For the eighth time, I found Keith Hayes in bed with another woman. This time, I didn’t argue. Instead, I just handed my jacket to the new girl, my voice flat. “Use the back exit.” She gave me one terrified look before scrambling out the door, clutching the jacket like a shield. Keith, propped against the headboard, watched me, a cigarette already lit. “Leave her alone, Amelia. She’s different. Actually fragile. It’s her birthday tonight, so I’ll be staying with her. Don’t wait up.” I nodded, a cold laugh catching in my throat. Because Keith didn’t know yet. His new mistress had HIV. Used condoms littered the floor. The air was thick with a stale, familiar scent. I put on a mask, opened the window wide, and did not look at him again. He blew a lazy smoke ring, watching my movements with idle curiosity. “Change of heart? Not filing for divorce today? Finally learned how the world works?” “Yes,” my voice was soft. “I’ve learned.” Keith scoffed. “Took you long enough.” He stretched, the picture of indolence, and began pulling on his clothes. “In our circles, the marriage contract is just the opening act. Once the performance is over, everyone finds their own…entertainment. It’s better you accept it. Saves us the tedious drama” I turned, silently watching him button his shirt. “You really aren’t coming back tonight?” I asked. “Nope.” He buckled his belt, glancing at me. “Why? Is today some special occasion?” I shook my head. “Just asking.” “Oh, right,” he paused at the doorway. “We’re running low on condoms. Could you pick some up when you get a chance?” “Sure.” The door clicked shut. I stood by the window a moment longer, watching his headlights cut through the night, disappearing at the end of the tree-lined drive. Then I picked up my phone and dialed a number. “He’s gone,” I said. “You can start cleaning now.” Five minutes later, three people in full hazmat suits entered the room. They efficiently gathered the scattered condoms, wiped down every surface with a special disinfectant, and stripped all the bedding, sealing it in airtight bags. The lead woman, a middle-aged professional, nodded to me. “Mrs. Hayes, it’s all handled. Rest assured, there will be no risk of infection left behind.” “Thank you,” I said. “Especially this bedroom, make sure it’s thoroughly disinfected.” “Understood.” I saw the wedding photo on the wall, defaced with a lipstick ‘X’ by one of his lovers. His affairs had cost me two pregnancies, leaving me unable to conceive again. I calmly closed the bedroom door, turned, and walked downstairs. On the living room coffee table sat a cake box. I picked up the complimentary candle, stuck it into the cake, and lit it. Keith only remembered that today was his mistress’s birthday. He forgot it was mine too. The flame danced. I stared at it for a long time, then blew it out. I had planned to ask for a divorce, but now, I didn’t want to. I wanted all his assets, all his power.
For five consecutive days, Keith didn’t come home. But his mistress, as if given silent permission, messaged and sent videos to me right on schedule. “He said I’m the kind of person he really wants.” “He said he’s been tired of a homebody like you for ages.” “He’s not coming back again tonight. Aren’t you lonely sleeping alone?” I didn’t reply to a single one. I just took my medication on time, had my regular check-ups, slept soundly, and instructed my assistant to categorize and archive all her screenshots. On the sixth night, Keith called me. I was at the hospital then, having just finished a series of tests, sitting on a bench in the hallway, waiting for the results. His voice on the phone was hoarse, tinged with the breathlessness of overindulgence. “Amelia,” he called my name. “Someone’s been snapping pictures of Chloe and me lately. There’s an interview tomorrow; I need you to come to the office and help her clear things up.” I was silent for two seconds. “Clear what up?” “Just say it was all a misunderstanding, that she’s just a student I’m sponsoring, and you were there too,” he paused. “You know, she’s young; she can’t handle all this public scrutiny.” I looked down at the needle marks on the back of my hand that hadn’t quite faded. “Okay,” I said. A clear sigh of relief came from the other end. “You’re always so understanding,” his tone softened. “How about I come home tonight and spend some time with you? It’s been a while since we…” “I’m not really available these past couple of days,” I cut him off, lowering my gaze. “My period.” The phone line went quiet for a moment. “…Alright.” He sounded a bit annoyed but quickly returned to his coaxing tone. “Well, get some sleep then, and don’t overthink things.” After hanging up, I looked at the darkened screen and suddenly felt like laughing. He thought I was saving myself for him. He had no idea I simply found him disgusting. The next day’s interview was scheduled in the lobby of the Hayes Corp. building. The media turned out in full force, a flurry of cameras and microphones aimed at us, the “model couple.” I linked my arm through Keith’s, my makeup flawless, my smile gentle and poised. When asked about the rumors, he instinctively glanced at me. I took the microphone from him. “This has all been a misunderstanding,” I said, my smile practiced and calm. “Ms. Davis is a student my husband sponsors. She’s been unwell, and he’s shown her appropriate kindness. A few photos were taken out of context and given a rather dramatic interpretation. I trust we can all now put this to rest.” Someone from the crowd pressed on, “Mrs. Hayes, are you truly not bothered at all?” I turned my head to look at Keith, my eyes full of devotion and trust. “Of course, I trust him.” At that moment, his grip on my wrist noticeably tightened. But halfway through the interview, his phone buzzed with a message. Keith’s face changed almost instantly. He stood up, not even sparing me a glance. “My apologies, something urgent just came up.” He said this to the host and was already turning to leave. I remained seated, still holding the microphone. The media erupted in a stir. Someone loudly asked, “Mr. Hayes, is it about Ms. Davis? We heard she was hospitalized?” His steps faltered for a second, then he walked out without looking back. I sat there alone, in the brightest spotlight, cleaning up his mess, continuing to play the part of the devoted wife. Afterward, Ryan, my assistant, cautiously asked, “Mrs. Hayes, are you alright?” I stood up, straightened my dress, and smiled. “I’m perfectly fine.” And I truly was. Because I knew he had just pushed me one step closer to the finish line. That night, he didn’t come home. He only sent me a message: “Her fever’s really high. I’m at the hospital. You go to sleep first.” I replied with a single word: “Okay.” Then, I thought for a moment and sent another message: “My mom isn’t feeling too well. I need to go back to my parents’ place tomorrow for about a month.” “Want me to come with you?” “It’s nothing serious, I can handle it.” “Okay.” I sent the message, set my phone aside with a quiet exhale, and turned my attention to the newly arrived report on my desk. Its conclusion was stark: Incubation period complete. The virus is now transmissible.
The next morning, I packed my bags and left the mansion. As the car drove out of the tree-lined driveway, I glanced in the rearview mirror at the house I’d lived in for four years. The morning mist hadn’t lifted yet, and a dull, gray light enveloped the entire garden. The garden was filled with red roses. He’d had them flown in from France years ago, simply because I’d once said I liked them. The golden boy of the city’s elite social scene, a true scion of wealth, had spent months planting those nine hundred and ninety-nine roses with me, by hand. Back then, to achieve maximum aesthetic appeal, he’d even stayed up late for nine nights, revising the rose layout himself. I used to tease him. “You’re such a perfectionist, even worse than me!” He’d bent down and kissed my forehead. “That’s because this is our home.” Our home. I looked away, leaned back into the seat, and closed my eyes. Now, his parade of mistresses never ended, and I was the only one left tending to the roses. Our home had become their hotel. I didn’t go to my parents’ place. Instead, I went directly to a private retreat in the suburbs. The doctor was already waiting for me. “According to current data, you show no signs of infection,” he said, flipping through reports. “But for absolute safety, it’s best if you avoid close contact with anyone for the next month.” “I understand,” I nodded. “As for Mr. Hayes…” he paused, not finishing his sentence. “Just keep observing him,” I finished for him. “Any results, let me know immediately.” I moved into a small house at the very back of the retreat. My daily life was simple and routine: follow-ups, medication, reading, walks. It felt like patiently waiting for a countdown. On the seventh night, Keith called me. It was the first time he’d contacted me since I left. When I answered, the background was noisy, like a business dinner. “Where are you?” he asked, his tone a little impatient. “My parents’ place,” I said calmly. “Why haven’t you replied to my messages? He sounded annoyed. “I haven’t been feeling well these past few days; maybe I’m just tired. When are you coming back?” “I’m not sure,” I said softly. “I still need to take care of my mother.” He was clearly displeased but kept his temper in check. “Alright, well, take care of yourself then.” Before hanging up, he added, “Oh, by the way, Chloe has been discharged. She doesn’t know anyone in the city, so I’ve let her stay here for a few days. She’s in your bedroom. So don’t be surprised when you get back, and don’t overthink it.” I hummed in acknowledgment. Of course, I wouldn’t overthink it. Because that, originally, was the perfect place I had chosen for them. Four more days passed. This time, it was his assistant who called me. Ryan’s voice on the phone was frantic. “Mrs. Hayes, Mr. Hayes is in trouble.” My fingers tightened around the phone. “What happened to him?” “He had a high fever all last night that wouldn’t break. This morning, he was rushed to the hospital. The doctors… the doctors said the situation is a bit complicated and asked for a family member to come in as soon as possible.” I was silent for two seconds. “Which hospital?” Ryan gave me the address. It was the same one Chloe had been in. “I understand,” I said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” After hanging up, I sat on the edge of the bed, looking out at the quiet lawn. The sun was bright. Too bright for anything bad to be happening. The doctor knocked and came in. He looked at me. “Are you going out?” “Yes,” I stood up. “To see my husband.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, he only said, “Please be careful.” I smiled, putting on my mask. “Don’t worry.” I valued my life more than anyone.
As the car drove into the city, my phone lit up again. It was a message from Keith. “Where are you?” I stared at the two words for a long time before replying. “On my way.” “I don’t feel good.” “The doctor is seeing to it.” He was probably really unsettled. Whenever he’d been sick before, I was always there, by his bedside. Giving him water, medicine, staying awake all night. He was used to me always being there. But this time, he could only reach me through a screen. I didn’t reply again. The hospital’s disinfectant smell was heavy. Ryan waited for me at the entrance, his face looking worse than I’d imagined. “Mrs. Hayes,” he whispered. “The doctor has done a preliminary check on Mr. Hayes and suggested… further specialized testing.” I nodded. “I know.” When I pushed open the door to his room, Keith was propped against the headboard, receiving an IV drip. He’d lost a bit of weight, and his complexion was terrible. The moment he saw me, he clearly froze, then visibly relaxed. In that instant, the reliance in his eyes was almost primal. I walked over and placed my bag aside. “What’s wrong with you?” “I feel weak all over,” he frowned. “My head hurts too. The doctor said it might be an infection.” He said it so casually as if he were talking about a common cold. I tucked the blanket around him, my movements as gentle as always. “Don’t worry,” I said softly. “You’ll be alright.” He looked at me, then suddenly reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Amelia,” his voice was a little hoarse. “This whole time… thank you for everything.” I looked down at the hand holding mine. His fingers were long and slender, hands that had countless times led me through crowds. “We’re married,” I said. Only then did he seem to relax, his eyes slowly closing. Not long after, the doctor entered and asked to speak with me outside. He met my gaze briefly before extending the report. “Amelia, the results are back.” I took it. My eyes went straight to the decisive line. Confirmed Infection. I was perfectly calm. So calm, it even surprised me a little. “Does he know yet?” I asked. “Not yet,” the doctor said. “In cases like this, we recommend a family member informs them.” I nodded. “I’ll do it.” When I returned to the room, Keith was still asleep. Sunlight lay across his peacefully innocent face, frozen in a moment before it all began. I sat by his bedside and watched him for a long while. Then, I softly called his name. “Keith.” He opened his eyes. “Hmm?” I looked at him, my voice as gentle as it had ever been. “The doctor says you’re quite ill.” He froze. “Ill? With what?” I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I simply laid the report on the sheets before him.
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