On our seventh wedding anniversary, Carter gave me a very special gift. A divorce agreement, and a stack of printed Snapchat messages showing me "cheating." In the photos, I was chatting flirtatiously with a college boy named Zev. Carter stood in the living room, looking down at me with utter disgust. "Since you're so desperate for a man, sign this and walk away penniless. I'm doing you a favor by letting you be with your hot college kid." Looking at those explicit chat logs, I didn't defend myself. I just picked up the pen and signed my name. As I dragged my suitcase toward the door, I heard Carter on the balcony, making a phone call. His tone was light, dripping with the smugness of someone who had just won a grand prize. "You were right, Sam. Telling me to create an alt account to bait her was a genius move. That old hag hooked right onto a few sweet words." "Now she's leaving with absolutely nothing. I'll marry you tomorrow." The winter wind outside was freezing, but I didn't look back. Honestly, I had known Zev was Carter from the very beginning. In the scenic photos he sent me, the reflection in the glass clearly showed the expensive watch I had gifted him. I just didn't call him out. I played along with his little cyber-love game every single day. Why? Because after being diagnosed with severe heart failure, I didn't even have the energy to argue anymore. Through the fake "Zev," I felt like I was seeing the Carter from seven years ago again—the boy whose eyes used to be filled only with me. Now that the papers were signed, it was time to wake up from the dream. For the rest of my numbered days, I just wanted to die in peace, alone.
As I dragged my suitcase out of the gated community, Gary, the security guard, poked his head out. "Heading out so late, Mrs. Vance?" I paused, forcing a smile. "You don't have to call me that anymore, Gary." He blinked, utterly confused. I didn't explain. I just hailed a taxi. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "You look really pale, miss. Do you need me to take you to the hospital first?" "No, thank you." I pressed my hand against my chest. The doctor said my heart was failing. Actually, it had just loved Carter for seven years, and now, it was finally tired of beating. The cab pulled up to an old apartment building downtown. This was the place my parents had left me. A small two-bedroom apartment with peeling yellow wallpaper. The living room light flickered three times before finally staying on. I pushed my suitcase against the wall and sat on the couch, waiting a long time to catch my breath. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Carter. [Daisy, you signed the agreement yourself. You chose to leave penniless.] [Don't come crawling back to me crying later.] Staring at the screen, I suddenly laughed. Seven years ago, he used to text me like this, too. One message after another. When he was pursuing me back in college, on his first day of a business trip, he sent me ninety-nine Snapchats. [Daisy, did you eat yet?] [Daisy, it's raining outside. Remember to bring an umbrella.] [Daisy, I miss you so much.] Later on, he rarely called me Daisy. It became "Daisy Vance," "Mrs. Vance," or simply, "Can you stop annoying me?" Until Zev appeared. That account used a profile picture of a puppy soaking in the rain. The first time he added me, he messaged: [Hi. I saw you at the convenience store today. You looked really sad.] I shouldn't have accepted the request. But that day, I had just returned from the hospital. The doctor had slid the report in front of me, his voice incredibly soft. "Miss Vance, your end-stage dilated cardiomyopathy has reached its final phase." "If you don't get a transplant, the risk of sudden death is extremely high." "Where is your husband? In this situation, it's best if your family hears this together." I held the report, freezing for a long time. Then I said, "I don't have one." The doctor glanced at the wedding ring on my ring finger but didn't ask further. That night, Zev sent his second message. [It's cold. Remember to bundle up.] It was a very ordinary sentence, but I stared at it for a long time. Because seven years ago, Carter used to nag me the exact same way. He would wrap his scarf around my neck, layer after layer, scowling as he scolded me: "Daisy, do you think you're made of iron? If you freeze and get sick, I'm the one who's going to suffer." I replied to Zev. [Who are you?] He replied quickly: [Just a passerby. And someone who really wants to make you smile.] Actually, I knew something was off back then. But I kept talking to him anyway. Because the real Carter hadn't spoken to me like that in years. My phone lit up again. This time, it was Zev. [Daisy, did you make it home?] My fingertips hovered over the screen. After a long pause, I typed one word. [Yeah.] A few seconds of silence on the other end. [Did he treat you badly again?] Staring at those words, my eyes suddenly welled with tears. Carter was using his alt account to ask if he himself was treating me badly. How ridiculous. I slowly typed back: [No. I'm free now.] Zev replied almost instantly: [That's good. I'll be here for you from now on.] I flipped the phone face down on the table. There was no need. I didn't have a "from now on" anymore.
The next morning, Carter had his lawyer send me an addendum to the divorce agreement. The lawyer's tone was strictly professional. "Daisy, Mr. Vance said that if you record a video admitting to cheating during the marriage, he will give you an extra million dollars." Clutching my water mug, I asked, "And if I refuse?" "Then the chat logs, the hotel photos, and the agreement you voluntarily signed will be sent to both of your families and friends." The lawyer paused before adding, "Mr. Vance also said if you don't cooperate, he will leak these to your company, your Snapchat group chats, and your late parents' old friends." Hearing him mention "hotel photos," I looked down and smiled bitterly. That day, Zev had asked to meet me at a coffee shop downstairs from a hotel, claiming he was in a terrible mood. I never went inside. I only stood at the entrance for two minutes, took an emergency call, and left. So, even those two minutes could be captured and framed as evidence. I nodded. "I'll record the video." The lawyer let out a visible sigh of relief. I hung up, opened my laptop, and saved the call recording into an encrypted folder. At ten in the morning, I went to the hospital. Looking at my charts, Dr. Evans' frown deepened. "Have you been under a lot of emotional stress lately?" I remained silent. "Daisy, you need to be admitted immediately." He tapped my chart. "This isn't just a regular heart condition anymore. You could have acute heart failure at any moment." "If a matching donor becomes available, do you still want to go through with the transplant?" I looked down at my hands. Carter used to love holding my hands. He said my fingers were long and perfect for rings. Later, he took off his own ring and threw it in my face. "Daisy, who are you wearing that ring for every day? It makes me sick just looking at it." I looked up at Dr. Evans. "If I don't do the surgery, how long do I have?" Dr. Evans froze. "Maybe a few months. Or you could just slip away suddenly." I nodded. "Then I won't wait." Dr. Evans' voice grew heavy. "You're only twenty-nine." I smiled softly. "But I'm so tired." When I walked out of the hospital, I saw Samantha's new Instagram post. In the photo, she was standing in my old walk-in closet, wearing my silk nightgown. Her caption read: [Some spots belong to those who actually deserve to be loved.] I stared at it for two seconds and liked the post. Not long after, Carter called. His voice was laced with anger. "Daisy, what the hell is your problem?" "My finger slipped." He let out a cold laugh. "Stop playing dumb. Do you think your passive-aggressive behavior is going to make me feel guilty?" I took a shallow, painful breath. "Carter, I'm not that free." He went quiet for a second, probably catching the strain in my voice. "Are you sick?" "No." His tone turned irritated again. "Stop talking to me with that half-dead voice." I looked out at the gloomy, overcast sky. "Then hang up." He was silent for a moment before saying coldly, "You sure got brave after leaving me. I hope you keep that energy." He hung up. Three minutes later, Zev sent a message. [Have you been crying?] Staring at the words "been crying," a sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest. I fumbled for my pills and swallowed two. Then I typed: [Zev, can you accompany me somewhere tomorrow?] He replied almost instantly. [Of course. Anywhere you want to go, I'm there.]
I asked Zev to accompany me to the local university campus. Of course, we weren't actually meeting in person. I told him I wasn't comfortable meeting internet friends in real life, so having him chat with me on my phone was enough. Zev was incredibly sweet about it. [If you don't want to meet, I won't show my face.] By the time the bus dropped me off at the campus gates, the snow had just stopped. The crepe food truck at the entrance was still there. The owner's son had taken over, but the sign remained the same. I bought two crepes. One spicy, one plain. Seven years ago, Carter couldn't eat spicy food at all. But I would always buy the spicy one just to tease him. He'd take a bite, his ears turning bright red from the heat, and still act tough: "It's not even that spicy." I would laugh so hard I couldn't stand straight. Flustered and embarrassed, he would grab my backpack and run off. The sun had been so bright that day. His white shirt billowed in the wind like a young boy's wings. By the time I reached my third lap around the campus track, my chest began to tighten. I gripped the metal railing, leaning over to catch my breath. Suddenly, a pair of black leather shoes came to a stop nearby. I looked up. Carter was standing behind a tree. He was wearing a dark grey trench coat, car keys dangling from his hand. As our eyes met, his expression shifted slightly. I spoke first. "Are you stalking me?" He frowned. "Stalking you? Please. I have a business meeting nearby." The excuse was exactly the same as seven years ago. Back then, he would sneak onto campus just to see me. When I caught him, he would always say, "Who's here to see you? I was just passing by." Back then, I would have thrown my arms around him. Now, I just wanted to walk away. Carter grabbed my wrist. "Daisy, are you really this desperate to reminisce about the past?" I looked down at his grip. "Let go." He sneered. "What, did your little college boyfriend stand you up?" I waved my phone. "Actually, he's chatting with me right now. He's much better company than you." Carter's face darkened. How pathetic. He was actually getting jealous of a fictional character he created himself. "Daisy, you really are pathetic." The moment those words left his mouth, a sharp spasm ripped through my chest. I couldn't hold it in. I bent over, coughing violently. Carter froze. "What's wrong with you?" I brushed his hand away. "None of your business." He wanted to say something else, but his phone rang. Samantha's name flashed on the screen. He hesitated for a second before answering. I couldn't hear what she said, but his expression softened immediately. "Okay, I'll be right back." After hanging up, he looked back at me, his face turning cold and distant again. "Stop playing victim, Daisy. No one is buying your act anymore." I nodded. "Then leave." He stood there, unmoving. I looked up at him. "Isn't Samantha waiting for you?" It was like I had touched a nerve. His face twisted in anger, and he finally turned and walked away. My phone buzzed. Zev had sent a message. [Did you just run into him?] I watched the red taillights of Carter's car fade into the distance. [Yeah. He still hates me.] Zev replied quickly: [No, he doesn't. He's just an idiot.] [If he regrets it in the future, would you ever forgive him?] Sitting on the cold bench, my fingertips were stiff from the freezing air. After a long time, I replied: [No. I don't have a future anymore.]
A week after the divorce, Carter sent someone to collect the keys to the house. I put the keys in an envelope, along with my wedding ring. It was our matching set. I had no idea where his was anymore. I had worn mine for seven years. When I pulled it off, it left a pale, faint indent on my ring finger. Right after the courier left, Samantha called. Her voice was sweet and dripping with triumph. "Daisy, I got the package. But didn't you leave something behind?" "What?" I asked. "The wooden box in Carter's study." She giggled. "The one filled with your old, trashy photos. It's giving me bad vibes." "If you still want it, come get it yourself." My parents' old photographs were in that wooden box. When I rushed to the house, Samantha was lounging on the living room sofa. She was wearing my silk nightgown, and the wooden box sat by her feet. The photos inside had been messily rummaged through. A photo of my parents had fallen to the floor, the corner of it trapped under her slipper. My expression went cold. "Move your foot." Samantha looked up, her smile innocent. "Oh, sorry. Didn't see it." She slowly dragged her foot away, leaving a sharp crease on the photo. I bent down to pick it up. Suddenly, she kicked the wooden box away with her toe. Photos and letters scattered all over the floor. "Daisy, I actually kind of admire you," she said, leaning in. "Kicked out of the house, and you're still this calm." "Is it because that college kid is treating you so well?" My hands paused as I gathered the photos. Samantha laughed harder. "But you really are pitiful. Did you know Carter created that alt account just to mess with you?" "When you were texting him 'goodnight' every day, do you have any idea how much we laughed at you?" I didn't look up. "Are you done laughing?" My calmness clearly irritated her. Her smile faltered. "What are you pretending for? Do you think you're losing with dignity?" "You're just an unwanted, abandoned wife." I placed the last photo back into the box and finally looked up at her. "Samantha, are you trying this hard to prove you won because Carter still hasn't married you?" Her face paled. Just then, footsteps sounded at the door. Carter walked in and frowned the moment he saw me. "What are you doing here?" Samantha's eyes instantly welled with tears. She rushed over and clung to his arm. "Carter, I just wanted to give her things back, but I think Daisy misunderstood me." Carter looked at the mess on the floor, then at the wooden box in my hands. His tone was freezing. "Daisy, do you have to make such a scene?" Suddenly, I felt incredibly exhausted. In the past, I would have explained myself a thousand times over. But Carter never believed me. I clutched the wooden box to my chest and started walking toward the door. Carter blocked my path. "Apologize." I blinked. "What?" He looked at me with pure annoyance. "Apologize to Samantha." Samantha lowered her head, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. I stared at Carter for what felt like an eternity. So long that my chest grew heavy and a loud ringing filled my ears. Then, I laughed. "Carter, do you remember?" "Years ago, you wouldn't even let anyone touch a hair on my head." His eyes flickered slightly. I continued, "And now, you're demanding I apologize to the person who just stepped on my dead parents' photo." He looked down at the creased photo on the floor, his face shifting. Samantha rushed to explain, "I didn't mean to—" "It's fine," I interrupted her. "My parents have been dead for years anyway. They can't see it." Carter's throat bobbed. "Daisy..." I ignored him. Just as I reached the foyer, a sudden, agonizing pain gripped my heart. The wooden box slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor as the photos scattered once again. I leaned heavily against the wall, my vision turning pitch black. Carter rushed forward to catch me. "Daisy!" With the last of my strength, I shoved him away. "Don't touch me." His hands froze in mid-air. I fumbled through my purse, pulled out my pills, and swallowed them dry. Samantha stood behind him, whispering, "Is she just faking it?" This time, Carter didn't immediately side with her. He stared at the prescription bottle in my hand, his face turning pale. I didn't look back as I walked out. In the back of the cab, I opened my Snapchat chat with Zev. He had just sent a message: [My chest hurt so bad just now. Are you hurting too?] I stared at it for a long time, then smiled. I sent him a screenshot. It was the photo of the river nightscape he had sent me last week. In the reflection of the glass, half of Carter's face was clearly visible, along with the watch I had bought him. And Samantha's hand, resting heavily on his shoulder. The "typing..." indicator on the other end stopped. I slowly typed: [Carter, your acting is terrible. I've known Zev was you since day one.]
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