I had just walked out of the courthouse, the ink on my divorce decree barely dry. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Someone had tagged my ex-husband in our old college group chat. “Congrats, Elwin! You’re a dad!” I froze, my mind struggling to process the words. Then, Joyce’s profile picture flashed on my screen. “Thank you, everyone. It’s a baby girl.” I stared at the screen, my mind going completely blank. I tapped on her profile. Her pinned post was a photo of a freshly signed marriage license against a velvet red backdrop. She was smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she leaned her head against Elwin’s shoulder. The caption read: “We survived the seven-year itch. Finally official.” Right below it was Elwin’s comment: “I would have waited a lifetime for this day.” Scroll down further, and a long line of mutual friends were offering their congratulations. I scrolled, my fingers numb, until I saw my mother’s account: “My sweet goddaughter, I am so incredibly happy for you.” My fingers began to tremble. Elwin and I had been married for ten years. He and Joyce had been together for seven of them. My mother knew. My friends knew. And they had all spent those years helping them lie to me. I collapsed onto the stone steps outside the courthouse. I pinched the screen, zooming in on the marriage license, then zooming out, then zooming in again. My chest felt so tight I couldn’t draw a breath. I clicked back into the post and left a comment: “Congratulations. Thank you for using ten years of my life to help you get through your seven-year itch.” … My phone rang almost instantly. It was Elwin. For the last six months of our separation, he had kept me blocked on everything. If I wanted to say a single word to him, I had to go through his assistant. Now, he was calling me directly. “Delete that comment.” “Why?” My voice floated, barely a whisper. “Did I say something untrue? You and Joyce lied to me for seven years.” The line went quiet for a beat. “We’re divorced now, Claire. What’s the point of dragging up the past? What does it accomplish?” A sharp pain pierced my chest. Ten years of marriage, and to him, it was just “the past” with no point. “I’ll add another million to your divorce settlement,” Elwin’s voice softened, almost pleading. “Claire, please. I’m begging you.” “Joyce just gave birth. Her emotions are all over the place. If she sees your comment, it’ll devastate her.” His words felt like a dull knife scraping against my ribcage. Elwin was a man of fierce, almost toxic pride. Back in college, when a local gang cornered him and broke his pinky finger, he hadn’t made a single sound. Later, when his startup was blackballed by a dozen competitors, he refused to beg for mercy. In our ten years of marriage, through every argument, he had never once backed down or apologized. But now, he was begging me. Just to delete a comment. As a tear slipped down my cheek, I realized what a fool I had been. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, a soft voice drifted through the receiver from his end. “Elwin, come here quickly. Millie is crying again.” Millie. He named their daughter Millie. In our fifth year of marriage, I finally got pregnant. I told Elwin I had dreamed of a baby girl who looked just like me. He laughed, placing his hand over my stomach. “If it’s a girl, let’s name her Millie. Like a gentle, endless stream of blessings.” But that child had no blessings. Right before my due date, one of Elwin’s business rivals came to our house looking for revenge. I was pushed down the stairs, the baby was stillborn, and the doctors had to perform an emergency hysterectomy. And now, he had given my daughter’s name to someone else. The line went dead before I could respond. The sun beat down, bright and unforgiving, making my head spin. Behind me, a newlywed couple stepped out of the courthouse, laughing as they held each other close. Ten years ago, Elwin and I had stood on those same steps. He had spun me around in his arms, laughing with that same pure joy. “Claire, I swear, I will never let go of your hand.” But years have a way of turning promises into ash. My phone continued to buzz relentlessly. It was our mutual friends, spamming Joyce’s post with meaningless comments, desperate to bury my words so she wouldn’t see them. I scrolled through Joyce’s profile, my movements mechanical. There were so many posts I had never seen before—posts I had been blocked from viewing. “June 13, 2019” Joyce had posted a photo of herself sitting on Elwin’s mahogany office desk. The caption read: “New job, boss of the boss.” Below it, our mutual friends commented: “All hail the lady boss.” Just at the beginning of that month, under pressure from both our families, Elwin, and our friends, I had officially resigned from my position at the firm to become a full-time housewife. Their seven years had started right then. “December 9, 2021” Joyce posted a photo of her hand hooked up to an IV drip. Caption: “Clumsy me got a little cut. Someone stayed by my side all night. Better than any anesthesia. Thank you, my hero.” That was the most unforgettable day of my life. Elwin’s rival had broken into our home. Clutching my stomach, I ran up the stairs, but during the struggle, I fell. I lay in a pool of blood, dialing Elwin’s number over and over. He never picked up. That was the day I lost my baby girl. While Elwin was busy playing hero for someone else. And then, six months ago, Joyce posted a high-resolution ultrasound. “We’ve been waiting for you, little one.” That very morning, I had been standing in our bedroom, gently adjusting Elwin’s tie. Out of nowhere, he spoke. “Claire, let’s get a divorce.” My head spun. “Why… why?” He didn’t look at me. “I’m tired,” he said flatly. After that day, he never came home. No explanations, no communication. He blocked my number, and all my messages sank into an abyss. Only his assistant contacted me to handle the paperwork. I was losing my mind, desperate to reach him. I even turned to Joyce to pour my heart out. She comforted me back then, saying: “Don’t overthink it, Claire. You know how Elwin gets when he’s stressed. The more you push, the more he’ll pull away.” I genuinely believed I was the problem. I began to replay every conversation we’d ever had. I combed through text logs, social media, photo albums, trying to find the exact day, the exact word, the exact moment he “got tired” of me. During those months, I was a ghost. I spent nights crying in the dark, my mental health collapsing. When I finally woke up in the ICU after another panic-induced collapse, and Elwin still hadn’t shown up, I finally took the papers from his assistant and signed my name. Now, scrolling through her feed, I realized that while I was wishing for death, he was traveling the world with Joyce. They went to Iceland to see the northern lights. They went to Kenya for the safari. They spent entire days wrapped in blankets watching movies. Elwin, the chronic workaholic who had abandoned me on our wedding night to go back to the office, had taken a whole year off to pamper Joyce through her pregnancy. My vision blurred, the screen becoming a smear of colors. That familiar, suffocating weight pressed down on my chest like a rising tide. I walked down the street like a zombie. My foot caught on something, followed by the deafening screech of tires. Before I could react, I was thrown onto the asphalt. My vision faded into black. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed. Elwin was standing by my side, wearing the charcoal wool coat I bought him last winter. I thought I was dreaming. I stared at him, afraid to blink, until he spoke. “Did you do this on purpose?” I froze. He looked down at me, his eyes cold. “You knew today was our daughter’s one-month celebration, and you just had to pull a stunt like this.” Since I had woken up, he hadn’t asked if I was in pain. He didn’t care how I got hurt. I slowly turned my head toward the door. The hallway was crowded. My mother was there, along with several of our old friends. They had all come. They were dressed up to celebrate Joyce’s baby. On the day my divorce was finalized. On the darkest day of my life, my closest family and friends were dressed in their finest to celebrate the mistress. I opened my mouth, but my throat was too dry to make a sound. My mother-in-law, Marion’s voice drifted in from the corridor: “Elwin, Joyce is asking for you. Go back to her, we’ll handle things here.” Elwin walked to the door, pausing briefly. “Get some rest. Don’t do something like this again.” I choked out, “Elwin, stop…” He didn’t pause. He didn’t look back. I struggled to push myself up, tumbling out of the bed. My knees hit the cold linoleum, and the stitches on my leg tore open. My mother ran into the room, grabbing my arms. “You’re divorced now, Claire! Can’t you just let us have some peace?” She hauled me back onto the bed, her movements rough and impatient, ignoring my winces. “Joyce hasn’t had it easy these past few years, always walking on eggshells, afraid to even look you in the eye. She even had to hide her social media posts from you.” She frowned, pulling the thin blanket over my legs. “Now that the divorce is final, let the past stay in the past.” I looked at her face, suddenly feeling like I was looking at a stranger. “Mom, when did you find out about them?” She remained silent, her fingers nervously rubbing the turquoise beaded bracelet on her wrist. Joyce had given her that. For her birthday last year, I had climbed the steep, three-thousand-step trail to the Saint Jude sanctuary to get her a blessed silver pendant. She hadn’t even looked at it, dismissing it as superstitious nonsense. Yet she treated this cheap bead bracelet from Joyce like a family heirloom. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I turned away. “Mom, please leave. I want to sleep.” Without hesitation, she smoothed the collar of her designer dress and walked out, eager to return to Joyce’s celebration. Half an hour later, I dragged myself out of the ward. I ran straight into Joyce, who was holding the baby in the banquet lobby. “Claire… what are you doing here?” Joyce instinctively took a step back, shielding the baby in her arms. I stared at her. “Are you really that afraid of seeing me?” Joyce lowered her head, keeping her voice soft. “Claire, I know I hurt you. But you can’t force love. Elwin loves me. If you want to get technical, you’re the one who stood between us for ten years.” My hands grew cold and numb. The words I wanted to scream choked in my throat. Joyce looked up, her eyes rimmed with red, but there wasn’t a shred of remorse in her gaze. The baby in her arms suddenly burst into a loud wail. Joyce cooed frantically, “Shh, Millie, don’t cry. Mommy’s here…” Before I could react, someone grabbed my shoulder and shoved me aside. I stumbled, nearly crashing into the wall. Elwin threw himself in front of Joyce, guarding her fiercely. “Claire! If you have a problem, direct it at me! Don’t you dare touch my family!” My wrist throbbed where he had grabbed me. I stood there, mute. Joyce tugged gently at Elwin’s sleeve, her voice dripping with vulnerability. “Elwin, don’t… Claire didn’t mean it. We’re the ones who wronged her. I understand why she hates us.” Elwin’s anger flared, but as his eyes swept over my pale, trembling face, he stopped. “Why are you sweating so much?” He frowned, taking a step closer. “If you’re sick, stay in your hospital bed. Why are you here causing a scene?” He reached out to grab my arm. But behind him, the baby let out a sharp cry. Instantly, he spun around, taking the infant from Joyce’s arms, cradling her with immense care. “Daddy’s here, Millie. Don’t be scared… let’s go get some milk.” I watched their retreating figures, my knees buckling. Just then, a hand caught me from the side. It was Elwin’s assistant, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. “Mr. Ward asked me to escort you out.” Before I could speak, my phone buzzed. A bank notification flashed on the screen: a deposit of one million dollars. Then, the phone rang. It was Elwin. Against the noisy background of the party, his voice was low and urgent. “You received the million, right?” “Combined with the ten million from the divorce settlement, that’s eleven million total.” “Take the money and go abroad.” My fingers clenched around the phone until my knuckles turned white. There was a brief silence on the other end. “If you stay here, Joyce will always be anxious. I don’t want her to be unhappy.” Standing by the glass doors, I looked inside. I saw the man cradling the baby with one hand while carefully holding a bottle to her lips. Joyce sat beside him, supporting the infant’s head, smiling up at him. The three of them were bathed in the soft, warm light of the venue, looking like a perfect family portrait. A bitter laugh escaped my throat. “Eleven million to buy my disappearance. What about my daughter’s life? How much are you going to pay for that?” “Claire…” his voice dropped, turning cold. “That was an accident.” “The divorce is finalized. You got every penny you deserved. What more do you want from me?” Tears blurred my vision. When I first met him, he wasn’t the powerful CEO he was today. He had nothing, living in a cramped, drafty studio apartment. I ate instant noodles with him, stayed up late working, and begged everyone I knew to help him scrape together his startup capital. When he drank himself to stomach bleeding at business dinners, I stayed by his hospital bed, terrified to close my eyes. I gave him the best ten years of my life. And in the end, those ten years were treated as a simple, transactional business deal. I didn’t say another word. I turned and walked out into the cold. We had been driving for barely ten minutes when the assistant’s phone buzzed. “Miss Collins… there’s trouble.” He handed me his phone. A local tabloid headline was trending: “CEO Elwin Ward’s Ex-Wife Crashes Baby Shower, Original Wife Attacks Mistress”. A video was attached—the exact exchange between Joyce and me. The comments were exploding, dragging Joyce’s name through the mud. Before I could even scroll down, the assistant slammed on the brakes. “Miss Collins, Mr. Ward is ahead.” I looked up. Elwin’s SUV was parked sideways, blocking the road. He got out of the driver’s seat, marched over, and yanked my door open. “Get out.” I didn’t move. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me out onto the asphalt. My stitches screamed in pain, and I whimpered as I struggled to stand. Elwin’s voice was like ice. “Did you post that video?” “No.” “No? Who else would have done it?” I held my phone, too exhausted to explain. “Are they saying anything false? You’re a cheater, and she’s a homewrecker—” “Crack.” A sharp slap echoed through the quiet street. My head whipped to the side as his palm slammed across my face. My ears rang, and half of my face burned with a searing heat. I stood frozen, staring at him. Years ago, when we made pottery together and a spinning wheel grazed my hand, leaving a tiny red mark, he had panicked, desperately searching for ointment. Back then, I thought being loved by someone so fiercely was the ultimate happiness. And now, he had slapped me. For another woman. The assistant rushed out of the car, stepping between us. “Mr. Ward! It wasn’t Miss Collins! I’ve been watching her the entire time, she hasn’t touched her phone!” Elwin’s hand froze in mid-air. A flash of regret crossed his eyes. “Claire, I…” He paused, clenching his fists, forcing down his guilt. “I’m not trying to make things hard for you. I just need your help to clear this up. Write a statement. Tell everyone we divorced amicably, and Joyce was never the third party.” I let out a wet, hollow laugh, tears tracking down my swollen cheek. “Clear her name? I’d rather die.” I made a move toward the guardrail of the bridge over the river. Elwin’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. “Are you insane…?” Without looking back, I climbed back into the assistant’s car. The moment the door clicked shut, my composure shattered, and the tears came flooding out. By the time I got back to my apartment, night had fallen. Before I could unlock the door, a crowd surged from the end of the hallway. Eggs and rotten vegetables rained down on me. Cameras flashed, blinding me. “You manipulative bitch!” “You’re the one who ruined their relationship, and now you’re playing the victim!” I stood there, stunned. I scrambled to open my phone. Twenty minutes ago, a long statement had been posted from my personal social media account, confessing that “I” was the actual homewrecker who had forced Elwin into marriage. “Get out of our building! We don’t want a toxic liar living here!” Another egg cracked against my head. I curled into a corner, trying to shield myself. “Stop it! Leave her alone!” my mother’s voice rang out from the back of the crowd. She pushed her way through, shoving people aside, and hurried me into the apartment, locking the door behind us. “I told you to lay low! Why won’t you ever listen?” I looked up at her, my vision blurry. “Did you use my account to post that statement?” She sighed, using a wet towel to wipe the residue from my face. “Elwin posted it. But he had no choice. You’re leaving the country anyway, so a little bad press won’t hurt you. But Joyce and Elwin have to build a life here. Millie is so small. For their sake, just bear it.” My throat burned. On the television screen, the local evening news was playing. Elwin, Joyce, and their baby were sitting in a studio. The host asked about the recent controversy. Elwin held Joyce’s hand, his voice steady and resolute: “Joyce and I were college sweethearts. She sacrificed so much for me, waiting quietly all these years. As for Claire, she was Joyce’s friend. I only showed her extra care out of obligation. I never expected her to use that kindness to spread malicious lies.” Joyce sniffled, her voice trembling. “Claire… she loved Elwin too much. That’s why she did those things. I don’t blame her…” The live chat scrolled by: “Oh my god, that woman is a psychopath. Imagine backstabbing your best friend like that. Disgusting.” A wave of absurd amusement washed over me. Years ago, when his startup failed, I secretly worked three jobs, sleeping only four hours a day to keep us afloat. When he found out, he held me tight, his eyes red with tears, and swore: “Claire, if I ever betray you, I hope I die a miserable death.” He had sounded so sincere. I had believed him. And now, on television, he summarized our ten years as “extra care out of obligation.” I took a stumbling step forward, my knee slamming into the corner of the nightstand. The drawer rattled loose, spilling its contents onto the floor. I knelt to gather them, my eyes landing on an old tin box. I opened it. Inside was a neatly folded piece of paper. It was Elwin’s handwriting. “To my baby girl, Daddy is so sorry.” “Aunt Joyce waited for me for a very long time. Her health is fragile, and she couldn’t handle the shock. If you were born, she would have been devastated.” “When Aunt Joyce and I have our own baby, we’ll name her Millie too.” “It will be like you never left me.” I stared at the note, reading every word. Once. Twice. Again and again. A violent tremor shook my entire body. No wonder his rivals had bypassed our security so easily. No wonder he hadn’t answered any of my calls that night. My daughter wasn’t killed by an accident. She was sacrificed by her own father. I crouched on the floor, my throat tight as if gripped by invisible hands, unable to make a sound. My tears soaked the paper, blurring the ink into dark smudges. I don’t know how long I sat there. Eventually, I dragged myself up. I turned on my laptop and began downloading every piece of archived evidence: chat logs, bank transfers, medical records, timelines, screenshots of Joyce’s old posts. And that note. Then, I dialed my lawyer’s number. “Mr. Adler, I’ve changed my mind. I want to sue Elwin Ward for adultery, hiding marital assets, and… wrongful death.” After hanging up, I opened a livestreaming app. “Hello everyone. I am Elwin Ward’s ex-wife. I think it’s time you knew the truth.”
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