After eight years of marriage, my husband's secretary, Jenna, posted a picture to her Instagram story. She was behind the wheel of his limited-edition sports car, with a caption that dripped with insinuation: "What my boyfriend can't give me, my boss can!" I’d just commented, "Try not to let it affect your work," only to find she'd already blocked me. Immediately, my phone rang. It was my husband, Julian, and his voice was a furious storm. "I just lent Jenna the car for a spin! Did you really have to send people to run her off the road? She just called me, crying her eyes out, terrified she was about to crash! How could you be so vicious? I’m warning you, Erika, stop this insane jealousy!" He hung up before I could utter a single word of defense. That very night, driving that same car, Jenna hit me. I was two months pregnant. The impact threw me to the ground, and the car dragged me for what felt like an eternity—ten, maybe fifteen yards. The pain stole my voice, but I could feel the warm, horrifying spread of blood beneath me. A bystander rushed to my side and called an ambulance. Just before they wheeled me into surgery, a message popped up on my phone. It was from Jenna. A picture of a brand-new Porsche. I knew. It was Julian's way of making it up to her. But this time, I didn't care. I looked at the doctor beside me and my voice was a slow, steady rasp. "The baby… I'm not keeping it. Let it go." … A vise-like cramp in my abdomen had me drenched in a cold sweat. As the nurses wheeled me out of the operating room, the sheets beneath me were stained a deep, horrifying crimson. Right on cue, Julian called back. I wanted to ignore it, but my fingers, trembling with pain and shock, fumbled and hit the answer button. His enraged voice exploded in my ear. "Didn't you see my texts? I told you to apologize to Jenna! Are you playing dead after pulling a stunt like that?" "She's been crying for a solid hour! I can't believe this is who you've become. I've told you a hundred times there’s nothing between us! Do you have to be so goddamn unreasonable?" "Erika, you're such a disappointment! Where are you? You have thirty minutes. Get your ass over here and apologize to Jenna!" A bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips. I had actually thought he might be calling because I'd missed our dinner plans, worried something had happened. But no. It was all for his precious secretary. My shattered heart hit rock bottom. "Disappointed?" I whispered, my voice a fragile wisp of air. "I've been disappointed in you for a very, very long time. Does she need an apology? I've already given her my husband. If that's not enough compensation, I don't know what is." Before I could hang up, he roared, "What is that supposed to mean? Who do you think you're talking to with that sarcastic tone? If this is the kind of person you are, I can't imagine what you'd turn our child into!" "You keep this up, and you won't even see the baby when it's born! I'll have my parents raise it!" Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. I slammed the end-call button. Did he care about the baby? No. He only cared about his own ridiculous pride. In that moment, I almost felt a strange sense of gratitude toward Jenna. Without her, I might not have found the resolve to let this baby go, to sever the one tie that would have bound me to Julian forever. Once I was settled in my room, I called over the kind man who'd brought me to the hospital and transferred $50,000 to him as a thank you. As the anesthesia wore off, the pain returned, sharp and relentless, blanching my face. I curled into a ball on the bed, my gaze fixed on the IV bag. Drip. Drip. Drip. Each drop was like a second of my love for Julian, draining away into nothing. In my haste, I hadn't checked which card I'd used for the transfer. I'd accidentally used the supplementary card Julian gave me. At midnight, his call ripped me from a pain-induced haze. "What the hell did you spend fifty grand on? Did you hire a male model at the dinner party? Just because we had a fight, you go on a ridiculous spending spree?" His fury burned away the last vestiges of sleep. I glanced at my phone's payment screen. "I used the wrong card," I said, my voice flat. "I'll transfer it back to you. Is that all?" He started to snap back, but I cut the call. Bitterness and scorn flooded me. Eight years of marriage. He could buy his secretary a Porsche without blinking, but he’d interrogate me over a $50,000 charge. There was truly nothing left to fight for. A major business gala was in two days, and I couldn't afford to be hospitalized for long. When we first got married, Julian and I had an arrangement: he handled the internal operations, and I was his face for all external networking and social events. The upcoming gala was my golden opportunity, the perfect stage to build the connections I'd need to go independent after the divorce, taking half the company with me. The next day, feeling marginally human, I got a prescription from the doctor and checked myself out. On my way to pick up my gown for the event, I saw that Jenna had posted to her Instagram story again last night. She was off-roading in the desert in her new Porsche. The man in the passenger seat was mostly out of frame, but I saw his wrist. I recognized the Rolex instantly. It was my anniversary gift to him last year. Jenna's caption read: When a man knows how to treat you right. The wear and tear on that Porsche from a single desert joyride would probably cost more than $50,000 to fix. My jaw tightened, the last bit of warmth in my eyes turning to ice. Of course. For Jenna, Julian's generosity knew no bounds. Three years ago, when I was drowning in stress, I’d asked him to go for a late-night drive with me, just to clear our heads. He hadn't even looked up from his phone, busy texting her. He'd said it was boring, a waste of time he needed for work. Now I realized it wasn't the drive he found boring. It was me. Every second with me, now that the love was gone, was torture for him. I closed the app, navigated to my browser, and canceled the custom gift I'd ordered for him this year. Then I unfollowed the store's page. I wouldn't be shopping there again. I arrived at the high-end boutique where I'd had my gown tailored. As I walked in, a message from Julian popped up. He was attending the gala tomorrow night as well. I glanced at it and deleted the chat. The thought of having him as my escort made me sick. "I'm here to pick up my order," I told the sales associate. She froze, her eyes darting nervously. "Miss Vance," she began hesitantly, "your husband called earlier… He said you needed the measurements altered? Is this gown still for you? Because the sizing…" My brow furrowed, a cold dread creeping in. Before I could respond, Julian's voice came from behind me. "Erika, what are you doing here? Oh, right, the gown. No need. I've already had yours sent to the house. This one's for Jenna. It's her first time at an event like this, she needs to look her best." He offered a tight, condescending smile. "Consider it my apology to her on your behalf." I turned to see Jenna standing beside him, a triumphant smirk on her face—the same smug expression she'd worn the night she ran me down. She clearly thought I was too afraid of angering Julian to ever report her to the police. She was wrong. I'd just been too busy to send her to jail. But her presence was a useful reminder: now was not the time to show my hand. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. The sting of pain brought a sharp clarity. "First she wants my man, now she wants my dress?" My voice was laced with derision. "It’s a hundred-thousand-dollar gown. Do you really think she can pull it off?" Julian's face instantly hardened, his eyes flaring with suppressed rage. "Can you stop being so unreasonable? It’s just a damn dress, Erika! What's the big deal if you let Jenna have it?!" He still had no idea I'd lost the baby. Jenna tugged at his sleeve, her voice a soft, tremulous whisper. "It's okay, Mr. Hayes. I'm just a secretary, I… I don't have any right to go to the gala anyway. I appreciate you wanting to show me a new world, but the gown should go to Erika. I'm fine, really…" Tears welled in her eyes, a picture of fragile innocence. It worked like a charm. Julian's protective instincts surged. "Wrap it up," he snapped at the associate. "We're taking it now." "Fine, give it to her," I said, my voice dangerously calm. My eyes, dripping with scorn, locked onto Jenna's. "I paid for it. A hundred grand. Grand larceny should be enough to put her away for a few years. She should enjoy it while she can." The double meaning hit its mark. Panic flashed in Jenna's eyes. She shot a terrified glance at me, and the crocodile tears became a genuine torrent. "I don't want it! I don't want it!" she cried. "Erika, please don't be angry, I didn't mean it! I'll never go to one of those galas again, I'm not worthy!" She covered her mouth and fled the store. Julian slammed a glass of water the associate had offered him onto the counter. He shot me a look that could kill. "Are you satisfied now?" Then he turned and chased after her. I looked at the stunned sales associate. "Please wrap it up," I said calmly. "I have a delivery address for you." I wrote down the shipping address I’d found for Jenna in Julian's online shopping history and handed it to her. Then I selected another, equally stunning gown that wouldn't need alterations. Back at the office, Julian and Jenna were nowhere to be found. Perfect. I got the company's transaction records from accounting and forwarded them to my lawyer, asking him to calculate my half of the settlement. Then I called a friend at the precinct and filed a police report. I recounted the hit-and-run that caused my miscarriage and sent him the footage I'd copied from the car's dashcam. I'd installed it when our marriage first started to crack, thinking it would catch evidence of an affair. I never imagined it would serve a much greater purpose. By the time I finished, night had fallen. The painkillers were wearing off, and the familiar, grinding pain returned to my abdomen. As I stood up, a warm gush of fluid made me go pale. I swayed, grabbing the back of the sofa to steady myself before collapsing onto it. I fumbled in my purse for the pills the doctor had prescribed. Maybe I'd overdone it today; the scrapes on my arm from the accident were beginning to bleed again. Back home, I disinfected and re-bandaged my wounds, then packed a single suitcase with the things I wanted to take. I left the suitcase by the door and sank onto the sofa to rest. I opened my phone and saw a new post from Jenna, uploaded three hours ago. The location tag was the most exclusive hotel in the city. The photo showed a sweeping view of the skyline at night. In the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling window, two figures sat at a table, bathed in the romantic glow of candlelight. Her second-to-last supper, I thought grimly. Even though this was the very hotel I had begged Julian to take me to countless times, I felt nothing looking at the picture. It was true. A heart can die in a single instant. Just as I was about to lock my phone, the front door opened. Julian walked in, his eyes landing on me with a rare gentleness. "See? This is much better," he said softly. "There was no need to make such a scene in public. I was a bit harsh today, don't take it to heart. Jenna got the gown you sent. She was very happy." A silent, mocking smile touched my lips. I opened a message from my friend at the precinct. He'd reviewed the evidence. It was solid. He asked when I wanted them to make the arrest. My fingers moved across the screen. Tomorrow night. I sent the gala's address along with it. Noticing my silence, Julian must have sensed he’d gone too far these past few days. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. He actually seemed to humble himself. "Let's go to the gala together tomorrow. It's been a while. Besides, Jenna wants to see what it's like." I gave a curt, emotionless nod. A drama, after all, is always better with a bigger audience. Usually, when I gave him the cold shoulder, he'd respond with even more hostility. But this time, he said nothing more, walking upstairs to the bathroom with a look of contentment, completely oblivious to the packed suitcase by the door. I laughed, a dry, self-deprecating sound. As I was about to retreat to the guest room, Julian came out of the bathroom, still wrapped in a cloud of steam. His gaze was heated, and the air thickened with a cloying intimacy. I didn't move as he leaned in close. His warm breath tickled my ear as he murmured, "Honey, I'm so glad I have you…" Then it hit me. A wave of Jenna’s perfume wafted off him. My stomach churned violently. I shoved him away. "Not tonight," I said, my voice ice. I turned and walked into the guest room, shutting the door on his furious, sputtering insults. "What the hell is wrong with you now? Is this never going to end? Stop playing hard to get! You think I'm actually dying to touch you? You've let yourself go, so don't act like you're some prize!" On the other side of the door, I leaned my back against the cool wood and slowly slid to the floor. The memory of a young man's warm voice faded in my ears, growing more distant with every passing second. Erika, we'll be together forever. I'll give you everything you've ever wanted. I'll make you the happiest woman in the world... The next day, I took care of some paperwork at the police station, then had a professional do my hair and makeup. When it was time, I headed for the gala. The opening remarks had just concluded, and the ballroom was already buzzing. I moved through the crowd alone, weaving between business titans, casually pitching the vision for my new, independent company. Across the room, Julian had his arm around Jenna, proudly introducing her to the guests. The gown stolen from me clung to her body like a second skin, making her look every bit the canary in a gilded cage. I was by a corner table, swapping my champagne flute, when she approached me, heels clicking on the marble. Before I could speak, she lifted her own glass and poured its contents down the front of her dress. A theatrical shriek pierced the air. "Ahh!" Heads turned. All eyes were on us. "Erika, what are you doing?" she wailed, tears streaming down her face. "You already gave me this dress! Why would you do this?" In an instant, Julian was there, charging across the room toward me. He didn't give me a chance to explain. He swung his arm back and slapped me across the face, his voice a furious roar. "I thought you'd changed, but you're still the same crazy bitch! If you can't behave, then get the hell out! You are never attending one of these events again!"
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