Ethan was arrested in a brawl for the seventh time—once again, throwing punches on behalf of my best friend, Sofia. By the time I got to the precinct, his face was a patchwork of bruises. He had one arm slung around Sofia’s shoulders, and he was already barking orders at me before I’d even set down my bag. “Yan, go handle the bail paperwork. Sofia’s shaken up—I need to stay with her.” Sofia was curled into his chest, sobbing into his shirt. “I’m sorry. Someone was following me again. I didn’t know who else to call…” “It’s not your fault.” Ethan tipped his head down, his voice gone soft, the way you’d calm a frightened child. “Next time something like this happens, I’ll step in the same way.” Only then did he lift his eyes to me—matter-of-fact, as though what he was about to say went without saying. “Yan won’t mind. Right?” I said nothing. I just stood there under the fluorescent lights of the station, watching my husband hold another woman against his chest. The officer behind the counter slid a stack of forms toward me. “Bail’s set at four thousand. This is his seventh violent arrest—the DA’s office is paying attention now. Under state law, we’re likely looking at an upgrade to a felony. If convicted, he’s staring down three to five years, plus a permanent restraining order.” I tightened my grip on the strap of my bag. “Will he be held until arraignment?” “Bail hearing’s tomorrow. Judge decides.” The officer gave me a level look. “With a sheet like his, I wouldn’t be counting on leniency.” I didn’t sign. I laid a hand over the small curve of my belly, turned, and walked out. An hour before, I’d still been telling myself that the baby growing inside me deserved a father. That I didn’t want to raise my child in a broken home. Looking back—what a spectacular kind of stupid that had been. Some things—some people—belong in the trash. … I hadn’t made it more than two steps past the doors before Ethan caught up. His fingers closed around my wrist. “Yan, why didn’t you sign?” I looked at him, calm as glass. “Ethan, you’re thirty-two years old. Not twelve.” “Six violent arrests. As a grown man, you can start learning to handle your own consequences.” Something twitched at the corner of his mouth. Sofia came stumbling out behind him, eyes red and streaming, and caught my hand in both of hers. “I’m so sorry, Yan, this is all my fault. Someone was following me again tonight and I panicked and I called Ethan—I didn’t know what else to do…” Still crying, she slapped herself hard across the face. “It’s all because of me. I’d rather get harassed a hundred times than come between you two—” “Stop that.” Ethan caught her wrist before she could hit herself again, folding her into his chest with the fluid ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before—because he had. “I already told you. It’s not your fault. I’m a man. I’m not going to just stand there and watch something happen to you.” Then, without missing a beat: “Yan, don’t do this. Go sign the papers. And apologize to Sofia while you’re at it.” I said nothing. I just looked at him—this man I’d loved for ten years. Ten years ago, we’d met because he saved me. A drunk had been trailing me down the street, and Ethan came out of nowhere—grabbed my hand, pulled me in against his side, pretended to be someone I knew, and walked me somewhere safe. In that moment, I gave him my whole heart. I loved how steady he was, how unshakable. But in all the years since, he had never once thrown a punch for me. Even when my project manager cornered me in the office and put his hand where it didn’t belong, all Ethan did was frown and offer counsel. “Let it go, Yan. If you make a scene, it’ll follow your name around. It’s a small industry.” And yet, for Sofia, he broke his own rules over and over. The first time had been for her ex-boyfriend, who’d broken into her apartment in the middle of the night with the clear intent to hurt her. Ethan got the call at one a.m., drove straight there, and beat the man until his ribs cracked. At the station afterward, he’d said, with total conviction: “Yan, I know I was reckless. But she’s your best friend. I couldn’t just stand there.” Then he pulled me into his arms, his voice going soft. “Your poor husband might be looking at prison time. You wouldn’t really let that happen, would you?” I had clenched my fist so hard the wedding band cut into my palm. But that pain reminded me of what we were. Husband and wife. I couldn’t let him go to prison. Sofia had wept until her face was swollen that night, clinging to my hand. “Yan, you two saved my life. I owe you both. Forever.” But then it happened again. And again. Ethan broke his rules for her. Over and over. And every time, afterward, he’d swear to me: That was the last one, Yan. I promise. No more. This time, something in me was simply done. I pushed his hand away. “Ethan. Four thousand dollars is not pocket change.” “I’m four months along. I’m saving every cent I can for the baby—daycare, checkups, everything. I don’t have that kind of cash lying around.” What I didn’t say: I was also quietly setting money aside for a lawyer. From here on out, all of this was his to sort through. Not mine.
His face changed on a dime. His voice dropped low, dangerous. “What about the money I hand you every month, Yan? Where the hell is it all going?” I let out a quiet, tired laugh, reached into my bag, and pulled out a small ledger. Every entry, meticulous. His mother’s long-term stay at the rehab facility—over ninety thousand. The Lexus I’d bought him last year—eighty. His business dinners and country club dues—fifteen thousand, give or take. And then, of course: the medical bills and bail money from the previous six times he’d played hero for Sofia. A little over sixty thousand. At the very bottom of the page, in cramped little numbers, was what I’d spent on myself during the pregnancy—prenatal vitamins, appointments, a maternity bra or two. A few hundred dollars. Pitiful, really. Ethan’s brows drew together. “What about the company accounts?” “The last project blew up. We poured everything we had into plugging the hole. What’s left is locked in CDs. Early withdrawal comes with a penalty.” I kept my voice level. “But then, you’ve been so busy driving Sofia to her therapy appointments, I imagine the company slipped your mind.” Sofia’s crying kicked up another notch. Ethan could only stroke her hair with one hand while snapping at me with the other: “Just borrow it from someone, Yan—I’ll pay it back! Sofia is not in a good place right now!” I told him to give me a minute. I went back inside and came out with a document. “I’ll run it through the company account. Sign here, and finance can push the transfer through.” He didn’t so much as glance at it. He just signed. I calmly tucked the document away, paid his bail, and turned to leave. Behind me, Ethan called: “I’m going to drop Sofia off first. It’s dark—she shouldn’t be alone.” I didn’t answer. He’d forgotten that I was alone, too. Four months pregnant. Dark streets. Icy sidewalks. All of it just as dangerous for me as it was for her. But the second Sofia was in the picture, nothing else registered. I walked home. Slowly. Then I packed a bag. Then I called my lawyer. “He signed the divorce agreement. He doesn’t know it yet.” The next second, the front door opened. Ethan was back, exhaustion pooling under his eyes, a bag of my favorite Chinese takeout hooked over one finger. “You must be starving. How did the checkup go today?” “Fine.” “Don’t take the Sofia thing to heart, okay?” He paused. There was something almost like guilt in it. “You remember when the company was on the ropes? Sofia was the one who fronted the money to keep us afloat. We can’t just forget something like that. Helping her out is the least we can do.” I went very still. Because when the company had been hemorrhaging money, on the verge of collapse, it hadn’t been Sofia at all. It had been me. I’d sold off my own design patent to cover the shortfall. I’d asked Sofia to hand him the money because I didn’t want to bruise his pride. I never told him where it had really come from. And this whole time, he’d carried around this quiet, grateful debt to a woman who’d done nothing. But I didn’t feel like explaining anymore. Ethan cupped my cheek. “Alright. This really was the last time. I swear to you—no more running off to be the hero.” But the moment he mentioned the man who’d supposedly been following Sofia, his eyes turned to flint. The rage in them was impossible to miss. I gently pulled my face out of his hand. “You’re hurting me.” He let go at once, his voice softening. “Alright. Get some rest. The baby needs sleep, too.” He scooped me up and carried me to bed. He warmed a mug of milk and pressed it into my hands. He rubbed my feet for half an hour. He lit the lavender oil diffuser on the nightstand. Then he laid his palm gently over my belly. “Get some sleep in there, little one. Don’t give Mommy a hard time. Daddy loves you.” He’d done every single one of these things, every single night, for the four months I’d been pregnant. Something tightened in my chest until it hurt to breathe. Every time we fought about Sofia, he did this. The small tender gestures. The rituals. And every time, they softened me. Made me want to give him one more chance. I looked, silently, toward the drawer where the divorce papers were waiting. Maybe—maybe—if this really was the last time, I could believe him one more time. One in the morning. The phone shattered the quiet. I jolted awake, but Ethan was faster—he had it to his ear before I’d fully opened my eyes. On the other end, a woman was shrieking. “Okay. Okay—breathe. I’m on my way.” Ethan threw on his jacket and bolted for the door. “What happened?” “Something happened to Sofia. I have to go.” My stomach dropped. Ignoring his protests, I grabbed my coat and followed him. “I’m coming. Just to make sure you don’t put anyone else in the hospital.” His expression darkened. “I won’t.” He drove to Sofia’s apartment building, produced a key from his pocket, and let himself in like he owned the place. Sofia was standing in the middle of the living room in a sheer lace nightgown. The second she saw him, she launched herself into his arms, her voice a high, terrified thing. “Ethan—thank God you came. There was a man—he climbed in through the window—I was so scared. But I fought him off. I did. I didn’t want to bother you this time…” “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” Ethan stroked her back like she was made of spun glass. “You did great. You protected yourself.” Sofia gave him a watery, brave little smile. “It’s because of those self-defense moves you taught me.” I spoke, my voice quiet. “Where is he now?”
Both of them turned to look at me. Sofia let go of Ethan at once and shrank in on herself, small and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Yan. Did—did I interrupt something between you two again?” I pulled out my phone and started dialing. “Since somebody broke into your apartment, why don’t I go ahead and call the police for you. That work?” “Yan.” Ethan’s voice was low and furious. “She just went through something traumatic. Calling the cops right now will send her over the edge. How can you not see that?” I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “So we just do nothing? Sofia, every time something happens to you, the first person you think to call is never the police. It’s my husband. Every single time.” Her face went bloodless. “I—I don’t really know anyone else in this city. Just you two, so—” “Your building has security cameras on every floor. It’s a high-end complex. Anyone with the skill to come in through a window on the fifth story isn’t some random creep. If you don’t file a report, this will happen again.” I cut her off and hit the call button. The next second, Ethan snatched the phone out of my hand and hurled it against the floor. Crack. The screen splintered into a spiderweb of fractures, catching a distorted version of his face. “Enough.” “She is your best friend. Would you stop being so goddamn hostile.” I stood there, frozen. He turned back to Sofia and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m going to stay here tonight. Just in case he comes back.” Then, without looking at me: “Yan. Go home.” I looked at him for a long moment. “Ethan. If you stay here with her tonight, I want a divorce.” His face went the color of old iron. “You really want to make a scene?” “I’m not making a scene.” “She’s your best friend. She’s in danger. I am not walking out on that.” “She’s also a woman.” I let my eyes settle on Sofia, cold. “And I don’t accept my husband spending the night alone with another woman.” “Sofia—I don’t have a key to your apartment. Why does my husband? Aren’t we supposed to be the close ones here? Or was the plan from day one that Ethan could come and go from your place any time he pleased—as long as I didn’t find out?” Sofia swayed on her feet, her face draining to chalk. “Last time he dropped me off, I just—I thought it would be more convenient if he had a spare… Ethan, please, just go home with Yan. I don’t want you two fighting because of me…” Then her knees buckled. She clutched at his shoulder like she might collapse. Ethan swept her up into his arms. When he spoke, his voice was ice. “Stop making things up. All I’m doing is staying here. I’ll sit in the living room. I’ll video-call you the whole time. Yan—your mind is filthy.” He carried her into the bedroom without looking back. The door slammed behind them hard enough to rattle the frame. I turned and walked out. Outside, the wind was arctic. Two in the morning. Not a taxi in sight. So I walked. Four miles, one foot in front of the other, all the way home. Pregnancy had already left my feet swollen. By the time I reached the apartment, both were rubbed raw, blistered and bleeding through my socks. Tears slid down my face without a sound. I thought of the year he’d loved me most. The college track meet, when I’d twisted my ankle at the finish line. He’d just finished running his own thousand meters, chest still heaving, and he hadn’t hesitated—he’d hoisted me onto his back and run me all the way to the campus clinic. And now this same man had left me to walk home alone in the dead of winter. What a joke. I pulled out the divorce agreement and signed my name in hard, deliberate strokes. Then I bought a plane ticket to Seattle for three days out. Ethan. I’m cutting off your way back.
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