As I prepared a surprise for our five-year anniversary, I received a notification about Allison “Allie” Harper, my wife, booking a hotel room with her “little brother,” Mason Carter. When I called, I heard Mason laughing, “See, sis? I told you Zach would take the bait!” “Mason, do you think this is something to joke about?” Before I could finish, Allie cut me off with sharp words. “Why are you making a big deal out of nothing? He’s just a kid! Stop overreacting. I’m not coming home tonight.” After hanging up, I saw Mason post a photo of Allie’s wedding ring on Instagram Stories with the caption: “Brothers, check this out! The rich sis got me this ring, said it’s worth 15k. Anyone know if it’s real?” …… Content I waited for Allie until midnight. As the last minute of our five-year anniversary slipped away, she still hadn’t come home. That night, I told myself it would be her last chance—and mine. The table was set with a spread of dishes, now cold and unappetizing. My bad stomach warned me against eating, knowing cold food might cause another bout of internal bleeding. I dumped the food into the trash. The mess of colors reminded me of the hollow space where my heart used to be. I gathered some essentials and left the house to Allie. She came back as I packed the last of my documents. Drunk and disheveled, she collapsed onto the floor, laughing at me with smeared lipstick and fresh red marks on her neck. I felt my stomach churn in revulsion. She staggered forward and grabbed the trash can, vomiting loudly. The sound clawed at my already fragile gut. Her empty ring finger caught my attention, the faint indent from the missing wedding band a painful reminder. She wiped her mouth and stumbled toward me, her eyes full of feigned innocence. “I don’t feel well, Zach. Help me shower.” She began pulling at her clothes, revealing fresh bite marks just above her collarbone, each one stabbing at my soul. The disgust inside me boiled over. I’ve always struggled with loneliness. Sleeping alone meant enduring nightmares. Allie knew this, which is why she used to come home every night—until Mason showed up. His arrival brought endless arguments, and Allie started staying out as punishment. Night after night, the fear of the dark faded. For the first time in years, I slept soundly, alone in the guest room. The next morning, Allie woke me up, scowling. “Why are you still in bed? Did you make breakfast yet?” Groggy, I stared at her, silent. She crossed her arms. “Zach, you know I have work this morning. What if I skip breakfast and end up with stomach issues?” Her entitlement made me laugh bitterly. Even after pulling all-nighters at the firm, I used to wake up early to cook for her. But why was I the only one expected to do everything? I sat up, meeting her gaze with a calmness I didn’t feel. “Allie, let’s get a divorce.”
She froze for a second, then scowled, her face full of disdain. “What kind of nonsense is this? Did you wake up in a bad mood?” My eyes drifted to her bare ring finger. “You’ve stopped wearing your wedding band. It’s time we put an end to this sham of a marriage.” “What the hell are you talking about? I’m too busy for your drama!” she snapped, her voice growing louder as if to mask her guilt. “I lost the ring playing truth or dare last night. It’s just a stupid ring, Zach. It’s not like it was important!” She slammed the bedroom door behind her, leaving me to stare at her retreating figure. “Not important?” I let out a bitter laugh. When we got married, I wasn’t rich, but she had her heart set on that $15,000 ring. To buy it, I pulled two consecutive all-nighters, won a tough legal case, and celebrated with the client—drinking until I landed in the hospital with a bleeding stomach. But I’d saved enough for the ring. She cried when I gave it to her, telling me how lucky she was to have me. Now $15,000 meant nothing—not the money, not the memories, and certainly not our love. My stomach churned. I leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to my gut. The room spun as bile rose in my throat. “Allie,” I gasped, “could you call a cab?” She paused, finally noticing my condition. For a fleeting moment, she looked like a concerned wife. “What’s wrong? I’ll grab my keys and drive you to the hospital.” I collapsed onto the floor as she went to the bedroom. Minutes ticked by. When she returned, she didn’t have the keys. “Mason’s in trouble at school. He’s just a kid—he doesn’t know how to handle this stuff. I need to go. You should rest up, okay?” With that, she left. Pain spread through my body. I clenched my fists, trying to stay conscious, but my strength waned. When Allie’s heels clicked down the hallway and the door slammed shut, I vomited blood and blacked out. The housekeeper arrived at 10 a.m., called 911, and saved me. When I woke up in St. Luke’s General Hospital, my phone buzzed with a notification. Mason had posted on Instagram again: “Daisy wasn’t eating this morning. Thankfully, my sis came to get me, and we took her to Paws & Claws Animal Clinic.” My chest tightened, an ache I couldn’t name. I exhaled deeply, forcing the pain away. “It’s over,” I told myself. Dr. Ryan Blake entered the room, frowning. “Zach, how many times have I told you? No amount of work is worth killing yourself over. Do you even need the money? Why do you keep pushing yourself like this?” His frustration made me smile faintly. Ryan was a longtime friend, and his anger came from a place of care. “Got it,” I said, patting his shoulder. “From now on, I’ll take better care of myself. Trust me.” He grumbled but didn’t argue further, heading to the next room. Two days later, I was discharged. When I got home, Allie was waiting in the living room. “I heard you were coming back today, so I made a special dinner for us,” she said, uncorking a bottle of wine with a practiced smile. “All better now, right? No need to run to the hospital anymore. Let’s celebrate properly this time. Happy belated anniversary.” The table was set with rich, greasy, and spicy dishes—everything my fragile stomach couldn’t handle. “I can’t drink,” I said flatly, walking toward the guest room. The sound of the wine bottle smashing against the floor stopped me in my tracks. “Zach Preston!” she yelled, her voice trembling with rage. “Don’t you dare walk away from me! I’ve tried so hard to make things right, and you just turn your back on me?!” Her tone softened as she continued, “Why are you so angry? He’s just my little brother. Mason’s family. Why can’t you understand that?” Her voice cracked as she whispered, “And his sister—Clara…” Tears welled in her eyes at the mention of Clara Carter, her late best friend.
Mason Carter’s sister, Clara Carter, had been Allison “Allie” Harper’s closest friend. Four years ago, Clara was tragically killed in what Mason described as a crime of passion. Allie never got the full story, but Mason himself told her about it. That’s when Allie first learned Clara even had a younger brother. Watching Mason cry over his sister’s death, Allie made a promise: “From now on, I’ll be your big sister.” The first time I met Mason, he was already 19 years old, casually linking arms with Allie like they were dating. I knew right away this wasn’t an ordinary kid. Allie spoiled him relentlessly—handing over money, taking him on trips, indulging his every whim. Their relationship progressed unnervingly fast. The first real alarm came when I discovered Mason hoarding Allie’s underwear. I confronted her immediately. Her response? “He just misses Clara. That piece was barely worn—it’s not a big deal.” “He’s an insecure kid. Can’t I comfort him a little?” That argument marked our first major fight. Allie dismissed my concerns as jealousy and irrationality. It became a pattern. Every time I questioned their overly familiar behavior, Allie threw Clara’s name in my face: “Do you want me to forget about Clara? You want me to be an ungrateful monster?” It was laughable, really. She used a dead woman’s name to justify what was obviously crossing every boundary of a platonic relationship. Still, I convinced myself things would get better once Mason graduated and moved out of the city. That hope carried me through argument after argument. But now Mason was nearing graduation, and I wasn’t sure I could wait any longer.
Allie eventually calmed down, wiping her tears and handing me a wine glass. “Zach, I already apologized. Just drink this and let it go, okay?” “When Mason graduates, I’ll stop helping him so much. Will that finally make you happy?” “Can’t you wait one more month?” “No.” My voice was low, drained of energy. The physical pain in my gut left little room for emotions toward Allie. Her demeanor shifted. She stood up abruptly, her expression twisting with anger. “Zach Preston, do you think you’re in any position to turn me down? You’re nothing. Nothing!” “I’m trying to make peace, and you’re acting like this? You’ll drink that wine whether you like it or not!” Before I could resist, she forced my mouth open and poured the wine down my throat. My stomach twisted violently, and cold sweat broke out on my forehead. “All Mason has is me! He’s alone in this city—what’s so wrong with me being there for him?” “Am I not allowed to have friends anymore? We’re just siblings. There’s nothing inappropriate going on!” “You see filth everywhere because you’re filthy yourself!” Her words blurred as the pain in my gut intensified. A violent coughing fit wracked my body, and then the blood came up, staining the pristine white floor. “Stop pretending!” Allie barked, her tone irritated. “You’re always pulling this crap. Coughing up blood—what a joke!” Her indifference sliced through me like a knife. Even as I lay there bleeding, she refused to believe I was genuinely ill. She nudged me with her foot. When I didn’t respond, a flicker of panic crossed her face. “Hey… are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?” I wanted to tell her we needed a divorce, but I couldn’t muster the strength to speak. Using the wall for support, I dragged myself to the guest room and collapsed onto the bed. I had hoped for some peace, but Allie followed me with uncharacteristic persistence. She brought a glass of warm water and gently wiped the blood from my lips. I turned away in disdain, but she didn’t stop. Her tenderness reminded me of the woman I’d first met years ago. It was my first day in a new city. Standing at the university gates, I was nervous and unsure of myself. Then, a cheerful voice broke through my thoughts: “Hi there! Are you a new student too?” That was how Allie and I met. She pursued me with an intensity that overwhelmed my shy, reserved nature. Before long, I found myself falling for her. Later, I discovered that her pursuit of me had been part of a dare with her friends. But by then, it was too late—I was already in love. Terrified of losing her, I pretended not to know the truth. Even if her feelings weren’t strong, I clung to what little love she gave me, desperate to hold onto it. After graduation, she chose me—a man with nothing but a fledgling law firm. I reached out, my fingers lightly brushing her hair. Allie smiled, her eyes sparkling with a familiarity that once brought me comfort. “Are you still mad at me, honey?” she asked, her tone soft and playful. She was calling me “honey” like we were in some kind of dream. “Zach,” she said, her voice coaxing, “Mason’s graduating soon. Can’t you give him a job at your firm?”
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