My husband was an undercover hero who helped take down the mob. To save that hostage girl, he was tortured by them for an entire month. After he was rescued, his body was covered in scars, and he developed a severe physical condition. The doctors said it was psychological trauma—that he couldn’t be pushed. I was heartbroken. For three years, I didn’t even dare breathe loudly in my sleep. I was terrified of disturbing his fragile nerves. I spent every penny we had on his treatment. I even paid for that poor rescued girl’s education. On the day of the police commendation ceremony, the big screen accidentally played an unreleased surveillance clip. In the footage, that man—who acted so timid and submissive around me— was pinning that girl against a desk, going at it like a wild animal. His mouth was full of filthy words, his movements rough and savage. He quickly covered my eyes. “Don’t look! That was just an act to gain the mob’s trust!” “Tech team! Who played that video? Shut it off now!” Captain Harris’s roar exploded through the auditorium. The blinding white light from the screen vanished, plunging the entire hall into dead silence and darkness. I sat frozen in my seat, hands and feet ice cold. The hand covering my eyes carried the familiar scent of tobacco. But that same hand, just moments ago on screen, had been gripping another girl’s hair. “Emma, don’t look.” Ryan’s voice came from beside my ear—steady as always, but with an almost imperceptible tension. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. My fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of my shirt, wrenching the soft fabric into a hard knot. It was a nervous habit of mine. The lights snapped back on with a sharp click, stinging my eyes. Everyone around me—colleagues, family members—their gazes landed on me like spotlights. Pity. Curiosity. Contempt. Schadenfreude. Ryan lowered his hand. His face looked pale under the lights, but his eyes remained calm. He took off his crisp uniform jacket and draped it over my shoulders, covering my trembling body. “Just a misunderstanding. Special interrogation tactics, that’s all.” He spoke to the people around us. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough for the nearest rows to hear clearly. “Everyone, please continue. Let’s not let this little hiccup ruin the ceremony.” His tone was calm, as if that clip—practically worthy of an adult film—was nothing more than mundane work footage. Captain Harris hurried over, his face full of apology and concern. “Emma, are you okay? Those idiots in tech messed up. I’ll deal with them later!” The way he looked at me was pure, genuine concern—like an elder worried about someone younger. For three years, the entire department knew about Ryan’s condition. They also knew that to take care of him, I’d quit my job and stayed by his side every moment. In their eyes, I was the noble, patient, selfless officer’s wife. But now, that nobility had become a huge joke. “I’m fine, Captain.” My voice came out dry and hoarse. Ryan wrapped his arm around my shoulders, his grip firm and commanding. “I’m taking her home to rest.” He didn’t give anyone a chance to ask more questions. We walked through countless complicated stares and left the auditorium. Cold wind rushed through the corridor. I shivered. It wasn’t until we got into the car that he let go of me. The car felt cramped. The smell on him—sweat mixed with something primal—made me nauseous. I turned to stare out the window, my stomach churning. “It was fake.” He started the car and finally spoke. “What was fake?” “What happened in the video. It was a performance for the mob, to gain their trust.” His explanation was exactly what I’d expected—calm, logical, flawless. “That girl, Anya, she was in too deep back then. Without some special tactics, she wouldn’t have talked.” “I thought those files were destroyed long ago. I didn’t expect the tech team to make such a mistake.” He drove while glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “I know it’s hard to accept, but that was my job.” “Emma, you have to understand.” Understand. Those words again. For three years, I understood the trauma from his failed mission. I understood his physical condition. I understood all his sensitivities and fragilities. I took care of him like a delicate porcelain doll. But I couldn’t understand how he could sleep with another woman on a desk without batting an eye. Yet around me, a single touch seemed like torture to him. The car stopped downstairs. I didn’t move. Ryan unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned toward me. His face was close to mine. Those eyes that once made me fall so deep—now they were filled with exhaustion and some complicated emotion I couldn’t read. “Stop being upset, okay?” His voice softened, coaxing. “Anya’s waiting for us upstairs. She was really scared today.” Those words hit me like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I whipped my head around and stared at him. “Why is she in our home?” Ryan frowned, a flash of impatience crossing his eyes. “She was scared living alone. She moved in a few days ago.” “I thought I told you.” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world—as if this wasn’t my home, just some hotel where anyone could crash. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. He hadn’t told me. He hadn’t told me anything.
I pushed open the car door and stumbled toward the building. The key jammed in the lock. It took several tries to get it right. The moment the door opened, an unfamiliar perfume hit me. In the entryway sat a pair of pink high heels that didn’t belong to me. On the living room couch lay a woman’s jacket. On the coffee table were half-eaten snacks and a fashion magazine. Everything here announced the presence of another woman. Anya walked out of the master bedroom wearing my nightgown. That silk nightgown—I’d splurged on it for my birthday and never once worn it. Now it hung loosely on Anya’s slender frame, the neckline gaping wide, revealing patches of suggestive red marks. “Ryan, Emma, you’re back!” When she saw us, her face took on a startled, rabbit-like expression. She instinctively pulled at her collar. “I’m sorry, Emma. Your nightgown… all my clothes are in the wash. Ryan said I could borrow yours.” She looked at me timidly, her eyes glistening with tears, as if I were the intruder here. Ryan walked in and casually took the glass of water from Anya’s hand, taking a sip. “Were you scared? It’s okay now.” He stroked her head, the gesture intimate and natural. That kind of tenderness—I’d only ever seen it when he first came back from missions, at his most vulnerable. “I’ll go make dinner.” I dropped those few words and fled into the kitchen. Cold water ran over my hands, but I felt nothing. My body was like cotton set on fire, burning from the inside out. I could hear them talking quietly in the living room. “Ryan, is Emma mad? It’s all my fault…” Anya’s voice was tearful. “Don’t overthink it. She just needs time to process.” Ryan’s voice was low. “You had a scare today. Go rest early.” “But I’m scared. Every time I close my eyes, I see those surveillance images…” “Then I’ll stay with you for a while.” The door clicked softly shut. I turned off the faucet and leaned against the cold counter, trembling all over. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t. He just couldn’t with me. I made three dishes and a soup for dinner—all Ryan’s favorites. For the first time, I didn’t serve him food like I usually did. The atmosphere was suffocating. Anya kept her head down, eating in tiny bites, her eyes red-rimmed. Ryan’s expression wasn’t good either. He barely ate before setting down his fork. “I’m full.” He stood up and pulled a stack of cash from his wallet, placing it on the table. “This month’s living expenses. Let me know if it’s not enough.” I stared at those crisp bills and found them blinding. When did our relationship come down to just this? “Is Anya’s tuition and rent coming from this too?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. Ryan’s movements froze. He turned to look at me, his eyes going cold. “She’s a girl with no one to rely on. Helping her is the right thing to do.” “Emma, I thought you were better than this.” Better than this? I’d spent every penny we had treating his so-called “condition.” I’d sold the jewelry my mother left me to pay for this “poor girl’s” education. And all I got was being told I wasn’t being generous enough. My heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. I could barely breathe. “Fine. I’m petty.” I lifted my head and met his gaze. “Ryan, tell her to move out.” “This is our home.”
Anya’s fork clattered to the floor. She flinched, shoulders hunching, tears spilling down her cheeks. Ryan’s face went completely dark. He didn’t look at me. Instead, he walked over to Anya, bent down to pick up the fork. “Don’t be scared.” He pulled her up and positioned her behind him, shielding her like she was facing some vicious enemy. “Emma, are you done throwing your tantrum?” I watched him protect another woman like that, and I laughed—but tears fell despite me. “Ryan, who’s the one throwing a tantrum here?” “For the past three years, I’ve lived like a ghost for you.” “I didn’t dare speak loudly. I didn’t dare sleep with the lights on. I was terrified of disturbing your fragile nerves.” “I made you my whole world, my everything. And what about you?” “You were out there sleeping with another woman, then coming home to tell me it was for work!” “How am I supposed to believe that? How am I supposed to understand?” My voice grew louder and louder until I was screaming. Three years of grievances and pain exploded in that moment. Behind him, Anya trembled even harder, crying: “Emma, please don’t blame Ryan. It’s all my fault… If it weren’t for saving me, he wouldn’t have—” “Shut up!” Ryan suddenly growled, cutting her off. The coldness in his eyes could have frozen me solid. “Emma, you really think I’m lying to you?” I bit my lip and said nothing, but the distrust in my eyes said everything. He suddenly laughed—a laugh filled with self-mockery and bone-deep exhaustion. “Fine. Since you don’t believe me, I’ll show you the proof.” He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen rapidly, then tossed it in front of me. On the screen was a hospital diagnostic report. Severe Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, accompanied by serious physiological dysfunction. Black words on white paper, searing my eyes. Below were several video clips—recordings of his hypnotherapy sessions with a psychologist. In the videos, he looked like a helpless child, curled up on the couch, drenched in cold sweat, mumbling words I couldn’t understand. It was a side of Ryan I had never seen—his most vulnerable self. “See?” His voice was rough. “The doctor said my trauma stems from that month of torture. I have an instinctive resistance and fear toward all intimate contact.” “The reason Anya is different…” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “The doctor’s analysis is that because she went through the same hell I did, my subconscious sees her as safe—so it lowered my defenses.” “It’s a pathological response, not a betrayal.” His explanation sounded airtight, even scientifically rigorous. So I wasn’t his exception. I was the unsafe factor being excluded. “So I’m the cause of your condition, is that it?” I murmured. Ryan seemed caught off guard. He froze for a moment. He stepped toward me, wanting to hold me, but I stumbled back a step. His outstretched hand hung in the air, his expression complicated. “Emma, it’s not what you think.” “I love you. I just want us to have a good life together.” “Give me some time, okay? I’ll heal myself.” His voice was soft, almost pleading. I felt like I was losing my mind.
That night, for the first time, Ryan didn’t go sleep in the study. He lay beside me, his body rigid, but a galaxy stretched between our hearts. The next morning, I woke up to find him already gone. In a daze, I packed a few clothes and stuffed them into a suitcase. I needed to get away. I needed to clear my head. I sent Ryan a message saying I was going to stay at my parents’ place for a few days. He didn’t reply. I dragged my suitcase downstairs. At the entrance of our complex, I spotted Ryan’s car parked not far away. He hadn’t left. Something indescribable stirred in my chest. I pulled my suitcase toward his car, step by step. The window rolled down, but it wasn’t Ryan’s face. It was Captain Harris. “Emma, where are you headed?” His expression was serious. “I… I’m going to stay at my parents’ for a few days.” Captain Harris sighed and opened the car door. “Get in. Let’s talk.” The car didn’t head toward my parents’ house. Instead, it circled the city’s most congested main roads, round and round. “That kid Ryan—stubborn as a mule.” Captain Harris drove while he talked. “I know you’ve been wronged. But you also know what these three years have been like for him.” “That month—no human being should have to go through that. If it were me, I probably would’ve lost my mind.” I kept my head down, fingers unconsciously twisting my shirt hem again. I’d heard all this countless times. “I know.” “You don’t just know—you’ve been incredible.” Captain Harris glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Everyone at the station says Ryan must have saved the world in a past life to marry a woman like you.” “But Emma, some things can’t be fixed just by being good.” My heart clenched. “Captain, do you know something?” Captain Harris was silent for a long time—so long I thought he wouldn’t speak again. He pulled the car over by the river and lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag. “About Anya—what Ryan told you wasn’t the whole truth.” My stomach seized violently. A wave of nausea hit me. My body reacted faster than my brain could process. I never expected what he said next would push me into the abyss. “Anya wasn’t just some ordinary hostage.” “She was the mob boss’s adopted sister.” My mind went blank with a deafening buzz. “What did you say?” “That mission—Ryan’s goal was to take down the entire organization.” “Anya grew up in that world. She did whatever her brother told her. It took Ryan a long time to make her waver.” “Later, when things went south, her brother wanted to clean house. Ryan got captured because he was protecting her.” “So he wasn’t tortured for saving a hostage—he was tortured for protecting Anya?” I could hear my own voice shaking. “You could say that.” “Then… that video?” “It was staged.” Captain Harris exhaled a ring of smoke that blurred his face. “Ryan needed to get the final piece of evidence. The team helped him fake that video.” “To protect his reputation—and to give Anya a fresh start—everyone agreed on the same story.” My marriage. My love. Everything I’d given for three years—all built on a massive lie. “Why… why are you telling me this?” I used every ounce of strength to ask that question. Captain Harris stubbed out his cigarette, his eyes full of struggle and reluctance. “Because that kid Ryan—he’s in too deep.” “What he feels for Anya isn’t just about the mission.” The air in the car seemed to freeze. A clean break is better than a slow death. How easy that sounds. My three years of youth. My wholehearted devotion. The love I thought was unbreakable—it had been a joke from the very beginning. I don’t even know how I got out of the car or how I made it back to that so-called home. I pushed open the door. The place was empty. Anya wasn’t there. Neither was Ryan. Just as well. I needed space to digest the truth. I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling. My eyes burned dry, but not a single tear would fall. My phone buzzed—a picture message from an unknown number. A photo. In it, Ryan and Anya sat in an upscale restaurant, making wishes over candlelight. Anya wore a birthday tiara, her smile bright and sweet. Ryan’s gaze held a tenderness and adoration I had never seen before. Below the photo was a message: Emma, Ryan’s helping me celebrate my birthday. We’ll be back later. He didn’t want you to overthink, so he told me not to tell you.
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