1 Three days after my husband vanished, I had stomach ulcer surgery alone. Waking from anesthesia, I saw a post on a confession blog. It’s usually about cheating partners, but this was from a man. He wrote: “My wife’s stomach was bothering her, but my girlfriend missed me. I lied about a business trip to be unreachable. My wife is understanding—she won’t call. She texted she felt sick, but my girlfriend got upset, so I silenced my phone.” “The girl also complained of a stomachache and kept me in bed. I rubbed her belly and bought her whatever she wanted. Seeing her act spoiled… I found it cute.” “After she slept, I checked my card bill and saw my wife’s message: she’d just had surgery. Guilt hit me. My wife agonizes over one expensive necklace, yet what I spent on this girl could buy several.” Stomach pain. A necklace. It clicked, chilling me like the IV drip. Weeks earlier, I’d loved a $10,000 necklace but walked away. Frugality is ingrained. When we started our business, we lived in a basement, used subway AC, and often ate once a day. Old habits stay, even with money now. Comments erupted: “And people wonder why the birth rate is falling…” I turned off my phone, clinging to hope—it had to be a coincidence. Stomach issues are common. I can’t be the only woman who wanted that necklace. Just as dawn was breaking, Ethan finally arrived at the hospital. He rushed to my bedside, his hand immediately going to my forehead. “Lily, I am so, so sorry. I had no idea the client last night would be so difficult.” The worry and concern in his eyes seemed genuine. But then I noticed it. His shirt was buttoned wrong. And it wasn't the shirt he’d been wearing before he left. Ethan was always meticulous about his appearance. What kind of business meeting would require a complete change of clothes before he could see his wife? He pulled a small box from his pocket. When I opened it, my heart plummeted. It was the necklace. “Honey, isn’t this the one you’ve wanted for so long? You wouldn’t buy it for yourself, so I did. What’s the point of earning all this money if we don’t spend it? If you want something, just buy it.” He mistook my pale, shocked face for post-surgery weakness. But a comment from the blog post echoed in my mind. “Sudden grand gestures are just compensation for secrets kept.” 2 After a restless night, I went home, my heart heavy with suspicion. It was Saturday, and we were both exhausted. I, from my surgery. But him? What was his excuse? He went to take a shower, leaving his phone on the nightstand. On a dark impulse, I picked it up and unlocked it. I opened his social media and checked his direct messages. There it was. The profile picture of the confessional blog. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an icy hand. Still in denial, I opened his WhatsApp. The pinned contact at the very top was nicknamed ‘Kiddo.’ The intimacy of it was a slap in the face. The chat history was a blatant, undeniable record of his affair with that girl. And I knew her. Her name was Aria, a name as ethereal and spirited as she was. All the little details I’d dismissed, all the red flags I’d ignored, came flooding back. Aria had started as a college intern, a senior, yet was inexplicably promoted to be Ethan's executive assistant. There was the time Ethan came home blind drunk from a work dinner, leaning heavily on Aria. She’d helped him onto the sofa, her voice a mix of apology and concern. “Lily, please don’t be mad at him. It’s my fault, I can’t handle my liquor. Mr. Hayes was trying to protect me from having to drink, that’s why he got like this.” Before she left, she reminded me to make him some honey water to ease his hangover. “Lily, I remember you keep the honey in the top kitchen cabinet. Don’t forget.” She knew her way around my home. At the time, I’d brushed it off as a young girl fresh out of college, her head filled with silly romance novels and unrealistic fantasies. I had complete faith in Ethan. We had known each other for twenty-eight years. But now, their messages burned that faith to ashes. For Aria’s birthday, Ethan had filled her apartment with flowers, a grand romantic gesture to win her over. A thirty-year-old man, writing a personal note on every single bouquet. How romantic. Her texts were tinged with a playful jealousy. “Do you do this for your wife on her birthday?” “No,” he’d replied. “She’s… immune to romance.” He used to buy me a single flower for every birthday and holiday. But flowers were expensive, a luxury I saw as a waste. Twenty bucks for something that would just wilt. I’d told him how much I appreciated the thought, but that a home-cooked meal would make me happier. All the sacrifices I’d made, all the little things I’d asked him to save, were now being lavished on someone else. I scrolled to the last message, and Ethan’s words twisted the knife. “If only I’d been born a few years later, or if I wasn’t married right now.” Aria’s reply was smug. “Hmph. You’re terrible. As punishment, I’m taking your good luck charm. The one your wife gave you. I hate seeing it.” I heard something inside me shatter. That charm. I’d gone on a pilgrimage for it, to a remote monastery deep in the mountains. Three steps and a bow, five steps and a prayer, all for his safety. Our wedding vows rang in my ears. “Lily, I finally get to marry the love of my life. I’ve never felt so lucky.” And now, he was telling another woman, “If only I wasn’t married right now.” The pain was a suffocating net, wrapping around me, tighter and tighter. 3 Ethan came out of the shower to find me holding his phone. The color drained from his face. He lunged for it, snatching it from my hands. “Lillian! What the hell? Since when do you have no respect for privacy? Who said you could go through my phone!” I stared at his neck. It was bare. “I was just picking it up to put it on the charger,” I said, my voice flat. Ethan let out a breath of relief. No respect for privacy? He was the one who’d set his phone’s passcode to my birthday. “My phone is your phone,” he used to say. “I have nothing to hide from you.” “Ethan,” I asked quietly, “did your business deal go well last night?” He froze for a second, his lips tightening. “It was fine.” Tears welled up in my eyes, silently at first, then spilling over, fat drops soaking into the duvet. I rarely cried like this. He was stunned. He reached out, pulling me into his arms. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It was just a reflex. Come on, don’t cry.” “Ethan… it hurts so much,” I sobbed, my voice muffled against his chest. “It hurts.” He apologized again for not being there the night before, thinking my pain was purely physical. He got a hot water bottle, gently placing it on my stomach, and started massaging the area, his eyes filled with a soft, tender love. After twenty-eight years of knowing him and ten years of loving him, I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. I’m not some badass heroine from a novel. I couldn’t just walk away. Our lives, our twenty-eight years, were woven together, flesh and blood. The intricate web of our shared business interests was impossible to untangle. I couldn’t just rip him out of my life. It would mean ripping myself apart. “Ethan,” I said, my voice cold. “Your assistant. I was at headquarters the other day. She was rude to me. Fire her. I don’t like her.” He looked taken aback. “She’s just a kid, Lily. Why are you picking a fight with her?” I just looked at him, saying nothing. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. “Is that all? She’s just an assistant. If you don’t like her, we’ll get a new one. Hell, if you didn’t like one of my managers, I’d replace him without blinking an eye.” 4 Ethan started coming home more often, bringing small gifts each time. He would roll up his sleeves and cook, filling the table with all my favorite dishes. Sweet and sour fish, honey-glazed ribs, slow-braised pork… These were the dishes that had defined my youth. We were so poor back then, always hungry, so I craved hearty, filling meals. We could only afford to treat ourselves to one of these dishes every couple of weeks. Ethan would cook, giving me all the meat and taking the bony pieces for himself. Maybe this was for the best. With Aria gone, perhaps I could pretend nothing had ever happened. Right? But as I looked at the food, my appetite vanished. She was a shard of glass in my heart. The thought of her was agony. The sight of Ethan made me sick. I couldn't stand being in the same room with him, couldn't eat his food, couldn't sleep in the same bed. His presence was a constant, nauseating reminder of his betrayal. I wanted to scream at him to get out. But I had to keep playing the part of his wife. Ethan raised his glass in a toast to me, thanking me for standing by him. I forced myself to lift my glass and drain it. The mood was right. He leaned in to kiss me. His face was so close, his breath on my skin. The revulsion was too much to suppress. I bolted to the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left. Ethan followed me in, handing me a glass of water. “Sorry,” I mumbled, wiping my mouth. “My stomach’s just really sensitive.” Years of drinking at business dinners had wrecked my stomach. It was the perfect excuse. He rubbed my back, his face a mask of pity. “I’m so sorry, Lily. You did all this for me.” Our company had only survived its early years because I was the one out there, drinking myself sick to woo clients and secure deals. I threw myself back into work, hoping to channel my turmoil into something productive. I had a meeting at a client’s office. After we wrapped up, the project manager suggested we grab dinner. As we walked out, I saw a familiar car parked across the street. I froze. How did Ethan know I was here? I was about to cancel on my colleague when I saw her. A lively figure bouncing toward his car, crashing right into his arms. It was Aria. I heard Ethan’s voice, thick with affection. “You’re a professional now, you can’t keep being so clumsy. It’s chilly today, why aren’t you wearing a warmer coat?” Her tone was playfully demanding, just like mine used to be years ago. “You fired me. I haven’t forgiven you for that. Not unless you tell me you love me, every single day.” Ethan’s reply was a sigh of helpless indulgence. “Okay, okay. I love you. I love you the most.” Aria, satisfied, stood on her toes and playfully kissed him. Ethan took control, deepening the kiss until it was anything but playful. My blood ran cold. So, “the most” wasn’t an exclusive term in Ethan’s vocabulary. He could be at home, bending over backwards to please me one minute, and the next, he was whispering “I love you the most” to another woman. He hadn’t just replaced his assistant. He had simply moved their affair from the office to the bedroom. “Kids these days, huh?” my colleague remarked with a chuckle. “So open about everything. Not like us old folks.” I forced a smile. “Who is she? One of your company’s employees?” “Yeah. Some executive’s friend, I think. She was assigned to my team. Useless, to be honest. But the boss said someone important asked him to look out for her, so I can’t even reprimand her.” That night, Ethan didn’t come home. He was “out with clients.” I numbly called his phone. No answer. A moment later, a friend request from an unknown account popped up on my screen. I knew that profile picture instantly. It was Aria. “You saw us today, didn't you? You're really good at pretending.” “Ethan’s in the shower right now. He can't take your call.” It was a childish, pathetic attempt at provocation. I ignored it. Apparently, that wasn't the reaction she was hoping for. She sent me a screenshot of a social media post. “Dare you to look?” 5 I stared at the screenshot, a profound sense of dread washing over me. I had a feeling that whatever was in that link would destroy what was left of us. But Lillian, are you really going to keep running? It was Aria’s private blog, a chronicle of their love story. The cute, clumsy intern meets the handsome, domineering CEO. Sparks fly, and like magic, the two are drawn together in an unstoppable romance. Like a thief in the night, I scrolled through her life, meticulously comparing every picture, every date. The week I was in the ER with a bleeding ulcer, they were in San Francisco, feeding seagulls on the pier. The night I was delirious with a fever of 104, they were in Miami, playing in the waves. The day they watched the sunrise together from a mountain peak, I was being humiliated by a client, forced to drink an entire bottle of whiskey. My eyes landed on one date, and the world stopped. It was from the darkest period of my life. My grandmother, the only person in my family who had ever truly loved me, had passed away. Ethan was supposedly on a business trip to Orlando and got stuck there because of a sudden lockdown. But on that same day, Aria's blog read: “He finally had time to take me to Disney, but we got unlucky with the pandemic and got locked down in our hotel. He basically turned into a wolf. Omg, I'll never say a 30-year-old man is past his prime again, lol.” The accompanying photo was of a man’s back in the shower. I could clearly see a few long, angry scratch marks. Ethan knew what my grandmother meant to me. While I was at her funeral, sobbing my heart out, he was tangled up in a hotel bed with another woman. His text messages from that day were hollow and dismissive. “Everyone dies eventually. You have to stay strong.” My stomach twisted into a knot of searing pain. Disgust, pure and vile, rose in my throat. Everyone deserves to feel this pain. Only then will it be fair. 6 Maybe when you get close to thirty, you stop believing in fairy tales. Realism sets in. If ten years of love was all a lie, then I was going to maximize my return on that investment. Once the initial shock subsided, I scheduled a meeting with the last person on earth I wanted to see. Aria. Youth really is something. Her eyes were full of that clear, unfiltered stupidity. “Ethan and I are meant to be. This marriage is the only thing holding him back. He told me he’s only truly happy when he’s with me.” “Does it feel good, pretending you don’t know what’s happening? If you’re afraid you won’t find anyone else after the divorce, I’m sure Ethan will give you a generous settlement.” Her condescending, naive words almost made me laugh. “Miss Aria, you went to a good school. It’s a shame you didn't learn anything. Naivete isn’t a virtue; it’s just a nicer word for stupid. You’re a homewrecker, and you’re proud of it?” I didn’t bother lowering my voice. People at the surrounding tables turned to look. Aria’s face flushed, a mottled mix of red and white. “Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me! That won’t work on me!” Seeing her so flustered, an idea began to form. I pulled a checkbook from my purse. “How much do you want? Fill it in yourself. Take the money and learn some self-respect. I’ve seen plenty of gold-diggers like you. A little dignity goes a long way for a young woman.” She looked as if I’d just slapped her across the face. She snatched the check and tore it to shreds. “You know nothing about love!” I scoffed. “Quite the appetite. Maybe I don’t know love, but I know decency. Was my offer not high enough for you?” Completely enraged, she lunged at me, trying to grab my purse. In the scuffle, she gave me a hard shove. I didn’t resist. I let my body go limp, allowing her to send me stumbling backward, crashing hard onto the floor. A sharp, tearing pain shot through my abdomen. Something warm and wet trickled down my leg. I heard gasps from the people around us, and saw the color drain from Aria’s face.
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