The night before Derek left for his business trip, he changed the password to our apartment’s smart lock. “Sweetheart,” he gently explained, “the building’s been having some security issues lately. It’s for your safety.” I smiled and nodded, then discreetly opened the lock’s app on my phone. It starkly displayed a newly added fingerprint entry: **[Sweetheart]**. That evening, the app pinged: **[“Sweetheart” entered the home at 10:05 PM.]** Calmly, I packed my bags, then deleted all my fingerprints and my access to the app. Later, Derek would be on his knees outside our door, hammering on that lock that would never open for him again, yelling like a madman. “Please, just give me access again! Let me see you…” But my new home assistant was now a much more loyal partner. As Derek left, the wheels of his suitcase echoed with a dull thud on the hardwood floor. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, his eyes overflowing with a tenderness that felt utterly fake. “Be a good girl at home. I’ll be back in a week, tops.” “I’ve changed the password, by the way. Made it our anniversary. You’re so forgetful, darling, this way you won’t mess it up.” I stood on my tiptoes, straightening his shirt collar, my smile saccharine and docile. “Got it. Drive safe.” The moment the door closed, the smile on my face shattered, cooling inch by agonizing inch. I was never forgetful. Our wedding anniversary? I remembered it far better than he did. Opening the smart lock management app, two stark entries lay silently in the backend history. **[Admin “Derek” changed password at 3:30 PM.]** **[Admin “Derek” registered new fingerprint at 3:31 PM, named: Sweetheart.]** Sweetheart. Those three words burned like white-hot needles, piercing into my eyes. Derek had never called *me* that. He liked to call me ‘baby’ or, sometimes, just Aurora. He’d always say it made us feel connected, yet strong as individuals. I sat on the sofa, waiting from dusk until deep into the night. The smart panel on the wall, which I had personally configured, shifted its soft lighting with the passing hours, bathing our home in a warm, peaceful glow. This sanctuary, this haven, I’d poured my heart and soul into building for us. At 10:05 PM, my phone screen lit up. The app’s notification was chillingly clear. **[“Sweetheart” entered the home using fingerprint at 10:05 PM.]** My heart constricted as if an unseen hand had gripped it, squeezing the air from my lungs. I could barely breathe. I didn’t cry. I didn’t break anything. I simply stood up, walked into the walk-in closet, and pulled out the suitcase we’d bought for our honeymoon. My clothes, my art supplies, my specialized tools for delicate ancient artwork, each one a precious investment. One by one, I carefully packed them into the suitcase. Finally, I stood in the center of the apartment I’d called home for five years, looking around. On the wall hung our wedding photo. Derek smiled brightly, holding me tightly in his arms. By the entryway, the subtle white tea diffuser he’d bought me, my absolute favorite scent. Everything was exactly as it had been when I walked out this morning, yet something profound had shattered into a million pieces. I opened the phone app and went into the admin settings. My fingertip hovered over **[Aurora’s Fingerprint]** for three agonizing seconds. Then, I tapped delete. Goodbye, Derek. Goodbye, my naïve and foolish five years.
Dragging my suitcase, I checked into a hotel two blocks from our building. I opened my laptop, effortlessly connected to the hotel Wi-Fi, and a complex programming interface spread across my screen. This was the highest-level admin backend I’d built into our smart home system for security. I could see real-time footage from every camera, hear every sound picked up by every smart speaker. I felt like a ghost, haunting the edges of my own life, invisible as I watched it unfold without me. On the living room screen, an unfamiliar girl was excitedly rolling around on *my* sofa. She wore *my* silk robe, the one Derek gave me for my birthday. “Wow, Derek! Your place is amazing! The lighting is so cozy!” The girl’s voice was syrupy sweet, with an almost childish, affected innocence. Derek’s voice drifted from the bathroom, muffled by steam. “You like it? From now on, this is your home.” *My* home. My fingers gripping the mouse turned bone-white from the force. Barefoot, the girl scampered around the floor, like a queen surveying her new territory. She picked up a rare, handcrafted ceramic mug I’d spent weeks searching for, which I kept on the coffee table. She held it up to the light, then scrunched her nose, casually setting it aside. From her own bag, she pulled out a cartoon-printed mug. “Better to use my own, you know, for comfort,” she muttered to herself. Then, she noticed our wedding photo on the wall. She walked up to it, tilting her head back, staring for a long time. I couldn’t see her expression clearly, but I distinctly heard her call out to the bathroom. “Derek, this picture isn’t flattering. It totally ages you!” “When you get back, let’s take new ones, okay?” Derek didn’t reply. A moment later, he walked out wrapped in a towel, his hair still dripping wet. He embraced the girl from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Okay, anything you want.” He didn’t even glance at that wedding photo. The one he had once held, beaming like a child when we first got the prints. At 11 PM, my phone rang. It was Derek. I watched on the laptop screen as he kissed the girl’s neck, then pressed the speakerphone button on his phone. “Hey, baby,” his voice was as gentle as ever. “Did you make it to the hotel? Everything alright?” I dug my nails into my palm, forcing my voice into a calm, even tone. “Yeah, just settled in. You?” “I’m at the hotel too, just showered, about to sleep.” He lied without a flicker of remorse. On the screen, the girl, Cassie, mouthed silently to him: “I love you.” Derek’s throat worked, a tell-tale sign of his unease, and he said into the phone, “The project here is a bit complicated, might be a few days late getting back.” “Make sure you lock the door when you’re alone, okay? Stay safe.” “I love you, baby.” The call ended, and I heard him let out a long sigh of relief. He turned to the girl and said, “Done.” Then, laughing, they tumbled onto *my* bed. I closed my laptop, my stomach churning violently. So that’s it. The word ‘love,’ coming from his mouth, could be so utterly cheap.
The next day, I woke up with my eyes aching. Opening the laptop, Derek had already “left for his business trip.” Only Cassie remained in the apartment. She seemed to genuinely believe this was her home now. She rifled through my closet, trying on my clothes one by one, posing provocatively in front of the mirror. She picked up my priciest designer bag, a classic Birkin, taking selfies and captioning them: “Hardworking girls always get lucky.” Then, she sent the photo to Derek. Soon, Derek replied with a voice message. I clicked it to play aloud. “Baby, you look good in anything, but you look best in nothing at all.” His slimy, suggestive joke made me physically recoil. Cassie giggled, tossing my clothes all over the bed, then changed into her own cheap T-shirt and jeans. It was as if she was claiming her territory, marking her victory. That afternoon, she ordered takeout: spicy curry. The pungent aroma, sickeningly familiar, wafted through the speakers and assaulted my ears. I never ate those kinds of dishes. Derek knew that. He always said I had a “delicate” stomach. But now, Cassie sat at *my* dining table, using *my* favorite delicate bone china dinnerware, devouring her pungent curry. Sauce splattered, landing on the expensive solid wood table, leaving a greasy red mark. She casually wiped it with her sleeve, uncaring. Watching that blurry oil stain on the monitor, it felt like I was seeing an indelible, greasy stain on the very fabric of my marriage. That evening, Derek returned. He was carrying a large cake. “Happy birthday, baby.” Cassie shrieked in delight, throwing herself into his arms. “Derek, you remembered!” So, yesterday was her birthday. That’s why he was so eager to bring her into *my* home, right at the start of her birthday. He had turned *my* home into a birthday gift for his mistress. They lit candles and sang “Happy Birthday.” Cassie closed her eyes and made a wish. “I hope that by this time next year, I’ll be the true lady of this house.” Derek laughed, gently flicking her nose. “You will be,” he said dotingly. He didn’t deny it. He silently consented. I stared at that unfamiliar face on the screen, and a sudden realization hit me: Derek, I don’t think I ever truly knew you. He cut the cake, offering the first slice to Cassie. Cassie scooped a large dollop of frosting and smeared it on his face. They laughed and played, getting frosting everywhere. On the sofa, on the carpet, and even on *my* easel. On my easel was a Ming Dynasty ancient painting I was almost finished restoring, a cherished piece belonging to an important client. My breath hitched. I stared, rigid, at the screen. Derek noticed the frosting on the painting, and his playfulness stopped. He frowned. Cassie saw it too, and she whispered, a hint of fear in her voice, “Derek, I didn’t mean to…” Derek picked up a tissue, trying to carefully wipe away the frosting. But the cream had already seeped into the fragile paper. His attempt to clean it only spread the stain further. Frustrated, he tossed the tissue to the floor. “Forget it, just leave it.” Cassie nervously tugged on his sleeve. “But… will Aurora be mad when she comes back?” “Her?” Derek scoffed, a cold sneer on his face. “A cold, unappreciative woman, always obsessed with her stupid paintings.” “If it’s ruined, it’s ruined. I’ll just pay for it.” “For you, it’s worth any price.” He took Cassie’s hand and led her away from my studio. As if that priceless ancient painting was truly just some “worthless old artwork.” I leaned against the hotel’s cold wall, trembling uncontrollably. Unappreciative? Derek, when your startup failed, and you were blackout drunk, I stayed by your side for three days and three nights. When your father fell ill and desperately needed money, I sold the only piece of jewelry my grandmother had ever given me to cover his surgery costs. You used to say you loved watching me quietly paint, that it was the most beautiful sight in the world.
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