Today was our tenth anniversary, and our third wedding anniversary. To the outside world, Patrick and I were the perfect couple. But a string of disasters had cast a shadow over our life. It started with Patrick’s friend Dylan. He’d borrowed two hundred thousand dollars from us, then gambled it all away. Patrick was devastated, apologizing repeatedly. I swallowed my own anxiety and comforted him, telling him we’d figure it out. Two weeks later, Patrick had a minor car accident. The elderly other driver demanded compensation; we eventually paid ten thousand to settle it. A month later, Patrick’s father was diagnosed with kidney failure. An urgent transplant would cost around fifty thousand dollars. I remembered ten years ago, when a boulder nearly hit us on a hike. Patrick shielded me with his body, landing him in the ICU. When he woke, he transferred all his assets to my name, saying it was to ensure my safety. But now, three years into our marriage, he was secretly moving those same assets. I once overheard the delicate girl in his arms call me a washed-up hag, asking when I’d die. Patrick soothed her, saying, “Just wait a little longer.” I kept asking: what is love? Then I saw a forum post: “How do you know if he truly loves you?” The top comment read: “Love is fluid. It answers to no one.” In that moment, something settled inside me. A decade, leading here. But I wouldn’t accept this as my ending. … It was one thing after another, a crushing weight that left us breathless. Patrick held me, his tears dampening my neck. "I'm so sorry, Anna," he whispered. "I'm so sorry for dragging you through all this." "This is nothing," I murmured, stroking his back as I transferred the money to his parents' account. "We’ve been through worse." And we had. After grad school, Patrick caught the tech wave, co-founding Serenity Tech with a classmate to develop stress-relief mobile games. In the early days, they were short-staffed and had no money for employees. After a sleepless night, I quit my stable government job and became Serenity Tech’s fourth employee. My bachelor's was in accounting and my master's was in finance, so I took on everything: administration, finance, sales, even cleaning. At our poorest, we were crammed into a sixty-dollar-a-month basement, living on instant ramen. I remember joking through a mouthful of noodles, "Patrick, when can I upgrade to the cup noodles?" His eyes had turned red, his voice thick. "Anna," he’d sworn, "one day, I’ll make sure you have beef soup for breakfast, pork ribs for lunch, and Italian steak for dinner." Back then, the good life was just a meal with meat. Now, six years later, Serenity Tech was on the verge of going public, thanks to a few hit games. We’d moved from that basement to a sprawling penthouse downtown. The recent expenses were a drop in the bucket, but old habits die hard, and every large withdrawal still felt like a punch to the gut. After sending the money, I let out a long sigh. "Patrick, I feel like we’ve had a run of bad luck. I’m going to go to the Sanctuary of Hope tomorrow and get a charm for you." I was a staunch atheist, but four years ago, that had changed. We were on a road trip, driving through the mountains, when a massive rock dislodged and came hurtling down, slamming directly onto the hood of our car. Before I could even process what was happening, Patrick had thrown his entire body over me in the passenger seat. I was untouched. He was left unconscious with a severe head injury and rushed to the ICU. That night, the doctor told me, "He took a direct hit to the head. There’s bleeding in his brain. If he wakes up within 24 hours, he should be fine. If not, we’ll have to perform surgery. And even then, there are no guarantees." I collapsed, my legs giving out from under me, begging the doctor to save him. He must have taken pity on me. "Miss," he’d said gently, "there's a small chapel near the north entrance. Maybe you should go there. He's down, but you need to be strong." I knelt in that chapel for two solid hours, praying to any god that would listen to let Patrick wake up. I offered ten years of my life for his safety. If ten wasn't enough, I’d give twenty. The next morning, as the first rays of dawn streamed through the hospital window, Patrick’s eyes fluttered open. The tears I’d held back while he was unconscious came flooding out, and I cried until I couldn't breathe. Once he was stable, he squeezed my hand. "Anna," he said, his voice firm, "I've made up my mind. When I get out of here, I’m putting all my assets in your name." I didn’t understand. He brushed a stray piece of hair from my forehead. "Anna, when I was in the coma… I could hear you. All I could think was, if I really died, what would you do? We’re not even married. My relatives would have swarmed in to fight over my inheritance, and you would have been all alone. So I’m giving everything to you. That way, if something happens, I can rest in peace knowing you'll be taken care of." "Don't say that! Don't you dare leave before I do," I’d choked out, tapping his chest with a weak fist. He’d cried out, "Oww, that hurts!" As I leaned in, worried I’d actually hurt him, he produced a diamond ring from under his pillow. "Anna Scott," he’d whispered, "will you marry Patrick Leigh?" There was no hesitation. This man had saved my life with his own. If it wasn't for him, I would have been the one lying in that hospital bed. I slipped my finger through the ring. It was a perfect fit. He pulled me into a hug, his body still trembling with the aftershock. "Babe, I was going to propose on this trip. I guess fate had other plans. But they say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. From now on, I'm going to treat you like a princess." From that day on, I started to believe. I would stop at every church, every chapel, not for myself, but to pray for Patrick’s safety. … So the next morning, I drove to the Sanctuary of Hope, the most visited spiritual place in the city. I knelt before the altar for two hours straight. With the blessed charm in hand, I was about to leave when I heard a small cry from the entrance. "Ma'am, I twisted my ankle. Can you help me?" The girl who called out was in her early twenties, dressed in a simple white dress, her makeup minimal. A high ponytail swung as she moved, and her fair face had a touch of stubbornness to it, reminding me of myself right after college. I felt an instant sense of connection and rushed over to help her up. She thanked me profusely. "Oh, thank you so much! A lot of people just walked past, but you were the only one who stopped. You know," she gushed, "when I saw you, I felt this instant connection, like we were meant to be sisters." Her enthusiasm was a little overwhelming. "It's no problem," I said, trying to gently disengage. "Let me get security to help you." But she suddenly gripped my hand. "Oh, by the way, my German tutor taught me a word the other day, Seelenverwandt. I can't for the life of me remember what it means. Do you know?" The change in topic was abrupt, and my guard went up instantly. She was smiling at me, but her eyes held a new glint of condescending amusement. I’d never formally studied German, but Patrick had minored in it. The very first word he ever taught me was Seelenverwandt. A spiritual twin. A soulmate. Patrick used to call me his Seelenverwandt. He said our love was symbiotic, a bond that would last until death. For years, it was our secret code, the word we’d whisper before we kissed. My pinned social media post was still the nine-photo collage from the day we got our marriage license, the caption reading: Congratulations to my Seelenverwandt, Mr. Leigh. You've just won the chance to spend the rest of your life with me. And now, a complete stranger was asking me what Seelenverwandt meant. My mind went to the one place I didn’t want it to go. Patrick was cheating on me. I struggled to keep my voice steady. "Do you know Patrick?" The girl blinked innocently. "Nope, never heard of him. Oh! I just remembered I have German homework to finish. I should get going. Can we exchange numbers, though? If you don't mind." She continued, her words a rapid-fire assault. "By the way, my name is Piper. My German tutor loves calling me 'Anna.' He says Piper is peaceful, and so is Anna. Isn't he cute? Oh, I have no filter, you'll have to forgive me. I'll call you later to thank you properly." Normally, I would have politely declined. But Piper had planted a seed of doubt, and I couldn’t stand uncertainty. Some things had to be brought into the light. By the time I got home, it was evening. Patrick had said he had a business dinner and would be home around nine. Our housekeeper, Maria, brought me a bowl of soup. "Ma'am, the mister specifically asked me to make this for you. He said your period is coming, and you always get bad cramps, so you need to eat well and stay warm." I sat at the table, lost in thought. On one hand, there was a decade of Patrick’s unwavering care and affection. On the other, a stranger's vague, provocative words. Shouldn't I give the man I shared my bed with more credit? Maria kept chattering. "He's so good to you, ma'am. You've been married all this time with no children, and he never pressures you. Whenever anyone asks, he just jokes that it's his fault. If you ask me, you should hurry up and have a baby. Otherwise, all those other women out there will be lining up to have one for him…" I slammed my bowl down on the table. "Maria, if you're tired, perhaps it's time for you to go home and retire!" She shut her mouth, looking chastened. But her words had tightened the knot of anxiety in my chest. We had been together ten years, married for three, and were still childless. At first, it was because of the startup. Then, last year, I’d had a chemical pregnancy, a loss that happened before we even knew to be excited. So, at the beginning of this year, I had stepped down from my role as CFO at the company to focus on getting pregnant. And now, I was faced with the possibility that my entire marriage was a lie. I immediately contacted the best private investigator in the city. Whatever the outcome, I needed the truth. Once that was done, I tried to clear my head and idly scrolled through my phone. The first thing I saw was a new post from Piper. Got in trouble with my German tutor again. I forgot the meaning of Seelenverwandt today, so my punishment is to whisper it in his ear a thousand times. And if my pronunciation is off, I get a little swat. Can someone report a teacher for corporal punishment? The accompanying photo was taken in a massive floor-length mirror. A girl in a tight, black lace dress was kneeling. Behind her stood a man in a suit, holding a leather riding crop. The photo was artfully blurred, but the man’s build was unmistakably Patrick’s. Half an hour later, another post from Piper. Class is finally over. I’m exhausted. The picture was just the riding crop, lying on a plush surface, the leather gleaming under the light. I couldn’t breathe. A war raged in my head. You’ve been together for ten years. You’ve been through hell and back. You know him better than anyone. How can you doubt him? He took a rock for you! He has a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card with you! Love is fickle. Do you really think it can withstand any temptation? Piper is younger, prettier, has a better body. If I were a man, I’d choose her too. "Enough!" I slammed my hand on the table, my control finally snapping. The soup bowl tipped over, red broth spilling across the wood and dripping onto the floor. A complete mess. "Babe, what's wrong?" It was Patrick. He was home. The timing was perfect. Piper's "class" had just ended, and here he was. The suspicion was so thick I couldn't even pretend to be happy to see him. I fantasized, for a moment, about him confessing, and me destroying everything he had ever built. Patrick glanced at my phone screen and let out a long, heavy sigh. "Babe, I knew this day would come. Let me explain."
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