1 I worked online as an anonymous relationship coach, untangling other people's messy love lives. Yet I was the one trapped in a suffocating marriage. Vaughn came home on time every single day. He ate dinner across the table from me, and he kissed my forehead before bed. He bought extravagant bouquets for holidays, wired generous amounts of money to my account, and even remembered my parents' birthdays. On paper, he was the flawless husband. But when I told him I was hurting, he turned a deaf ear. When I said I was exhausted, he simply told me that everyone gets tired. When I asked if he loved me. He gave a detached reply, "Don't make life so exhausting." But the most exhausting part of my life was trying so desperately to get close to him, only to realize that even humoring me felt like a chore to him. So I stopped asking. And he seemed perfectly content with the silence. Tonight, a new consultation popped up on my screen. A young woman asked, "I messed up a long time ago, and he married some fat girl just to spite me. Now he still says he loves me. Should I steal him back?" I was just about to type a professional reply when she sent a photo. A man was looking down, gently wrapping a cashmere scarf around her neck. Resting on his wrist was the luxury watch I had painstakingly hunted down for his birthday last year. The man she wanted to steal back was my husband. ... I stared at that photo for a very long time. His cuff was pulled back just enough to reveal the dial. Last year, I visited three different boutiques and called over a dozen friends just to track that exact model down. [Hey, do you think he still has feelings for me?] My fingers hovered over the keyboard. They felt stiff, frozen in place, before I finally managed to type a response. [What was your relationship with him?] Her reply came almost instantly. [We dated in college!] [But he's way too proud. I made him mad back then, so he just grabbed the resident campus whale who had a crush on him and married her as payback. I regret it so much!] It felt like someone had driven a fist straight through my chest. The girl kept typing. [I know he doesn't actually love her. He was just throwing a tantrum and found a cheap substitute who could never compare to me.] [You're a relationship expert. You get how guys like that work, right?] I was used to analyzing other people's heartbreaks. I never expected the arrow to strike my own chest. In a daze, my mind drifted back to a time many years ago. When I first started college, I had to take heavy steroid medications for an illness. The side effect was massive weight gain. I had worked hard to get into a top-tier university, but the only thing I heard in the lecture halls was mocking laughter. Someone snapped a picture of my lunch tray and posted it in the class group chat. [Porky's got a hollow leg! Incredible!] Someone else taped a sticky note to my chair. [Weight limit warning. No whales allowed.] Another guy even walked up to me with a smirk and asked, "Hey Jill, do you walk on all fours in private? Can you really put away half a barrel of slop in one sitting?" They knocked my pill bottles onto the floor just for a laugh. I didn't dare to cry. Crying would only make me look uglier. Vaughn wasn't the typical heroic, sunshine-filled boy who stood up for the weak. He was always cold, aloof, separated from the rest of the world by an invisible layer of frost. But that day, he bent down, picked up my medicine bottle, and handed it to me. Then he looked at the crowd. "If I see this again, every single one of you will be facing the disciplinary board." "Come on, Vaughn. Why do you even care about her?" He raised his eyes, his gaze freezing the room. "Verbal harassment goes straight on your academic record. Want to test that theory?" No one dared to bully me in the open after that. I carried the memory of that day with me for years. So when Vaughn called me late one night, long after graduation, I listened to his heavy silence before he finally spoke. "If you're still single... would you marry me?" There was no diamond ring. There was no romantic proposal. I didn't even ask him why. "I will." At ten o'clock that night, Vaughn walked through the front door. He took off his overcoat and asked the same question he always did. "Why are you still awake?" He walked into the kitchen and poured me a glass of warm water. "Remember your follow-up appointment at the hospital tomorrow. Don't skip your meds. Your health comes first." He was always like this. Perfectly decent. Perfectly thorough. Even his affection felt meticulously calculated. I looked at him and suddenly asked, "Why did you marry me?" He turned his back to me, flipping through a stack of documents on the counter. "The past doesn't matter." A thin wire of tension pulled tight across my heart. "Does it have anything to do with Serena?" This time, he didn't answer immediately. After a long pause, he simply said, "It's late. Go to sleep." Silence can be deafening. A moment later, my phone buzzed on the table. [He skipped work today and spent the whole day shopping with me. It feels exactly like when we were dating in college!] I thought about the text I had sent Vaughn earlier that afternoon. I had taken a picture of the new bakery downstairs, asking if he wanted to try it together tonight. He didn't reply until he was off the clock. Just one word. "Busy." I put my phone face down and headed toward the bathroom to wash up. As I passed the balcony, I heard Vaughn's hushed voice. "Don't cry. I'll be right there." He hung up the phone. When he turned around and saw me standing there, his expression stiffened for a fraction of a second. "Emergency at the company." I stared at him. For some reason, I desperately wanted to fight for him just this once. I wanted to know if, just for a single moment, he would choose me over Serena. I gripped the edge of the sofa, letting my voice soften. "I really don't feel well." "My heart is racing, and my head is pounding. Can you please stay?" He walked straight to the cabinet, pulled out the medical kit, and placed it on the coffee table in front of me. "Check and see what you need to take." "Get some rest after you take your pills. Don't let your imagination run wild." With that, he picked up his coat. The sound of the front door clicking shut was incredibly soft, yet it felt like a brick wall collapsing on top of me. I sat on the couch, the medical kit resting by my knees. The pill bottles inside were arranged in perfect, sterile compartments. Just like the marriage he gave me. I had quietly challenged her to a match, and I had lost completely. 2 I started suffering from severe insomnia after that night. My head was crammed with alternating voices. I had studied psychology in college. I knew exactly what happens to a person when their mind is repeatedly punctured by severe emotional trauma. I just didn't want to admit it. Admitting a relapse meant admitting that this marriage was dragging me back into the abyss. Early the next morning, I booked an appointment with my psychiatrist. Vaughn stepped out of his study. "Where are you going?" "Follow-up appointment." He checked the schedule on his phone. "I'll go with you." The withered leaves in my heart felt a sudden, desperate drop of rain. But right as we reached the door, his phone rang. He spoke a few words, and his posture immediately grew tense. "Don't go outside. Send me your room number." He hung up and looked at me. "Serena got cornered by a stalker at her hotel. She's terrified to leave the room." My throat tightened. "Can you not..." "It's just a routine checkup. I'll have my assistant drive you." "But if I don't go to her, something terrible might actually happen." Those words cut deeper than any insult. He casually placed me in second place. Again. In the end, his assistant was the one who accompanied me to the hospital. Sitting in the backseat, watching the city streets blur past the window, I suddenly felt like a piece of mishandled luggage being shipped to temporary storage. I waited in line alone. I filled out the diagnostic scales alone. By the end of it, all I felt was a bitter sense of irony. I was an expert at telling other women when to cut their losses, yet I had allowed myself to be drained dry. "You are showing clear signs of a severe Bipolar relapse. You cannot afford any more emotional triggers right now. We need to adjust your medication. I strongly suggest your family keep a closer eye on you." The moment the doctor handed me the new prescription, a message from Serena popped up on my screen. [He canceled his plans with his wife today just for me.] [Tell me, is this what true love looks like?] I walked out of the hospital and crouched by the curb, trying to swallow down the suffocating wave of panic. The sun was beating down on my head, but I was shivering uncontrollably. I took one step onto the street, and an electric bike swerved past me, the handlebars clipping my shoulder. "Do you have a death wish?!" The rider slammed on his brakes and turned back to scream at me. "Watch where you're walking, you crazy bitch!" I fell onto the concrete. My first instinct wasn't to cry, but to scramble for my scattered prescription papers, as if they were the last shred of dignity I possessed. When the nurse cleaned my scraped arm back inside the clinic, the stinging pain made my fingers curl inward. My mind drifted back to the first year of my marriage. My mother came to visit our new house, dragging bags full of fresh groceries, insisting that takeout was toxic. Vaughn stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her roll out homemade pasta dough. "Do you need any help?" He had no idea what he was doing. The ravioli he folded were misshapen and lumpy. My mother laughed until she couldn't breathe, picking out the best-looking one and putting it on his plate. "For your first try, Vaughn, that's practically a masterpiece." He looked down, ate the ravioli, and the tips of his ears turned slightly red. The night my father drank too much, Vaughn practically carried the older man to the guest room, leaving a glass of warm water and antacids right on the nightstand. My mother had pulled me aside later, whispering. "Jill, I know Vaughn seems cold on the outside, but he pays attention to the details. Give him time. You'll build a good life together." I used to believe that, too. I thought he wasn't heartless, just slow to warm up. I believed that if I just waited a little longer, he would eventually turn around and look at me. But now, my hands were covered in blood, strangers were screaming at me on the street, and the man I married was playing the knight in shining armor for someone else. That evening, Vaughn came home on time as usual. He walked through the door just as I was changing my bandages. I hadn't wrapped the gauze tight enough, and a fresh bead of blood seeped through the white fabric. He frowned, walking quickly toward me. "What happened?" "I tripped." He didn't press for details. He sat down right in front of me, took the tweezers, and used a cotton ball to carefully clean the dried blood from my skin. To an outsider, he looked like the absolute perfect husband. He didn't yell. He didn't throw tantrums. He never used the silent treatment as a weapon. But looking at him, my eyes welled up with tears from a completely different kind of pain. I couldn't hold it back anymore. "When you married me... was it because of Serena?" His hand stopped moving. The cotton ball pressed firmly against my raw wound, and I sucked in a sharp breath. It was as if my flinch brought him back to reality. He loosened his grip. "Don't overthink things." The same empty phrase. I looked down at his familiar, lowered eyelashes. He was so close, yet lightyears away. "Just say no. Just say the word, and I'll believe you." But what hurt far worse than my scraped arm was his absolute, suffocating silence. In that quiet span of seconds, I already had my answer. 3 Some old college classmates organized a reunion dinner. I originally had no intention of going. When the invitation popped up in the group chat, I glanced at it once and closed the app. I hadn't seen most of those names in years. Some people didn't need to be seen again. Just thinking about them made old scars itch. But Vaughn actually pushed back. "You shouldn't lock yourself in the house all day. Go out. Get some fresh air." I desperately wanted to ask him. Are you trying to get me to see old friends, or are you just looking for an excuse to see Serena? But I swallowed the question. Asking too many questions would only make me look pathetic. I arrived late. The heavy door to the private dining room was slightly ajar. "Honestly, Vaughn and Serena were the ultimate power couple back then." "The untouchable campus prince and the golden girl." "Who wasn't obsessed with them?" Someone else chimed in. "Who would've guessed he'd end up marrying Jill?" A brief silence hung in the air, followed by a wave of muffled laughter. "Wasn't she built like a literal tank back then?" "Oh yeah, the resident hippo who always sat in the back corner." "It's like a bad rom-com script. Except the male lead still loves his golden girl, and the trope of the cheap substitute just became real life." Someone in the room let out a soft, mocking click of their tongue. Serena was sitting in the very center of the crowd. She didn't deny a single word. She just lowered her head and offered a bashful smile. Vaughn heard it all too. "Stop joking around," he said. It sounded like a feather dropping onto the surface of a frozen lake. Not even a ripple. The Vaughn who had stood in a college hallway and threatened to end their academic careers with a single glare was gone. Or maybe he hadn't changed at all. Maybe my naive, younger self just assigned far too much meaning to a passing moment of pity. One of the classmates noticed me standing in the doorway, and the color drained from their face. "Jill?" I walked in. "Sorry. Traffic." Vaughn stood up, reaching out to pull out a chair for me. Before I could even sit down, Serena suddenly set her wine glass on the table and pressed a hand against her stomach. "I think I drank that too fast. My stomach is killing me." Instantly, the entire room's attention pivoted to her. Someone teased, half-joking and half-testing the waters. "Hey Vaughn, Serena's in pain. You're not gonna do something?" Vaughn hated those kinds of jokes. But his eyes darted straight to her anyway. The raw, instinctive panic in his gaze was unmistakable. A deep, bone-aching exhaustion washed over me. "I'm going to the restroom." He took a step toward me, opening his mouth to say something, but Serena grabbed the cuff of his shirt. "Vaughn, do you think my ulcer is acting up again? It hurts so much." Vaughn stopped dead in his tracks. Those few seconds of hesitation were all the time I needed to make my pathetic escape. I turned on the faucet in the restroom, scrubbing my hands for a long time, but I couldn't wash off the sticky residue of pure humiliation. When I slipped out the back door of the restaurant, it was raining. The cold drizzle hit my face like dozens of icy fingertips. I didn't call a cab. My thoughts were a chaotic, swirling mess. I knew these were the warning signs of a severe manic episode, but I couldn't ground myself. As I walked past the parking lot, an SUV suddenly reversed out of a blind spot. I threw myself out of the way, twisting my ankle hard and scraping my arm against a pile of rusted metal debris. Blood dripped steadily from my fingertips. The pain in my ankle was blinding. The driver rolled down his window, cursed at me for being in the way, and sped off into the night when he realized I wasn't fighting back. I sat alone on the wet asphalt. Suddenly, I really wanted to call Vaughn. Not because I expected him to save me. I just wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to see if my pain would make him panic the way hers did. The phone rang for a very long time before he finally picked up. "What is it?" The background noise was deafening. Serena, who had been in agonizing pain just minutes ago, was laughing brightly. "Vaughn, look at this! This is hilarious." He spoke into the receiver again. "Jill? What's wrong?" I opened my mouth, but the massive knot of grief lodged in my throat choked off my words. All that came out was a quiet whisper. "Nothing. Have fun." I hung up the phone. The screen faded to black. But the torrential rain pouring inside my chest showed no signs of stopping. At three in the morning, the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room glared down at me. The doctor finished bandaging my arm and reviewed my X-rays. "Severely sprained ankle. Make sure to keep the stitches on your arm dry." She looked up from her clipboard. "Is your family here?" I gripped the edge of my medical file, staring into space for a long time. Who was I supposed to list? My husband? He was busy entertaining his college sweetheart. My parents? I couldn't bear to make them worry. I stared at the blank line for the emergency contact, and a sharp sting hit the back of my nose. I honestly didn't know whose name I was allowed to write anymore. 4 I didn't tell my mother about the accident. She had a weak heart and dangerously unstable blood pressure. When I was young, she and my father ruined their health running a tiny diner just to pay for my tuition. I couldn't let her know that the daughter she cherished more than life itself had ended up in the ER at 3 AM with absolutely no one by her side. So when she called to ask why I hadn't been home for Sunday dinner, I just told her I was slammed at work. "Jill, don't lie to your mother." I gripped the phone, forcing a cheerful tone. "I'm perfectly fine, Mom. I promise." But my mother wasn't stupid. That very afternoon, she brewed a thermos of herbal soup and took the bus to the city to find me. Before she even reached my apartment building, she spotted Vaughn. He was walking out of a high-end luxury jewelry boutique, carrying a glossy shopping bag. Serena was walking right beside him. She said something to him, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him squarely on the lips. He didn't push her away. Standing in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, my mother understood everything. It wasn't that she didn't know how cruel the world could be. She just never wanted to assume the worst about the man I loved. I had lost an alarming amount of weight recently. The light in my eyes had completely burned out. Now she knew why. I was being bled dry by a dull blade. She tried to chase after them, desperate to demand an explanation. But Vaughn had already wrapped his arm around Serena's shoulder and guided her into the passenger seat of his car. By the time I rushed into the hospital lobby, my mother had already been wheeled into the resuscitation room. My father was trembling so violently he couldn't even hold a pen to sign the critical condition notice. "Suspected cerebral hemorrhage. The situation is extremely volatile. We need to operate immediately, or else..." A deafening ring echoed in my ears. I pulled out my phone and dialed Vaughn's number. "My mom is in the ER. Can you get here? No, wait! Have your private surgical specialist come first! It's an absolute emergency!" A few seconds later, a voice came through the speaker. It wasn't Vaughn's. It was Serena. Her tone was sickeningly sweet, laced with feigned surprise. "Oh, Jill? Is that you?" The blood in my veins turned to ice. "Where is Vaughn?!" "He's accompanying me at the OBGYN clinic. He's consulting with the chief specialist right now, so he left his phone with me." OBGYN? The red light above the resuscitation doors was still glaring brightly. I didn't have the luxury of dissecting her words. "Put him on the phone! My mother is dying. I am begging you, put him on the damn phone right now!" Serena paused for a second, then immediately reassured me. "Jill, don't panic. I'll tell him right away." I gripped my phone, pacing the sterile hallway. Ten minutes passed. No call back. The nurses rushed out, their voices frantic. "Did you get a hold of the specialist? The patient doesn't have much time." I dialed Vaughn's number over and over again. It rang out every single time. My father stood in the corner, his eyes bloodshot. "What did Vaughn say?" Just then, a notification from my consulting app pinged. Serena had sent a new photo. Vaughn was lying on a plush sofa beside her, his eyes closed, fast asleep. [Just wanted to brag a little bit. Isn't he so handsome when he sleeps? I really hit the jackpot.] The doors to the ER swung open and shut. Nurses sprinted past me. My father was begging the doctors to try anything, everything. But all I could see was the image of my husband resting peacefully by her side. The woman who gave me life was bleeding out on an operating table. The son-in-law she treated like her own flesh and blood never showed up. Later, a doctor walked out and pulled down his surgical mask. I watched his lips move in slow motion. "I am so sorry. We did everything we could." My mother didn't make it. The golden window for surgery had been stalled away minute by minute. I collapsed to my knees outside the surgical doors. I couldn't even force a sob out of my throat. It felt like a crucial wire inside my body had snapped, leaving me suspended in a terrifying void. Someone tried to help me up. They let me inside the room. My mother was lying there, completely still. Suddenly, a blinding, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. Hot blood rushed down my legs, soaking my pants. Someone screamed. Hands grabbed me. My vision went entirely black. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was staring at a white hospital ceiling. "You were pregnant. But... the trauma was too severe. You lost the baby." It took a very long time for those words to process. Pregnant. Baby. Lost. The three concepts crashed into each other, forming a language I couldn't comprehend. I didn't even know this child had existed. I had no idea a tiny life had briefly made its home inside of me. And just like that, it vanished, leaving this world at the exact same time as my mother. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was Serena again. [Great news! I'm pregnant!] [He is totally freaking out about being a dad. It's actually kind of adorable.] [I'm starving. Here's a sneak peek of him looking at the ultrasound.] In the picture, Vaughn was holding a medical report. His profile was remarkably soft, genuinely preparing to welcome their child into the world. I didn't even have the strength left to cry. Vaughn didn't come home for the next several days. Serena had pouted and said, "I don't want to spend Valentine's Day alone." So he stayed with her. The day after Valentine's Day, he finally walked through our front door, looking tired but accomplished. Sitting right in the center of the dining table was a beautifully wrapped gift box. He stared at it for a moment before guilt washed over his features. He remembered that I prepared a lavish gift for him every single year. Driven by remorse, he reached out and untied the silk ribbon. When he finally saw what was resting inside, every drop of color vanished from his face.
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