1 I was halfway through a shower when the bathroom door was thrown open. I screamed, catching a glimpse of my husband’s childhood friend, Anya, rolling her eyes at me. “Chill,” she said. “We’re both girls. What’s the big deal?” From outside the door, I heard my husband, Ethan, call out, “What’s going on in there?” Anya’s voice was nonchalant. “It’s just Isla. She’s back from her trip and taking a shower. I walked in on her.” Then she added with a smirk, “By the way, I don’t see what you’re always raving about. She’s not that stacked.” Just as I was about to tell her to get out, she whipped out her phone and started snapping photos. Then she ran out of the bathroom, shouting. “Everyone, come see! Was I lying? Ethan acts like his wife is a goddess, but look at this!” … By the time I’d thrown on some clothes and emerged, Anya was lounging on the living room sofa, proudly showing my pictures to Ethan’s friends. “A woman needs to have curves, you know? Up top and in the back. But look at Isla,” she said, zooming in on the photo. “She’s even got a little tummy. You know what that means, right?” “What’s it mean?” someone jeered. The room filled with mocking laughter. “It means,” Anya announced, “that she’s not spending enough time at the gym.” Another wave of snickering went through the group. “If a woman’s body isn’t hot, it’s our boy Ethan who suffers. Right, Ethan?” “Ethan?” Anya turned, and her smile vanished. I was standing right in front of her, dressed, with a cold smile of my own. “Whether my body is good enough or not,” I said, leaning in, “is none of your damn business.” Ethan immediately stepped in, playing peacemaker. “Come on, Isla. That’s just Anya. We’ve all spoiled her since we were kids. She doesn’t mean any harm. Don’t be angry.” I have a temper. Ethan knows this. So when I first found out there was a girl in his tight-knit group of childhood friends, I’d made a fuss. But Ethan had always kept a respectful distance, and I thought he understood. Now, I just looked at him and laughed. “Don’t be angry?” “Fine.” My voice was so calm that Ethan visibly relaxed. He smiled. “See? My wife is so understanding. Besides, we all grew up in diapers together. We’re practically family. It’s—” Before he could finish, I reached out, yanked down the strap of Anya’s tank top, and, as she shrieked, I pulled out my own phone and started snapping away. “Not so impressive, is it?” I said, mimicking her tone perfectly as I clicked the shutter. “Looks like we’re dealing with a flat landscape here. No wonder you haven’t found a man after all these years. You know what that means, don’t you?” I threw her own words back in her face. “It means our dear Anya isn’t trying hard enough. Maybe it’s time to think about implants?” “Isla!” Ethan grabbed my arm and pulled me back. The other guys rushed to cover Anya with jackets and pillows. Her face was pale, her eyes welling with tears. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “You bitch! Have you no shame?” Ethan jumped to her defense. “Anya’s not even dating anyone! How could you do that to her? What is she supposed to do now?” A laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips. Anya took pictures of me naked in the shower. They told me to be generous, that it was just a joke. But when I do the same to her, I’m the one with no shame? It’s a problem because she isn’t married? I turned to face Ethan’s furious expression and slapped him hard across the face. “There’s something you need to understand,” I said, my gaze sweeping from him to his friends, who were all glaring at me as if I were the enemy. “The moment Anya walked into my bathroom and started taking pictures, I called the police.” “Let’s let them decide who’s right and who’s wrong, shall we? Let’s see who the law protects.” A sharp knock came at the door. Ethan finally understood. I was serious. He stared at me in disbelief. “You called the cops over something this small?” “Isla, haven’t you caused enough trouble?” “Not even close.” At the police station, I showed the officer the security footage from my phone. “My husband had friends over. That’s fine. But this woman entered my private bedroom without my permission, walked into my bathroom while I was showering, and maliciously took photos of me, which she then shared with others. I want to press charges for invasion of privacy and distribution of obscene material.” Hearing this, Anya, who had been silent until now, shot up from her chair. “You think I wanted to see your pathetic body? Like you’ve got something special?” She whirled on Ethan. “I told you not to marry this woman! We were all happy together, just our group. But you had to be the one to get tied down!” “And now look!” “Your wife is trying to press charges against me!” “She wants me to go to jail!” Anya burst into tears, a loud, dramatic wail that clearly tugged at Ethan’s heartstrings. His face softened with pity. He turned to the officer to smooth things over. “Officer, this is all just a big misunderstanding.” “My wife is just joking around with us,” he said, then walked over to me, his voice low and pleading. “Isla, if Anya gets a criminal record, how am I supposed to face her parents for the rest of my life? If you won’t think about anyone else, at least think about me.” I looked at his face, so sure that I would back down. It felt like a physical blow to my chest, a dull, aching pain that spread through my ribs. I had to ask. “And if I refuse?” I held his gaze, my voice steady. “What if I refuse to let this go?” “Ethan.” “Whose side are you on? Hers, or mine?” I fought back the wave of nausea and watched as conflict flickered across his face. Over Anya’s theatrical sobs, he looked at me, completely bewildered. “Isla, when did you become so petty and narrow-minded?” He turned back to the officer. “It was just a misunderstanding, sir. My wife was playing a prank on my little sister, that’s all. We can drop it.” Ethan pointed at the footage. “My wife already got her revenge.” I stared at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. “She took private photos of my sister, too. So we can just call it even, right?” They forced me to settle it privately. As we left the station, I saw Anya already sitting in the passenger seat of our car. She rolled down the window as I approached. “Isla, I only call you ‘sis’ to give Ethan some face. Did you really start thinking you were somebody important?” She smirked, her face glowing with triumph. “Let me tell you something. The only reason Ethan married you is because I let him. If I had said no, you could have thrown yourself at him and he wouldn’t have given you a second look.” I watched as Ethan, carrying Anya’s handbag, walked past me. “Honey,” he called out, “get in, let’s go home.” Then Anya shouted from the car. “Don’t you dare call her that! If you do, we’re done!” Ethan froze, looking at me with a pained, apologetic expression. He was about to give in. I could see it. My fingertips went numb. I looked from Ethan to Anya, and then I said, very clearly, “If I remember correctly, this car is in my name.” “So,” I said, walking to the passenger side and yanking the door open, “get out.” “Don’t make me say it twice.” Anya’s eyes widened in disbelief. She looked to Ethan for help, and he immediately grabbed my wrist. “Isla, it’s just a car ride! So you can’t sit in the front seat. Is it impossible for you to take a taxi? Do you have to make a scene and embarrass me like this just to be happy?” Before today, I had never once considered divorce. But after today… I looked at the hand gripping my arm, and I slapped him again. “And let me remind you, it’s not just the car. The house we live in is also my property.” “And one more thing.” “Ethan.” “You,” I said, watching the shock spread across his face as he clutched his cheek, “are out.” I dragged Anya out of the car. Ignoring her stream of curses, I got in, locked the doors, and as Ethan banged on the window, shouting my name, I told him. “Ethan, I’ve made up my mind.” I looked him straight in the eye. “We’re getting a divorce.” My family wasn't rich, but we weren't poor. My parents died in a car crash when I was young, and my aunt raised me. She never married, pouring all her love and energy into giving me a warm, stable home. A few years ago, she had a bad fall and broke her leg. That’s when Ethan stepped up. He was with me at the hospital day and night. When the doctor explained the risks of the surgery, he was the one who held me steady when I thought I would collapse. He signed the consent forms for me. “Isla,” he had said, “if the sky falls, you still have me.” How could it not hurt? After all these years, after giving him my whole heart, now I had to face this. I sat in our messy living room, the aftermath of their party still strewn about. From a drawer in the coffee table, I pulled out the surprise I had brought back for him. I had been away on business for three months. I had rushed everything, worked overtime, just to get back in time for his birthday. Now, I held the gift in my hands, and a wave of grief so powerful it stole my breath washed over me. The tears finally came, hot and silent. I threw the gift away, then smashed our wedding photo against the wall. As I stumbled back, my foot caught on a cable, and the projector flickered to life. An image filled the wall. It was Ethan, smiling, as Anya, wearing my silk pajamas, straddled him. “When are you finally going to divorce her?” she asked. My body went rigid. “If I hadn’t left back then, there would be no Isla. She’s had you for this long. How much longer are you going to let her keep you?” It felt like a giant hand was squeezing my heart. I watched as Anya leaned down and kissed him. “Do you love her?” she murmured against his lips. “When you got married… if I had shown up to stop it, would you have left with me?” I remembered our wedding day. Ethan had been distracted, his eyes constantly scanning the entrance to the hall. I thought he was nervous. I thought he was just disappointed that his friends hadn't all made it. I made a thousand excuses for him. I never once thought it was because of her. “Yes.” I sank to the floor. “If you had come, I would have left with you.” “Because,” Ethan said, taking her hand and pressing it to his chest, “this heart has only ever had room for you.” The sound of their intimacy made my stomach churn. I ran to the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left. The shattered glass of our wedding photo seemed to mock me from the floor. When I came out, I saw a new message from Ethan. Honey, you were in the wrong today. Since you’re not willing to apologize, I’ll do it for you. I promised Anya I’d take her on a trip for a couple of days to make it up to her. I’ll be back after she’s cooled off. This is the best compromise I could think of, he wrote. Honey, can you please try to control your temper in the future? Even now. He still thought I was just throwing a tantrum. He thought he could buy me a little gift and everything would go back to normal. A voice message followed. I picked out a bag for you at Louis Vuitton. You can go pick it up whenever. In the background, I could hear Anya’s petulant voice. “She’s only getting it because I didn’t want it. She’s so lucky.” So even the gifts he gave me were her cast-offs. I opened my closet and looked at the collection of peace offerings he’d bought me over the years after our fights. Then I opened Anya’s social media. Every piece of jewelry, every handbag… they were identical to mine. Even the colors. The truth was laid bare, and a chill spread through my entire body. I struggled to keep my voice steady. “Ethan.” “I want a divorce.” “Ethan,” I said, my voice trembling despite my efforts, “just sign the papers, and we’re done.” In the background of the call, Anya’s voice grew louder, laced with excitement. “Do it!” she taunted. “Whoever backs out is a dog!” Ethan’s gentle tone was gone, replaced by a cold edge. “Isla, how old are you? Still threatening divorce every time you get upset. Can you be any more childish?” “That’s enough,” he snapped, his patience clearly gone. “I’m just spending a few days with Anya, and then I’ll be back. This whole mess is your fault anyway! I’m the one cleaning it up for you!” He hung up. A moment later, a message from Anya appeared on my screen: [You’re pissed, aren’t you, Isla? As long as you’re miserable, I’m happy. Hahaha.] When I arrived at my aunt’s place with my bags, she was still teasing me. “What’s this? Taking a break from your precious Ethan to come see me?” But then she saw my face, and her expression immediately turned serious. “What happened?” “Aunt Caroline,” I said, placing my laptop on the table. “I want a divorce.” “I’m divorcing Ethan.” I played the video from the projector. The sounds of their panting filled the quiet room. “He’s the one who cheated on me,” I told her. “I don’t owe him any mercy.” Ethan’s job, his connections, even the projects his company worked on were all thanks to my aunt. Without her, he would be nothing. He certainly wouldn’t have the money to be taking Anya on trips and buying her luxury goods. Now, my aunt’s face was like stone. She watched the entire video, then simply asked me, “Have you made up your mind?” She closed the laptop. “The women in our family don’t just take a hit and lie down. Isla, if someone hurts you, you hurt them back. Do you understand?” She pulled me into a hug. “I will always be your rock.” Ethan decided to throw a grand art exhibition for Anya. Her social media became a daily diary of the preparations, a testament to how much he adored her. Finally, the opening night arrived. As Anya entered the gallery on Ethan’s arm, surrounded by influencers and media that had been invited to generate buzz, a reporter asked her, “The theme of tonight’s exhibition is ‘The Muse.’ Ms. Scott, can you tell us who your muse is?” Anya’s gaze softened as she looked at Ethan, who was smiling and chatting with a guest. She turned back to the cameras. “I’m sure my muse will reveal himself to everyone very soon, and we will make our relationship public.” A ripple of applause went through the crowd. Then, someone shouted from the back. “Is this really an art exhibition?” All heads turned. Anya and Ethan looked too, just in time to see the curtain fall from the centerpiece of the exhibit. It wasn't a painting. It was a massive, blown-up photograph of Ethan and Anya, naked and tangled together. Phones immediately came out, flashes popping as reporters swarmed Anya. “Ms. Scott, what is this?” “Is this your muse?” “Of course not,” I said, stepping out from the crowd before Anya could answer. I smiled at them both. “Think of it as a small gift from me to Ms. Scott.” “Isn’t that right,” I said, my smile widening as I looked at Ethan. “Husband?”
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