Five years into my marriage, my wife Evelyn Shaw’s “old friend,” Dylan Hart, posted a photo of a deed on Instagram. The caption read, “Huge thanks to my CEO Sis for signing this house over to me.” I looked at the address on the deed, stunned; it was our home. I commented with a single question mark, “?” Moments later, Evelyn called, snapping at me, “He’s a single dad. It’s just to help his daughter get into school. It doesn’t affect where we live.” Her tone was all reproach. “Can’t you show a little compassion?” From the other end, I could even hear Dylan’s mumbled complaints. A half hour later, Dylan posted again, tagging me to make sure I’d see it. This time, it was a brand-new, fully paid-for Mercedes-Benz. The caption: “As the saying goes, where a woman’s money goes, so does her love.” I knew it was Evelyn’s gift to pacify him. But this time, I’d made up my mind—I was going to file for divorce. …… When Evelyn got home, I swallowed my daily dose of immunotherapy meds, washing it down with a piece of birthday cake. This was the medication I needed after surgery for stomach cancer. I’d bought the cake in advance, hoping to surprise her and share the news about my surgery while she’d been away on business. I’d been waiting since morning, but she wasn’t picking up, not even responding to my messages. It was only when I commented on Dylan’s post about the deed that she immediately called back—angry and accusatory. Before I could even get a word in, she’d hung up and blocked me. My wound reopened from the stress. She barely glanced at the cake or the medication on the table, wrinkling her nose. “Whose birthday is it? Yours?” In silence, I put the meds away and tossed the cake in the trash. “Not mine—it’s for a friend.” A flicker of relief crossed her face. “Good, I thought it was the 28th. Today’s only the 8th.” Five years married, and she got my birthday wrong every single year. The funny thing? She remembered someone else’s perfectly. She sat down beside me and handed me a toy car. “Dylan asked me to give this to you. He was pretty shaken by your passive-aggressive attitude. You should apologize.” The little car was a Mercedes-Benz keychain, probably one of the trinkets they throw in when you buy the car—smudged with oil, no less. “No thanks,” I said flatly. Evelyn’s expression turned sour. “What’s with the attitude? He even offered you a peace gesture. Can’t you show a bit of grace and apologize?” When I didn’t respond, Evelyn grabbed my arm, pulling me up with such force that my injured leg struck the coffee table. It was the same leg that had been burned last week by scalding hot porridge she’d accidentally spilled when texting Dylan. Seeing blood seep from the wound again, she looked worried. “Let me take you to the hospital.” I didn’t refuse. “Fine.” As soon as we were in the car, her Bluetooth connected, and Dylan’s voice filled the silence, playful and warm. “Welcome back, CEO Sis! Keep making money for me to spend, okay?” Evelyn’s face tightened. “It’s just something he left in my car last time. I’ll get rid of it.” “Don’t bother,” I muttered. Silence filled the car, and she looked at me, surprised. “You’re not angry?” I pressed my lips together. Dylan used to matter to me. But now? I could hardly even care about Evelyn, much less her pet. “Just drive,” I said quietly. “It’s late.” The hospital was only a half-mile away, just a straight drive and a U-turn. But Evelyn’s phone rang, and I heard Dylan on the line, asking her to take him for a ride in the new Mercedes. “Something’s come up with Dylan,” she said, pulling over. “You can just walk the last fifty yards, right?” She was practically itching to go. “I can’t walk,” I said, holding her gaze. Her expression turned frosty. “Are you serious? You’re a grown man, not an invalid!” She opened the door and practically pushed me out, saying to call her once I’d taken care of my bandages. Her tires splashed filthy water over my leg as she sped off. Rain started to fall, soaking through my bandages. I took a few steps before pain shot through my abdomen, and I collapsed on the crosswalk, unable to move. I barely avoided getting hit, thanks to the hospital’s security guard, who rushed over and helped me in. Back home, barely settled, Evelyn stormed in, furious. “I told you to call me once you’d changed the bandages! I waited at the hospital for an hour, but your phone was off!” I stared at her.
I’d spent two hours on an IV and eventually had to call a cab when I couldn’t take the pain any longer. My phone had only just died, but clearly, she’d never been at the hospital. Once, she’d cared so much. When had she turned so cold? “You blocked me, Evelyn,” I said. “I couldn’t call you even if I’d wanted to.” Her face softened slightly, and she pulled out a takeout container. “I figured you’d be hungry. Brought you some porridge.” I looked at the bowl. It was plain, just a sprinkle of scallions—no meat, no eggs, as if it were someone’s leftovers. An hour ago, Dylan’s Instagram Story had shown Evelyn cooking in the kitchen. “Who says good women don’t exist? She not only took me for a midnight ride in her new Mercedes, but when I got hungry, she whipped me up some porridge, too.” I stirred the bowl, feeling a wave of nausea. “I don’t want it.” Evelyn’s expression turned dark. “What’s wrong with you? I brought this for you, and you’re throwing a tantrum?” “So what if I signed the house over to Dylan? You still get to live here. All he did was say thank you. And you embarrassed us both by commenting. Have I even gotten mad about that?” With fresh stitches in my stomach and an injured leg, I barely had the strength to speak. “I was just shocked it was our address on his post…” But Evelyn cut me off. “Shocked? Dylan’s right—you’re just that kind of person. Always quick to anger, no empathy, no tolerance. Anytime I speak to a man, you get all paranoid. You’re the one with issues!” In the past, I would’ve tried to reason with her. But this time, I just stared, letting her rant until she was breathless. When she was done, I said, “You finished? Mind turning off the light?” She shot me a cold glare before slamming the door. After she left, I slept soundly for the first time in a long time. The next day, I contacted a friend for a divorce lawyer. She’d been gone for three days since that argument, but when I saw a new photo Nina posted from their beach trip, there was Evelyn in matching clothes with Dylan, beaming by his side. I liked the photo without a second thought. Evelyn called back immediately. “I’ll pick you up later. My friends are meeting us at the beach.” She paused, adding, “I wasn’t planning on inviting you. Consider it a reward for good behavior.” “Sure,” I replied, hiding the ongoing divorce process. When Evelyn arrived, it surprised me that Dylan wasn’t in the car, too. At the beach, Nina greeted me with an apology. “I planned that meet-up last time—I should’ve given you a heads up. I’ll make up for it later.” I forced a smile. “Been swamped with work.” “Word is, you’re planning to open a branch in Aspen Ridge. Congratulations!” Nina said, laying it on thick. I nodded. “It’s still in the works. Not sure if it’ll pan out.” Evelyn walked over, face taut. “You’re moving to Aspen Ridge? Since when? Did I say you could go?” I met her furious gaze, unflinching. She continued to rant while Nina tried to smooth things over, ushering us toward the cookout. As we sat by the grill, Evelyn whispered, almost nervous, “Dylan and I agreed. After his daughter finishes elementary school, he’ll sign the house back over. Don’t get so worked up—it’s my property. I didn’t even have to explain.” “Alright,” I said, nodding calmly. As I replied, I noticed a familiar figure approaching. A young woman with them shouted, “Dylan! Evelyn’s over here!” Everyone froze.
Nina kicked the girl, cursing her for being so tactless. I stood and excused myself, heading toward the restroom to gather my composure. When I returned, they were playing games by the fire. Dylan and Evelyn sat close, laughing. I found a spot farther away, watching quietly. “Alright, truth or dare!” Nina suggested, trying to revive the mood. Evelyn won the first round, and Dylan chose “truth.” “What’s made you happiest recently?” Evelyn asked, giving him a pass. Dylan smiled, staring meaningfully at her. “I met an incredible woman who gave me a house and a car. She even took me on a midnight ride in her new Mercedes.” He glanced at me with a triumphant smirk. Everyone knew the house and car were Evelyn’s doing, but they’d kept quiet out of politeness. But here, laid bare, the tension was thick. Nina cleared her throat. “Alright, round two! Let’s see what we’ve got next.” This time, Dylan chose me. “Truth,” I said. Dylan stepped up with a grin. “How about a dare, Adrian?” I shook my head. “Truth.” He looked put out, his gaze drifting to Evelyn. “Didn’t Evelyn say you’re an amazing swimmer? Why not show us?” I refused, “I’m not feeling well.” Dylan glanced at Evelyn with a hurt look, and she pressed, “It’s your specialty! Why not just swim a lap? It won’t kill you.” Ignoring my protests, they pulled me to the water’s edge, taunting me with every step. My abdomen throbbed from recent surgery, but they kept pushing. Finally, Evelyn shoved me into the freezing water. I coughed as salt stung my throat and lungs, waves crashing over my head. I barely surfaced, gasping for air. As I struggled to shore, Evelyn smiled at Dylan, whispering assurances. Then, she turned to me with a sneer. “Apologize to Dylan and take a drink—or else.” I looked at her, heart pounding with exhaustion and anger. “Evelyn, I’ve already contacted my lawyer. We’re getting divorced.” She stared at me, eyes wide with shock. I stumbled back to the road. Before I could make it across, everything went black. I heard someone yell, “He’s bleeding—call an ambulance!”
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