1 My husband's sister, Maya, suffers from a rare condition we call emotional hemophilia. The slightest hint of sadness can cause her to bleed from her eyes, nose, and ears. To better care for her, my husband, Mike, moved her in with us. The moment Maya took up residence, Mike declared our home a "no-sadness zone." Everything had to revolve around her. When she deleted my work files or broke a necklace that was precious to me, I had to force a smile and comfort her. When she complained that the guest room was too small and demanded our master bedroom, I gave it up without a fight. It all came to a head when she told Mike he should divorce me. “She’s my only sister, Eve, and she’s sick,” Mike coaxed, his voice a gentle murmur. “Living here, she can’t help but feel like an outsider. It’s just a piece of paper. Can we just get divorced for now, for her sake?” I paused for a moment, then offered him a small smile. “Alright.” A light sparked in Mike’s eyes. He pulled me into a tight embrace. “Thank you, Eve. Thank you. I’ll make this up to you, I promise.” “I know,” I said, the smile never leaving my lips. As soon as an elated Mike had left the room, I opened a message on my phone from my real estate agent. Ms. Thorne, the buyers are eager to move in. When can you be out? In three days. … After sending the reply, the smile finally faded from my face. I turned and began to pack the clothes from my closet, preparing to leave the home I had lived in for over a decade. Just then, Maya walked in with two workmen. Her face was glowing, her spirits high. She pointed to my bedroom window. “Take down those old curtains and toss them. And make sure you get the measurements right for the new ones.” The men began setting up a ladder, their boots tracking dirt all over my bedroom floor. I stared at Maya, then at the curtains, a deep frown creasing my brow. Those curtains were custom-made by my mother before she died. When Mike and I first got married, he had nothing. But he was a top graduate, hardworking and honest, with a future full of promise. My mother, worried I would struggle, signed her old two-bedroom apartment over to me. It became our marital home. Maya smiled sweetly at my confusion. “Well, Eve, since you’re moving out after the divorce, you won’t mind if I redecorate, will you?” I remained silent, the words caught in my throat. A moment later, Mike came in, pulling a suitcase. He saw the scene and his face fell, his eyes immediately flicking to mine. “Just put the ladder on the bed,” Maya commanded the workers. “It’ll be faster.” “Maya,” Mike said, his voice a low warning. He reached for my hand, a placating gesture. She turned, her smile unwavering. “Mike, I picked out new curtains. It’s a style you love. They’ll be delivered tomorrow.” Mike’s guilty gaze lingered on my face for a heartbeat longer. Then, he turned to Maya and smiled. “As long as you like them.” The discomfort vanished from his features, replaced by his usual gentle warmth. “Okay,” he said to the workmen. “Let’s get this done quickly so she has time to pack.” “Just step on the bed,” Maya instructed them. “Hurry up.” The workers complied, their dusty work boots leaving clear, damning footprints on the pristine silk sheets I had just changed. I opened my mouth to protest, but Mike’s grip on my wrist tightened. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, his brow furrowed in a silent plea. He pulled me aside. “That’s just how Maya is,” he whispered. “She’s sick, Eve. Don’t stoop to her level. I’ll help you pack the old ones up later. We can hang them in your new apartment.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. I calmly pulled my hand from his grasp. “Don’t bother.” Mike let out a soft sigh, his patience wearing thin. “Are you angry?” He tried to soothe me, his voice dropping to a gentle hush. “I know this was your mother’s favorite pattern. But she’s gone now, and you won’t be living here anymore. When you move back in, we can pick out a new set together, okay?” My voice was flat. “What makes you so sure I’ll be moving back in?” He smiled then, his eyes soft and warm as he ruffled my hair. He bent down, meeting my gaze. “I’m here. You wouldn’t have the heart to stay away, would you?” He was right. In the past, whenever we fought, I’d leave for a night at most. Like me, Mike had lost his parents early. He knew I had nowhere else to go, and he would always come find me, coaxing me back home with a few sweet words. Then he would make my favorite dish: sweet and sour pork ribs. My stomach was sensitive; I couldn’t handle anything spicy. The ribs were my mother’s signature dish. Before every meal, I used to place a few pieces in front of her photograph. But since Maya moved in, the ribs had disappeared from our table. The reason? Remembering our parents would make Maya sad about her own. Even on the anniversary of my mother's death, I had to pay my respects outside. When I came home that day, Maya had insisted I take down my mother's picture. “That black and white photo in the living room is so morbid,” she’d complained. “It scares me.” I refused. She threw a tantrum, crying and screaming until she collapsed, bleeding from her face. At the hospital, she told Mike I had done it on purpose to upset her. Mike’s face had been a mask of cold fury. “Even if you see Maya as a burden, you have no right to provoke her like this,” he’d hissed at me. “She’s my only sister, my only family.” “Why can’t you just accept her?!” After that, my mother’s portrait was moved from the living room to our bedroom, then to the guest room. And today, it was leaving this house with me for good. “We’ll sign the papers tomorrow, and then I’ll help you move,” Mike said, his eyes filled with a tender affection that no longer reached me. I didn’t answer. The agent messaged me again. [Ms. Thorne, just to confirm, three days from now? I need to schedule the locksmith.] [Confirmed.] 2 The next day, Mike and I finalized our divorce. Before we even got home, he had already sent a picture of the divorce certificate to Maya, to put her mind at ease. On the drive back, he steered with one hand, his other resting on my wrist. He gave me a sly wink. “I’ll help you pack when we get home. In a little while, we’ll get remarried, keep it a secret from Maya. Once she’s fully accepted you, you can move back in.” He was so sure of himself. “After you’re gone for a bit, you can come back with some of her favorite snacks. She’ll come around. I know my sister.” I turned to look at him. “Why do I need her to accept me?” A frown creased his brow, his handsome face clouding with disappointment. “You’re still angry?” I turned away, staring out the window. He tried again, his voice laced with practiced patience. “She’s a patient, Eve. Be the bigger person. Why are you still holding a grudge?” “She’s sick, and she’s gotten used to living here. When we remarry, we’ll sell this place and buy a bigger one. I’ll even let you pick the master bedroom first, how about that?” I looked at him, my expression impassive. “I couldn’t even have the master bedroom in my own apartment. What makes you think a new one would be any different?” His face instantly hardened. A chill crept into his eyes. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, yanked his tie loose, and grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “I know you’re still upset about what happened. But I slept in the guest room with you, didn’t I?” “Maya is sick! She can’t handle stress! Are you trying to push her over the edge, Eve? Do you want me to end up all alone, like you?” His voice rose to a furious shout. “I never knew you were so selfish!” He threw the car door open and stormed off, leaving me alone in the passenger seat. I didn’t have a driver’s license. After my mother’s car accident, I never wanted to learn. The car she had bought for me had always been driven by Mike. And now he had just walked away. He didn’t care that I was still sitting there, as if I were a stranger who had never been part of his world. Fine, I thought. Once I’m gone, we’ll have no reason to contact each other anyway. Let him go. I sighed and called a car service to drive me home. It was dark by the time I arrived. Mike wasn’t back yet. Maya was curled up on the sofa, watching a comedy special and laughing her head off. She looked surprised to see me for a second, then her expression went blank and she turned back to the TV. “My brother said you’d be back,” she said, her voice flat. “Didn’t think it would be this soon. He made you sweet and sour pork ribs. They’re on the table.” I glanced at the dish, feeling nothing. “I’ve already eaten.” How ironic, to see that dish again on the eve of my departure. Was this Mike’s idea of an apology? He always believed that no matter how far I went, I would always come back. He didn’t know that this time, I was leaving for good. I pushed the thought aside and walked toward the guest room. The moment I flicked on the light, I saw the chaos. The soiled silk duvet was a crumpled, filthy heap in the corner. The bed frame was dismantled, parts scattered across the dirt-caked floor. And the suitcases I had packed were gone. I turned around. Maya was standing behind me, her arms crossed. “I packed your things for you,” she said slowly. “They’re on the balcony.” “My brother said this room is the most soundproof. He’s turning it into a treatment room for me.” 3 A chill settled deep in my bones. I hadn’t even left yet, and she was already throwing my life aside. They both seemed to have forgotten that this apartment was mine. But I was too tired to argue anymore. I walked toward the balcony, planning to leave that night. As I rounded the coffee table, I saw through the glass door that there was only a single, small suitcase out there—no bigger than a carry-on. My face went pale, my hands beginning to tremble. I had packed several large suitcases with my clothes, my toiletries, my mother’s portrait, and all her keepsakes. My heart hammered against my ribs as I rushed forward and opened the small case. Inside were a few tattered clothes and garbage bags, the rest of the space stuffed with trash. My mother’s portrait and her jewelry were nowhere to be found. Neither were my own bags and valuables. “Where is my mother’s picture?” I asked, my voice dangerously low as I fought to control my rage. Maya shot me a defiant look and lounged back on the sofa. “Oh, that old junk? I threw it out. This place is too small to store so much clutter.” She gestured toward the balcony with her chin. “But I left you a change of clothes.” Her tone was so casual, as if throwing away my most precious possessions was a minor inconvenience she had graciously handled. I sucked in a breath, my fists clenching. “Those were my things,” I said, my voice rising. “What gave you the right?” My tone seemed to startle her. She sat up, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, quickly replaced by a look of wounded innocence. I ignored her and stormed toward the master bedroom. She followed close behind, her voice sharp. “This is my bedroom now!” I paid her no mind, flicking on the light. There, neatly stacked in a corner, were my suitcases. My missing skincare products and jewelry were arranged on her vanity. I suppose I had been patient for too long. An uncontrollable fury surged through me. I didn’t care about the material things. All I wanted was my mother’s portrait. “My brother said everything in this house is mine,” Maya snapped. I began to tear the room apart, searching—the closet, the drawers, under the bed. Every possible hiding place. Nothing. Seeing my desperation, Maya seemed to relax. She wiped a trickle of blood from her nose with the back of her hand. “If you rush to the dumpster now,” she taunted, “you might still find it.” “You did this on purpose,” I said, grabbing her wrist. “Of course I did,” she sneered, her confidence returning. “I’m sick of seeing you mooning over a dead person’s picture all day.” Her contempt was a physical force, pressing down on me. My lips tightened. I finally understood the significance of the pork ribs on the table. It was Mike’s pathetic attempt at a peace offering, knowing she had thrown away the one thing that truly mattered to me. Just as I was about to confront her, the front door opened. Mike was home. 4 The moment Maya heard his voice, she ran to him, throwing herself into his arms in a flood of tears, as if she were the one who had been grievously wronged. Blood was trickling from her nose as she clutched at his shirt. Mike’s face immediately darkened. He looked down at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Eve, I know I shouldn’t have taken your jewelry,” Maya sobbed. “And the workmen are coming tomorrow, that’s the only reason I had them take the bed apart! I’ll let you have the master bedroom back, just please don’t be mad at me!” Tears of blood streamed down her face. I didn’t want to waste my breath on explanations. I walked straight toward them. “Where is it?” Without a word, Mike shoved me away, shielding Maya in his arms. The force sent me stumbling back, the small of my back slamming into the sharp corner of a table. “Even if you’re angry at me, Eve, you don’t take it out on Maya.” His voice was laced with ice. “Why are you so malicious?” A searing pain shot through my lower back. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. My chest tightened, and I struggled to breathe. “You’ve disappointed me so much,” Mike said, his voice dripping with contempt. “I thought you would finally let it go, but you just keep targeting her, deliberately provoking her, trying to kill her.” I looked up, trying to speak, but Maya’s sobs grew louder. Mike grabbed my arm and, ignoring my injury, dragged me out of the room and threw me into the hallway. I collapsed onto the floor, my back throbbing and my elbow scraped raw. I looked up at him, at the eyes that once held such tenderness for me, now filled with a cold, final resolve. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed in my head like a gunshot. “Open the door! Give me back my picture!” I pounded on the door, but there was no response. Faintly, I heard Mike’s voice from inside. “She only cares about this apartment. She’ll be back.” My heart finally shattered. I clutched my chest, my body shaking with a pain that was more than physical. Then I remembered the dumpsters downstairs. I forced myself up, hobbled into the elevator, and as soon as the doors opened, I ran, ignoring the agony in my back. People stared at me with disgust as I tore through the garbage, but I didn’t care. I let the grime cover me from head to toe. I searched all night. Finally, at the very bottom of a dumpster, I found it. My mother’s portrait, nestled amongst the filth, miraculously unharmed. I clutched it to my chest and wept until I had no strength left. The pain in my back flared, a constant, throbbing reminder. I looked up at the apartment building, my heart a hollow, empty cavern. The sun was rising. It was all over. Upstairs, Mike and Maya were probably still asleep. The new owners arrived and saw me immediately. “Ms. Thorne?” the man asked, his eyes wide with surprise. “Are you alright?” “I lost something,” I said, my lips cracked and dry. I pushed myself to my feet. “You’ve moved all your things out, then?” the wife asked, her face beaming with excitement. I handed them the keys. “Whatever’s left, you can do with as you please. The rooms, the furniture, it’s all yours now. But… the previous occupant might need some time to accept reality.” The husband, Mr. Davis, understood immediately. “We’ll handle it,” he said with a nod. He made a quick phone call, and I saw a few professional-looking security guards join them. They took the keys and headed upstairs, their faces bright with the joy of a new home. I carefully wiped the dirt from my mother’s portrait, got into the waiting car, and as I heard the faint sound of Maya’s shrill scream from the building, I said calmly to the driver: “To the airport.”
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