella, don’t just sit there eating. Learn a thing or two from Chloe.” His mother scolded me. “Look at this young girl, so thoughtful and attentive.” “You’re about to marry into the Sterling family, and you’re still so wooden. How are you going to manage a household and raise children?” My grip on my chopsticks tightened. Manage a household and raise children? The Sterling family is a pedestal I have no interest in worshiping at. “Oh, Mrs. Sterling, please don’t be hard on Stella.” Chloe spoke in her sickly-sweet voice. “Stella is a woman of great importance. Unlike me, who only knows how to serve people.” “Oh, Mr. Sterling, I really want some of that shrimp, but I can’t peel it…” She looked at Ethan with puppy-dog eyes, pointing at the plate of braised prawns. Without a second thought, Ethan picked up a prawn, ready to peel it. But Chloe stopped him. “Mr. Sterling, your hands are meant for signing multi-million dollar contracts, not peeling shrimp.” She turned to me, smiling brightly. “Stella, I heard you’re incredibly fast at peeling shrimp. Could you help me out?” Everyone’s eyes fell on me. Ethan looked at me too, issuing a command as if it were the most natural thing in the world: “Stella, peel a few for Chloe.” “She got her nails done and can’t do it.” I looked at Chloe’s fingers, adorned with dazzling, diamond-encrusted acrylics, and then down at my own bare nails. While preparing for pregnancy, I gave up manicures, stopped dyeing my hair, and even switched all my skincare to pregnancy-safe brands. And now, he wanted me to use these hands—hands that had grown rough for his sake—to serve his mistress? “Hurry up, what are you staring at?” Ethan urged. “Don’t be so petty, it’s just peeling a shrimp.” His mother chimed in: “Yes, Stella, you’re the older sister here. What’s wrong with taking care of the younger one?” I took a deep breath and picked up a shrimp. Slowly, I peeled off the shell. The red shrimp oil stained my fingertips. Chloe looked at me smugly, opened her mouth, and waited to be fed. “Thank you, Stella. Ahhh—” Looking at her gaping maw, I suddenly burst out laughing. I laughed so hard tears almost sprang to my eyes. This was the man I had loved for seven years. This was the family I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. This was the love I was willing to sacrifice everything for. What an absolute, total joke!

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I was helping my husband pay off his credit card, and when I logged into his banking app, I discovered something—the balance on his payroll account was over four million dollars. I looked at it three times. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. We had been married for three years, and he told me his monthly salary was five thousand. We split the bill for every meal, dividing every expense clearly. I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a $399 coat. I stared at that string of numbers, my fingers turning cold. Arthur, who exactly are you? 1. It was a Wednesday. Arthur was going on a business trip, and before he left, he asked me to pay his credit card bill for him. “You know the password. Send me a screenshot when you’re done.” He sent a text message, complete with a kissing emoji. I said okay. We’d been married for three years, and we always split expenses 50/50. He said his monthly salary was five thousand, and mine was eight thousand. Rent was four thousand: he paid two thousand, and I paid two thousand. Utilities and HOA fees, split down the middle. Meals, split down the middle. He said, “It’s not easy for either of us; splitting it 50/50 is the most fair.” I thought that made sense. Even though my salary was higher, 50/50 was fair. So for three years, I lived very frugally. I ate at the school cafeteria for lunch, twelve dollars a meal. I bought all my clothes online, and if something cost more than two hundred dollars, I’d think about it for three days. Last month, I had my eye on a coat for $399. I tried it on three times but didn’t buy it. I told myself to wait, to buy it when it went on sale for Black Friday. Arthur found out and said, “If you like it, just buy it.” I said, “Never mind, it’s not a necessity.” He smiled. “You really know how to manage a household.” At the time, I felt that even though money was tight, it was nice for the two of us to be working hard together. Until that day, when I opened his banking app. He had given me the password. A long time ago, he asked me to pay his phone bill once. Back then, I just paid the bill and logged out. This time, after paying off his credit card, I got ready to take a screenshot. While taking the screenshot, my finger slipped. I swiped to the “My Account” page. A number popped up on the screen. $4,171,283.67. I thought I misread it. I closed the app and opened it again. $4,171,283.67. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. I sat on the sofa, holding my phone, completely motionless. Someone was honking a horn outside the window. A child was crying downstairs. I couldn’t hear any of it. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. He said his monthly salary was five thousand. We had split expenses for three years. I couldn’t even bring myself to buy a coat. 2. Before we got married, Arthur told me he worked in sales at a small company. “Base salary is three thousand, with commissions it’s about five thousand.” He dressed very plainly, wearing Uniqlo and Gap. He drove a used Toyota with scratched paint. I never suspected a thing. I’m an elementary school teacher, making eight thousand a month. In this city, a combined income of thirteen thousand for two people isn’t a lot, but it’s enough to get by. When he suggested splitting expenses, I thought it was reasonable. “I don’t make much, but I don’t want you to support me. Splitting it 50/50 is about respect.” Those words warmed my heart. My mom said, “Although this young man doesn’t earn much, he has good character and knows how to respect you.” So I married him. Life after marriage could be summed up in one word: frugal. We never went out to eat. I cooked, and we split the grocery bill. I used a budgeting app and recorded every single transaction meticulously. “Today’s groceries were $23.50. You owe $11.75, and I owe $11.75.” He would say, “I’ll round up and give you $12.” I’d laugh, “Alright, Mr. Generous.” Back then, I thought these little calculations were quite sweet. On my birthday, he sent me a $520 red envelope. “It’s the thought that counts.” I accepted it, thinking it was nice. For his birthday, I bought him a pair of headphones for $899. He said, “Why did you buy something so expensive?” but even as he said it, his eyes were smiling. I didn’t think anything was wrong. Until last winter. My cold turned into pneumonia, and I was hospitalized for a week. The medical bills were over six thousand. I asked if he could front the money for me, since I hadn’t been paid yet. He thought for a moment. “How much will insurance cover?” “Probably about half.” “Then put it through insurance first, and we’ll calculate the rest.” I said okay. On the day I was discharged, he calculated the bill for me. “Insurance covered $3,200, leaving $3,400. You pay $1,700, and I’ll pay $1,700. Fair, right?” I said fair. I was still coughing that day. He drove me home and bought a box of pears. “Drink lots of water, get well soon.” I felt he treated me well. Truly. He was just poor. And there’s nothing shameful about poor people pinching pennies. That’s what I thought at the time. Laughable, isn’t it? Laughable. My mom was diagnosed with diabetes last year. She needed to take medication long-term, costing about eight hundred a month. I told Arthur about this. “I want to send my mom a thousand dollars every month.” He was silent for a moment. “That’s fine, but that’s your family’s business. It should come out of your share.” I said okay. From then on, my disposable income each month became even less. I switched from eating at the school cafeteria to bringing my own lunch. I’d cook extra the night before and bring it to school the next day. My colleagues asked, “Why are you always bringing lunch?” I’d smile, “It’s healthy.” When Arthur found out I was sending money to my mom, he said one thing. “Don’t give too much, your mom still has your dad.” I said, “My dad’s pension is only two thousand.” He said, “Then just do what you can.” Do what you can. At the time, I thought those words were meant well. Thinking about it now, it’s a joke. A man making fifty thousand a month telling his wife, who makes eight thousand, to “do what you can.” But that night, I didn’t explode in anger. I was very calm. Frighteningly calm. I took a screenshot of the balance. Then I logged out of the app. Then I sent Arthur the screenshot of his credit card payment. “It’s paid.” He replied, “Thanks, honey,” with a heart emoji. I looked at that heart. Put down my phone. Went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Then I sat in the living room and started thinking. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. If his monthly salary was five thousand, his savings over three years would be eighteen thousand at most. Even if he lived extremely frugally, twenty thousand at the absolute maximum. Four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. This isn’t something you can save up. This is a completely different level of income. I needed to know more. But I couldn’t let him find out. I couldn’t. 3. The next day, I took half a day off. Not to go to school. To see Mia. Mia was my college roommate and is now a lawyer specializing in family and marriage law. We met at a cafe downstairs from her firm. I showed her the screenshot. She took one look. “Over four million?” “Yes.” “He said his monthly salary was five thousand?” “Yes.” Mia set down her coffee cup. “What do you suspect?” “I don’t know,” I said. “I just feel something isn’t right.” “Do you know where he works?” “Yes. A company called Apex. He said he does building materials sales.” Mia took out her phone and searched. “Apex Industries?” “That should be it.” She scrolled through a few pages. “This company had a revenue of 1.2 billion last year and is preparing to go public.” I was stunned. “1.2 billion?” “What does your husband do at this company?” “He said… sales.” Mia looked at me. “A sales rep making five thousand a month at a company with 1.2 billion in revenue?” She didn’t finish her sentence. I understood. Mia helped me organize my thoughts. “Don’t alert him just yet. You need to do three things right now.” “First, confirm his true income. Check his bank statements. Do you have his password?” “Yes.” “Second, confirm where this money went. Four million is the balance. You need to see how much came in, how much went out, and where it went.” “Third, confirm if he’s having an affair.” I looked at her. “You think he is?” Mia didn’t answer directly. “A balance of four million, one hundred and seventy thousand. If his monthly salary is fifty thousand, that’s eighteen million over three years. Subtracting the four million balance, where did the remaining fourteen million go?” Fourteen million. That number hit me like a ton of bricks. “It could be investments, it could be real estate, it could be something else,” Mia said. “But the fact that he’s hiding it from you is not a good sign.” I nodded. “Find out the truth,” she said. “Find out the truth before you decide what to do.” She looked at me. “Don’t cry, don’t make a scene.” “Find out the truth, and then do what needs to be done.” I said okay. That night, Arthur hadn’t returned from his business trip yet. I sat alone in the living room and opened his banking app. This time, I wasn’t in a rush. I looked through every single transaction. Payroll deposits, arriving every month. Not five thousand. It was four hundred and eighty-seven thousand, three hundred and twenty-one dollars. Every month. On a fixed date, the 15th. Source: Apex Industries LLC. I scrolled down. Expenses. Transaction by transaction. There was a transfer, a fixed amount every month. $15,000. Note: Mortgage. Mortgage. We rent our apartment. What mortgage? I took a screenshot. I kept scrolling. Another series of transfers, varying amounts. Three thousand, five thousand, eight thousand, twenty thousand. Same recipient. Different notes. “Buy whatever you want, baby.” “For you, don’t hold back.” “Happy Valentine’s Day.” I stared at the word “baby.” My hands didn’t shake. My heart didn’t break. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over me, from head to toe. Freezing me to the bone. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt anymore. I kept scrolling. I found a massive transfer. Three million, two hundred thousand. Exactly 3.2 million. It happened a year and a half ago. The note was just two words: “Down payment.” A 3.2 million dollar down payment. While I was eating discounted bread in our rented apartment. He was buying a house for someone else. I finished looking through all the statements. Closed the app. Stood up and went to the bathroom. Splashed water on my face. The person in the mirror had red eyes, but no tears. I looked at myself in the mirror. “Arthur,” I said softly. “You’re finished.”

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