My father was dying, and his last wish was to see Amelia and me married. I begged her for weeks to move up the wedding date, and she finally agreed. But when he passed, taking his final, lingering regrets with him, she was nowhere to be found at the courthouse. Instead, my best friend Jude posted a series of photos of her having dinner with his family on social media. “Wedding prep in full swing. Mom and Dad absolutely adore their future daughter-in-law.” Looking at the intimacy in those photos, my chest tightened. I couldn’t stop myself from calling her, my voice shaking with a mix of grief and betrayal. Amelia dismissed my call with effortless ease. “Jude’s parents are getting older, Christian. They just want to see him settled down. I’m only helping him play a part to put them at ease. Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything?” When I stayed silent, her voice sharpened, heavy with irritation. “I honestly can’t stand this stubborn attitude of yours. If you keep acting like this, we’re done.” That was the 101st time she had threatened to break up with me because of Jude. This time, I didn’t beg her to stay. And this time, she was the one who would regret it. … By the time I finished making the arrangements for my father’s funeral, night had fallen. Amelia hadn’t tried to call or text me once. Jude, however, had been relentlessly spamming our group chat with a barrage of photos. They were choosing diamond rings. Trying on wedding dresses. Jude kept tagging me: “Hey Christian, look at this suit. Does it match the shoes Amelia just bought me?” “Ugh, Amelia bought another mountain of supplements for my parents. They haven’t even finished the last batch she sent. There’s barely any room left in the house—can you help me convince her to stop?” In our six years together, Amelia had never bought me a single gift. She had never once visited my parents of her own accord. Every time I brought it up, her excuse was always the same: she was too busy, too overwhelmed with work. Yet in the photos Jude posted, Amelia—the woman who claimed she didn’t know how to boil an egg—was hovering in the kitchen, carefully chopping vegetables and pouring tea for Jude’s parents. The ease in her movements made it painfully clear that this wasn’t her first time playing housewife in their home. I scrolled up. In that three-person group chat, my presence was a ghost. They discussed their wedding, mapped out their future. My occasional messages hung there, isolated and unanswered, pushed up and out of sight by their domestic chatter. I didn’t want to be the third wheel in my own life anymore. With a few taps on my screen, I left the group chat. Then, I blocked both of their numbers. A few hours later, a call came through from Amelia on an unknown number. Her voice was cold, distant, and dripping with annoyance. “Christian, what kind of tantrum is this? You do this every single time. Aren’t you tired of it? I already explained it to you—Jude’s family was pressuring him, and I was just doing him a favor. Can you stop being so unreasonable?” I lost my voice for a moment. Unreasonable. Looking back, the only one who had ever been unreasonable in this relationship was Amelia. She threatened to break up if I couldn’t secure her a limited-edition designer handbag. She threatened to break up if my wire transfers fell short of five figures. And if Jude was having a bad day, she somehow twisted it to blame me, capping it off with yet another breakup threat. She knew how deeply I loved her. She knew I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. So, whenever things got difficult, she would casually throw out that icy ultimatum: “If you can’t handle it, let’s break up.” For six years, I had bowed my head. I had compromised a hundred times. This was the hundred and first. And this time, I refused to bend. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “My father is dead, Amelia. We don’t have to keep pretending for the sake of his health anymore.” A heavy silence fell over the line. When she spoke again, her tone had softened, laced with sudden panic. “I… I didn’t know. Christian, wait for me. I’m coming over to be with you right now.” More than an hour passed. Amelia never showed up. Instead, a sudden, violent downpour swept over the city. I was running through the storm, trying to find shelter near my father’s old place, when my foot slipped on the muddy slope of the hill. I tumbled downward, my head colliding violently with a jagged rock. The world went black. When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed with thick gauze wrapped tightly around my head. The room was empty. The nurse told me I had severe exhaustion and a mild concussion, requiring a couple of days of observation. For two days, Amelia never appeared. All I had to keep me company were Jude’s constant social media updates. “Worst luck ever. Caught a terrible cold right before the big day, but thank god I have my fiancée here to nurse me back to health.” “Craving those late-night loaded sliders from that diner upstate, and Amelia drove all night through the rain to get them for me. Someone who truly loves you will always meet your needs, no questions asked.” Not long ago, Amelia and I had fought because she wanted a limited-edition art toy. I had stood in line under the scorching sun for over three hours to get it for her. The heat was relentless, and I ended up passing out on the sidewalk from heatstroke. When I called her to come pick me up, she answered with nothing but sheer impatience. “Christian, can you stop being so dramatic? I’m not like other women—I have a career to build. My time is extremely valuable, and I can’t afford to waste it on your attention-seeking stunts.” When she said those words, she seemed to have forgotten that the very career she was so proud of was built on the back of my own sacrifices—sacrifices I made out of love, stepping aside so she could shine. Yet now, she could cast her precious career aside without a second thought, spending days cooking and cleaning for Jude. A dull, hollow ache settled in my chest. I didn’t even know how to label the emotion anymore. Jude had been my best friend. When I first introduced them, Amelia acted as though she despised him. She would complain to me constantly about how dense and irritating he was, leaving me caught in the middle, trying to smooth things over. But gradually, imperceptibly, Jude’s name began to slip into her conversations more and more. And the words she directed at me grew fewer and fewer, until we were nothing but strangers sharing a roof. I didn’t want to drown in this crowded relationship anymore. I drafted a message to Amelia and officially called it off. Her reply came almost instantly this time. “Stop playing games, Christian. I’m incredibly busy right now and can’t get away. Meet me at the airport tomorrow. I’ll fly back with you, and we can talk about this face-to-face.” I didn’t wait at the airport like a loyal dog this time. I booked my own ticket and boarded the plane. During the flight, I drifted into a long, feverish dream. I dreamed of the early days, when Amelia and I were consumed by each other, long before Jude ever cast a shadow over us. When she wanted to start her own business, I emptied my savings to fund her. When she needed a solid foundation, I resigned from my own position to manage her life. When my family looked down on her modest background, I fought them tooth and nail to defend her. Back then, we were the couple everyone envied. The shift—the slow, rot-like decay—began on the day of the car accident. I forced myself awake, unable to bear the weight of those memories. When the plane landed, Amelia was not there. I took a cab home alone. It wasn’t until the late hours of the third night that she finally showed up at the house. “I told you to wait for me so we could come back together. Why did you break your promise?” Jerking awake from a shallow sleep, my head throbbed. “So you expected me to sit at the airport for three days and three nights?” Amelia pressed her lips together. “Whatever. I don’t have the energy to argue with you. Get up and make me a grilled cheese sandwich.” I didn’t answer. I simply pulled the duvet over my shoulders and turned my back to her. She let out an annoyed huff and tossed her suitcase onto the floor. “I swear, marrying a man like you is the worst curse of my life.” With that, she slammed the door and left. I didn’t set an alarm, sleeping in until the sun was high. In the past, I would have been up by six, ironing her clothes and preparing a gourmet breakfast. But it was never enough. She would always complain that my ironing wasn’t as crisp as Jude’s, or that my home-cooked meals were either too bland or too oily. A meal I spent hours preparing could never compete with a bowl of instant ramen made by Jude. If my efforts were nothing but a chore to her, I saw no reason to keep playing the servant. But today, Amelia had actually made breakfast herself. She was quietly eating a bowl of oatmeal, keeping her eyes cast down. “I’m sorry about your dad, Christian. I really am. But you don’t need to pick a fight with me on a day like today.” “What day?” I asked, genuinely lost. She pulled a beautifully wrapped gift box from behind her. “Christian, you’re truly disappointing. How could you forget our sixth anniversary—” She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze freezing on my forehead. “What happened to your head?” “While you were playing nurse to Jude, I finished burying my father, slipped down a muddy hill, hit a rock, and got drenched in a rainstorm,” I said, shrugging indifferently. “It’s fine. His cold was obviously much more critical.” Amelia stared at me, her dark eyes swirling with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. After a long pause, she murmured, “Just eat. I made the New England clam chowder you like. Once you’re done, open your gift.” “No thanks,” I said quietly. “Today is July twentieth. Our anniversary was June twentieth. It passed a month ago. And more importantly, I’m allergic to shellfish.” Late gifts are worthless. And late love is even cheaper. Jude was the one who loved New England clam chowder. Jude was the one who loved receiving gifts. All I had ever wanted from Amelia was her presence. Amelia fell silent for a moment. “Work has been overwhelming lately. Don’t overthink things. Jude’s parents are getting older, and his family doesn’t have the kind of financial safety net yours does. His parents are in poor health and constantly worry about his future. I only stepped in to help so you wouldn’t feel pressured to support him…” Whenever Jude was the topic, Amelia’s words flowed effortlessly. I didn’t have the energy to tear down her excuses. I certainly didn’t want to ask what had happened during the two weeks she spent living under Jude’s roof. “Believe whatever makes you feel better,” I muttered. My indifference struck a nerve. She slammed her chopsticks onto the table. “Christian, can you stop being so incredibly childish? You’re a grown man living comfortably off my hard work. What more do you want? Look at yourself lately—you don’t even compare to Jude. Can you really blame me for not wanting to come home to this?” The version of me she despised was a direct result of the injuries I sustained trying to save her years ago. I didn’t argue. I stood up and began packing my bags. Amelia continued her lecture, shadowing my movements. “I’m talking to you! What are you doing? All you do lately is scroll mindlessly through stupid videos. Why can’t you focus on doing something productive with your life? Look at Jude. His family had nothing, but he’s hardworking and ambitious. He’s ten times the man you are!” Everything she and Jude currently owned—the business, the lifestyle, the status—was built entirely on my capital and my industry connections. And now, she was throwing my lack of utility in my face. Humans really are insatiably greedy. “I have to go,” I said. “Christian, I’m not finished talking to you!” Amelia reached out to grab my arm, but I flinched away, physically repulsed by her touch. In six years, she had never truly listened to a word I said. Any attempt at a real conversation ended in her threatening to leave, throwing a tantrum, and making a scene. I had run out of patience to soothe her ego. As I turned toward the door, Amelia suddenly shrieked, “Stop right there!” She was holding my father’s last keepsake high in the air—a delicate jade Buddha pendant. “If you take one more step, I’ll smash this to pieces!” “Amelia, that was my dad’s!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “He literally got that to protect our home!” When my father was terribly sick, his greatest worry was the future Amelia and I would share. He had forced his failing body to drive hundreds of miles to a sacred temple, kneeling for hours to pray for this jade pendant to guard our peace. At the time, Amelia had wept with gratitude, kneeling by his bedside and swearing she would cherish me forever. Now, she was using his final blessing as a weapon to hold me hostage. Shaking with pure rage, I lunged forward to snatch it back. But Amelia flinched and hurled the jade pendant directly at me. The heavy base struck me squarely on my already injured forehead. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears as the jade shattered into a thousand glittering shards on the hardwood floor. Amelia gasped, visibly shaken by the sight of the blood trickling down my face. She reached out, her hands trembling. “Christian, oh my god, I’m so sorry. I just wanted to scare you. I didn’t mean to actually hit you.” Shards of jade bit deep into the palm of my hand as I leaned against the floor. The physical pain was nothing compared to the sickening wave of guilt and grief that washed over me. I pushed her hands away, my voice dropping to a harsh, icy whisper. “Get out.” In six years, I had never spoken to her with such raw venom. She froze, the flicker of remorse vanishing from her face, replaced by indignant pride. “You’re actually screaming at me? Fine. I’m leaving. Let’s see how long it takes before you come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness.” She grabbed her purse and slammed the door behind her. Over the years, she had staged countless exits over the smallest perceived slights—a meal that wasn’t perfect, a gift that wasn’t expensive enough. If I didn’t immediately bend the knee and beg, she would punish me with weeks of freezing silent treatment. But this time, I wasn’t going to call. Our cold war dragged on. Because our lives and assets were deeply intertwined with the company, I reached out to a lawyer to begin sorting through the wreckage. Amid the paperwork, a text from Amelia flashed on my screen: “Urgent. Come to the office.” After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to go. The relationship was dead, but I wasn’t about to let the company I sweated blood to build crumble under her mismanagement. The moment I stepped into the lobby, I heard stifled laughter. The young receptionists were giggling into a speakerphone, chatting with Jude. “You were totally right, Jude. All you have to do is send a text from Amelia’s phone, and he comes running like a loyal little lapdog.” A moment later, the elevator doors slid open, and Jude stepped out, looking incredibly smug. “Hey, Christian. Looking for Amelia? She’s swamped right now. She doesn’t have time for outsiders.” He put a cruel, lingering emphasis on the word “outsiders”. Over the past few weeks, the two of them had practically announced their upcoming nuptials to the world, branding themselves as the ultimate power couple. Meanwhile, I—the silent benefactor who financed their entire existence—was reduced to an unwanted ghost. I let out a dry laugh and pointed directly at the receptionists. “You three. Pack your things and get out of my building.” This company was built entirely on my initial investment. Even if I had stepped away from daily operations, I wasn’t going to let low-level employees mock me in my own lobby. Jude’s face darkened instantly. “Christian, who do you think you are, throwing your weight around? You’re a relic. A nobody. Amelia and I run this place now.” Before I could dial her number, Amelia marched out of the back offices. “What is going on out here?” I assumed she would be mortified by the scene. In the past, whenever I visited her at work, she would treat me like an embarrassment, snapping at me to leave. But this time, her expression held a strange, triumphant satisfaction. Jude immediately put on his victim act. “Amelia, I don’t know what’s wrong with Christian. He just burst in here, started yelling, accused us of sleeping together, and threatened to fire everyone.” Amelia’s eyes narrowed as she glared at me. “Christian, is there no end to your drama? I can tolerate you being dull, and I can tolerate you being useless, but this pathetic, paranoid jealousy of yours makes me sick.” She let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “I honestly regret every single day I’ve spent with you.” The receptionists hid their smirks behind their hands, and Jude stood beside her like a victorious king. But to my own surprise, I felt absolutely nothing. The pain had gone numb. Or perhaps, deep down, I had always known she would say this. In the past, Amelia had frequently taken Jude to high-profile business dinners while keeping me hidden away. When major clients questioned the propriety of her assistant acting like her spouse, she would defend herself with vicious casualness: “You have no idea how high-maintenance Christian is. He has zero talent but a massive ego. He can’t even play the supportive partner right. Jude is polished, handsome, and actually presentable. Christian can stay home and work on his fitness—maybe if he becomes presentable again, I’ll let him out of the house.” She had no idea that those major clients only agreed to meet with her because of my family’s reputation and my personal backing. My devotion had been rewritten in her mind as the weakness of a coddled kept man. Fine. If that was how she saw me, I would take back every single resource, every single dollar, and see how long her “polish” lasted without my money. Sensing my silence as defeat, Amelia pressed harder, deploying her favorite weapon. “Silent now? Guilty conscience? No wonder we couldn’t keep Joy. A man like you isn’t fit to be a husband, let alone a father. If I could go back, I would have chosen Jude from the very start.” The mention of our lost baby felt like a physical blow to my chest. Every single time we argued, Amelia would aim directly for my deepest, bleeding wound. She loved to push me to my absolute limit in public, waiting for me to snap so she could look at the onlookers with a pitying sigh, as if to say, “See what I have to deal with?” But this time, the storm inside me vanished, replaced by an eerie, absolute stillness. “Then let’s stop forcing it,” I said, my voice steady as I handed her a document. “Here are the divestment papers. We’re done.” As I handed her the folder, I reached out and calmly plucked a long, synthetic-looking bronze-brown hair from the lapel of her blazer. Amelia’s eyes flickered with a sudden, sharp panic. She opened her mouth to explain, glancing nervously at Jude before trying to regain her cold composure. “Christian, stop seeing ghosts everywhere. You know damn well you can’t survive without me.” I kept my eyes locked on hers. “Is that so? Amelia, have you truly forgotten how you got everything you own today?” “Christian!” she hissed, her voice cracking with desperation. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth and stepped closer. “Do you really want to push me, Amelia? Do you want me to stand right here, in front of your employees, and tell everyone what really happened the day we lost our daughter?”
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