The day Christopher screwed his assistant, I went online and posted a tweet: "Urgently seeking a new husband. Must be handsome, a sweet-talker, squeaky clean, with 10/10 loyalty. $100k/month allowance, full benefits package included. First come, first served." That night, the internet exploded. "Award-Winning Actor Brawls with Male Models for a 401(k)!" "Famed Screenwriter and A-List Director Trade Blows for Pocket Money!" … A week later, Christopher returned from a business trip abroad. I was at home, playing cards with a few A-listers, my face covered in lipstick marks from losing a round. His eyes were bloodshot. "Clara, don't you love me anymore?" I glanced at him, a wild smile spreading across my face. "Christopher, it's not that I don't love you anymore." "It's that the Clara who loved you is already dead." "She died the night you and your little assistant were kissing and groping in your office, ignoring her desperate calls for help." 1. After I got sick, I left the entertainment industry. I rarely left the house, except for appointments with my therapist. Friends slowly drifted away. Nothing held my interest anymore. But today, a sudden, sharp longing to see Christopher hit me. So, for the first time in ages, I went to his company. Standing outside his office, I saw a young woman lying on the sofa across from his desk, her face deathly pale. Christopher handed her a cup of hot ginger tea, then leaned over to tuck a blanket around her stomach. "If you feel this bad, why don't I give you the day off? Go home and rest." She took the cup, her voice firm despite her condition. "A good assistant doesn't let her boss work all alone." Christopher gestured with his chin toward his private lounge. "Then at least go lie down in there for a while." The assistant took a sip of the tea, a playful glint in her eyes. "I can't do that, Professor. You're a married man now. I have to keep my distance." Christopher let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head in fond exasperation. And then, his eyes lifted and met mine. The smile on his lips froze. I stood there, momentarily stunned. I was still processing that smile—the one he’d just given his assistant. My illness had dulled my senses, but as I replayed the moment, it hit me. It had been a long, long time since he’d smiled that freely, that easily, in front of me. But the moment passed. His expression shifted back to the familiar, composed mask he always wore around me. He walked toward me. "Clara, what are you doing here?" He reached for my hand, but I flinched back, a pure reflex. Christopher's hand hovered in the air, suspended. "Well, well, a surprise inspection from the boss's wife," the young assistant chirped, holding the cup Christopher had given her. She stood beside him, beaming, and extended a hand to me. "My name is Chloe. I graduated from Axton University, too. Do you remember me?" Chloe... Chloe... I studied her face. After a few seconds, it came back to me. This wasn't the first time I'd seen her. She had been in the same department as Christopher at university, a few years behind him. She’d fallen for him the moment she saw him during her freshman orientation. She was bright and energetic, a little sunbeam, and she pursued him with a fiery passion. Back then, I was already in the industry. Christopher and I were deeply in love, but my schedule meant I couldn't always be by his side. He, however, was meticulous about shutting down any interaction that might threaten our relationship. He told her flat-out that he had a girlfriend and completely ignored her advances. Naturally, she didn't believe him. A girlfriend you’ve never seen is like Schrödinger’s girlfriend. She thought it was just an excuse. It wasn't until I finished a shoot and returned to campus that she finally accepted the truth. I remember the look on her face—pure dejection, her eyes welling with tears. She gave me a pathetic glance and asked, "Can I at least get his number? For school stuff? The romance is dead, but my GPA can't be!" Before I could answer, she turned to Christopher, pleading, "Professor, if I can't win your heart, can you at least let me be a regular classmate? You're a legend in our department. I'll definitely have questions about coursework later on. You have to lend a hand!" She sounded so innocent, so open. But how did Christopher respond back then? He'd said, "Sorry." "That's not necessary." "You can ask the professors if you have questions about your studies." I won't deny it; I was ecstatic. Standing by my side, he had given me all the security in the world. Now, all these years later, Chloe was still the same person—a sunbeam, warming everyone around her. And I... I had lost all joy for life. I was a black hole, swallowing any light that dared to come near. 2. In the end, Christopher gave Chloe a half-day off to go home and rest. I spent the entire afternoon in his office, waiting for him to finish work. He was in meetings. I just stared at the half-empty cup of ginger tea Chloe had left on the coffee table. After work, I sat in the passenger seat of his car. As he leaned over to fasten my seatbelt, my eyes landed on a small figurine on the dashboard. It was a soft, adorable little white rabbit. It wasn't the kind of thing you'd expect a man as stoic as Christopher to have. The rabbit's sweet, plush face seemed to smile at me, but a thick, heavy gloom settled over my heart. I stared at it for a long time before I finally spoke. "So, Chloe graduated." "Yeah," Christopher replied, then quickly explained, "Last year. She sent her resume to our company right after graduation. We were short-staffed, and I saw her potential, so I hired her." He sounded like he was trying to soothe me, but the more he said, the more it felt like he was digging a hole. He eventually fell silent. The flicker of energy and interest I'd felt earlier that day had completely vanished. I didn't have the strength to ask any more questions. I just leaned my head against the window, watching the city blur past. Maybe, for the sick person I had become, it wouldn't have mattered. Even if he had said "that's not necessary" today, just like he did all those years ago, even if he had given me all the security in the world, I still wouldn't have been able to feel any happiness. 3. After seeing his smile in the office that day, I started paying more attention to him. It seemed he was always being patient with me, always accommodating me. Perhaps it was because of my illness. He used to share funny stories from his startup days, finding humor in the struggle. He used to text me during work, saying he missed the coffee I made for him, the chicken soup I cooked. He used to listen patiently as I chattered on about the bizarre drama of the entertainment world. He used to share his joys, his sorrows, his every thought. Now, the only emotion he ever showed me was a gentle, careful tenderness. It was as if, without realizing it, I had lost the desire to share anything but my unhappiness. And in doing so, I had dragged him into my black hole. We still held each other as we fell asleep. We still ate breakfast facing each other. On the surface, nothing had changed. But there was a chasm between us, unspoken and deep. The image of Christopher's easy smile in front of Chloe haunted me. It had been so long since he'd looked that relaxed around me. I was the one making him unhappy. I had to change. Our wedding anniversary was just a few days away. Maybe a bouquet of flowers, a cake, or the coffee and chicken soup he used to crave could help pull me out of this state, help us tear down the wall between us. So, on the day of our anniversary, I called him. "Christopher," I said, "I bought roses today, and a cake. I made chicken soup, and I brewed some fresh coffee." So, will you come home early for dinner? Christopher was probably surprised by my sudden burst of enthusiasm. He was silent for a moment before replying, "I have an urgent project tonight, I have to work late. But I'll be home before midnight." "I got you a gift. Wait for me, Clara." "Okay. I'll wait." I hung up and sat alone in the dim candlelight. The vibrant roses, the sweet cake, the fragrant soup on the table—none of it could bring me an ounce of joy. There was only an endless darkness, threatening to swallow me whole. Finally, I packed up the soup and the cake, grabbed the roses, and walked out the door. I'll go to him. Maybe if I go to him, I can escape the darkness, escape the silence, escape this crushing, suffocating helplessness. By the time I drove through the night and reached the underground parking garage of his office building, I saw him rushing out of the elevator. Before I could even get out of my car, he was in his, engine roaring as he sped away. He was in a hurry. He had abandoned his "urgent project." There was something more important. Was he coming home? Home to drink my soup, eat cake with me, and celebrate our anniversary? Or... I followed him. I told myself that if he was going home, I couldn't let him wait too long. But five minutes later, I knew he wasn't heading home. As the night grew darker, so did the storm clouds in my heart. Subconsciously, I already knew the truth, but a part of me was still fighting, still desperately clawing for another explanation. Maybe... maybe it's just my illness making me paranoid. I kept my foot on the gas, tailing him. Staring at his taillights, a dark, extreme impulse surged through me. What if I just crash into him? End it all, right here, together. Then nothing I feared could ever happen. As we approached an intersection, the light turned yellow. I didn't slow down. A large truck was approaching from the right. If I ran the red light, maybe I could push both our cars under its wheels. Then we would die. And I would never have to face the bloody reality that was waiting for me. A deafening BLARE from the truck's horn jolted me back to my senses. I slammed on the brakes. "What the hell is wrong with you? You wanna die?! Don't take the rest of us with you!" a driver yelled from his window. I was awake now. My heart hammered against my ribs. I slumped over the steering wheel, drenched in a cold sweat, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. I really was sick. So sick that even my desire for death had become this venomous. The light turned green. I suppressed all the horrifying thoughts and followed Christopher. He pulled up to an apartment complex and got out of his car in a flash. He ran right past me without a second glance. He was on the phone, his voice urgent as he rushed into a residential building. "I'm almost there!" I sat in my car, staring at the building for a while, before I finally followed him inside. The elevator was broken, surrounded by yellow "Under Maintenance" signs. But the voice-activated lights in the stairwell were on. Christopher must have taken the emergency stairs. I stood at the entrance, looking at the dimly lit steps that seemed to lead into the maw of some great beast, ready to devour me. But I went in anyway. One step, two steps... One floor, two floors... I followed the sound of his running footsteps, trailing in the wake of the lights his presence activated, climbing step by step, all the way to the thirteenth floor. The lights on the fourteenth floor didn't turn on. His destination was here, on the thirteenth. I climbed a few more stairs and sat down on the landing between the thirteenth and fourteenth floors. Then, I heard frantic footsteps. Christopher's voice was laced with panic. "Hang on, I'm taking you to the hospital right now." I slowly peeked around the corner. I saw Christopher, carrying a moaning Chloe in his arms, rushing out of her apartment and down the stairs. He was so worried, so desperate. His entire focus was on the pale, fragile woman in his arms. He didn't see me. The voice-activated lights flickered on one by one as he descended, and then winked out behind him, plunging the stairwell back into darkness. Only the faint green glow of the "EXIT" sign remained. I sat there, letting the darkness swallow me whole. Something had changed, long before I ever realized it. In Christopher's heart, there was now something more important than his company, more important than me. My phone alarm went off. It was midnight. "Happy anniversary, Clara," I whispered to myself. 4. Going down those thirteen flights of stairs felt infinitely harder than climbing them. Each step was a descent deeper into a personal hell that seemed to have no end. Below me, a dizzying sea of concrete steps. Ahead, the terrifying, gaping mouth of the darkened stairwell. A vicious, self-destructive whisper echoed in my mind. Just fall. Just throw yourself down the stairs. It would be so easy to die, to stop this lonely, arduous journey. When Christopher came back from taking his precious assistant home, he could find my body on his way out. What a shame, though, about the cake, the roses, and the chicken soup. I closed my eyes and lifted my foot. All I had to do was step into the emptiness... Ding. The sound of a notification on my phone was jarringly loud in the empty stairwell. I froze. I stood there in the dark for a long time before I finally opened my eyes and looked at my phone. It was a message from Christopher. Clara, something urgent came up. Can't make it back. Sorry. I stared at the name—Clara—and finally, step by step, I made my way down. I found a homeless man on the street and gave him the cake, the flowers, and the soup. Then I drove home, alone. Insomnia was my constant companion. I was used to it. I lay with my eyes open until two in the morning, when Christopher finally came home. He went straight to the bathroom. When he slipped into bed and wrapped his arms around me from behind, he whispered, "I'm sorry." Sorry for what? For not making it home before midnight? Or for finding someone more important, for abandoning me to climb thirteen flights of stairs for her? I never found the answer, not even as the first light of dawn broke through the window. I just turned to him as he got out of bed and said, "Christopher, I don't want Chloe to be your assistant anymore. Can you let her go? Make her leave the company." Christopher’s hands, busy with his tie, paused. After a long moment, he finally said, "Okay." It was an unspoken understanding. I didn't even need to give him a reason. 5. Christopher agreed, but I felt no joy. After he left for work, I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring at the sycamore tree in the yard for the entire morning. A phone alarm finally jolted me back to reality; it was already noon. I'd given last night's soup to a stranger, but a stubborn part of me still wanted Christopher to have it, as if that simple act could somehow mend the cracks between us. So, I made a new batch and took it to his office. But he wasn't there. The office was empty. His secretary stammered something about him stepping out for an urgent matter and being back soon. I nodded and sat down in his chair to wait. My medication was running low; it was almost time to see my therapist again. The pills weren't doing much, anyway. My mind just felt foggier. I was lost in thought when the door opened. I looked up, and my eyes met the visitor's. "Clara?" It took me a moment to recognize him. He was Leo, Christopher’s college roommate, his best friend, and his business partner. He was looking for Christopher. "He's not here." Leo nodded but didn't leave. He sat down on the sofa across from the desk. "I know. He's at the hospital." "Chloe was admitted last night. Stomach hemorrhage. He went to see her." My hand, resting on the desk, trembled slightly. It felt like another tear had been ripped into my heart. But Leo kept talking. "Our company's grown so fast, and with more deals come more dinners, more drinking. Chloe's had to come with us to a lot of those functions. She’s so young, and her stomach is already a wreck." He sighed. "Man, with her in the hospital, you can really feel something's missing. After a grueling morning, Christopher and I would have lunch with her, and it was like we were instantly recharged. Her personality… she’s so full of life. A total firecracker, a little sunbeam. I love having her around." So that was it. That was why Christopher smiled so freely around Chloe. She was his firecracker, his sunbeam. She was his light. I thought my heart was so numb, so scarred, that it couldn't feel pain anymore. But those words—firecracker, sunbeam—sent fresh waves of agony through me, leaving my already mangled heart a bloody mess. All I had now was a black hole of emotion. The one thing I could never be was a light. "If she left," I heard myself whisper, as if asking Christopher himself, "if that sunbeam left the company, what would happen to you?" "People are drawn to light, Clara." Leo looked at me, his expression complicated. "I know you and Christopher have been together for years. I've watched it all. You sacrificed so much for him. You worked yourself to the bone taking roles to fund his business. You lost your first child for him. You missed your father's last moments because he couldn't get back in time." "But I don't think those things should be chains, binding you both." He spoke with such sincerity; I could tell he'd wanted to say this to me for a long time. Every word was another stab to my heart. Back then, to make more money, I took on so many acting jobs. I always got too deep into my roles, unable to shake them off. The emotions of a hundred different characters lived inside me for so long that I eventually got sick. Then came the miscarriage, my father's death... one blow after another, and my illness worsened. I only ever knew my own pain. I never realized that, to others, he was suffering in this prison with me. "After you got sick, he had to manage the company and take care of you," Leo continued. "I'm his friend. I've watched him run himself ragged between work and home. I've seen him grow more and more withdrawn. I know how hard this has been on him. I honestly thought he was going to collapse. And then Chloe showed up..." He looked me straight in the eye. "Do you get it? With you, you're the one who needs to be taken care of. With Chloe, he's the one being admired and supported. She's a huge asset to him at work, and in life, she's a constant source of positive energy. For a while now, the only time he genuinely smiles is when he's around her." "I know what you're thinking. They're too close, so you want Christopher to fire her. But there's really nothing going on between them. It's always the three of us together. I'm always there." "If something was going to happen, it would have happened back in college when she was chasing him so hard. Why now? You know how much Christopher loves you." "But if you take away the one positive thing in his life right now... are you trying to drive him insane? Turn him into you?" "Clara, the truth hurts. Just... think about it." Long after Leo left, his last words echoed in my head. Are you trying to drive him insane? Turn him into you? I am a burden. I was the one making everyone miserable. Christopher had to take care of me, so all he could offer was a mask of gentle concern. I pulled the bottle of pills from my pocket and swallowed them all. So, this is all my fault? 6. In the end, Christopher never got his soup. He didn't return to the office that afternoon. His phone went straight to voicemail. Instead, I was summoned to the old family estate by Christopher's mother. The moment I walked in, she pointed at my thermal container. "Pour that out and fill it with the soup I made. Take it to Christopher. I made it specially for him, hoping he'd come for dinner, but he called this afternoon and said he's catching a flight abroad for business tonight. If you hurry, he can have some before he leaves." A heavy rain had started to fall. It had taken me two hours to get here from the office; there was no guarantee I'd make it back in time. But I knew his mother had never liked me, had always looked down on me. Staying would just mean more of her passive-aggressive torment. I didn't argue. She rushed me out the door. As I was changing my shoes in the entryway, I heard her say to a nearby maid, her voice dripping with disdain, "Finally, she's gone. I've been watching Christopher for a while now. It's obvious he has a thing for that little assistant." "He's just clinging to some misplaced guilt for that jinx. The assistant ending up in the hospital is the perfect catalyst. I bet Christopher is rolling around in bed with her right now. If that little jinx walks in on them, all the better." "I want her to know that feelings are the most unreliable thing in this world! Once the love she clings to as her only saving grace is tainted, we'll see if she still refuses to get a divorce!" I stood frozen at the door, the container heavy in my hand. I don't remember getting into my car or how I ended up on the highway. All I remember is being blinded by a pair of high beams. I swerved to avoid a truck, and the car tumbled, flipping over the edge of a cliff. It came to a jarring halt halfway down, stopped by a cluster of trees. A thick branch had punched through the car and straight through my shoulder. The searing pain jolted me back to my senses. Leo’s words, his mother's words... they all came flooding back. Suddenly, I had no will to live. I was a burden. My only foundation was gone. It was better this way. Isn't this what I'd been wanting? But a voice seemed to whisper my name. Clara. Clara. So annoying. But she sounded like she really cared. She didn't want me to die. Clara. Clara. With a sigh, I slowly opened my eyes and dialed 911. But I'd lost too much blood. My consciousness was fading. It was pitch black, and I had no idea where I was. I couldn't give them my location. The operator was getting impatient. Forget it. I hung up and dialed Christopher. The phone rang and rang until it automatically disconnected. No answer. My phone had three bars of battery left. In this rain, it could die any second. My vision was blurring. In a daze, I dialed his number again, but my mind suddenly drifted away, back to his office. It was empty, but I could hear sounds coming from the private lounge. I floated through the door. What I saw inside made me freeze. I had always believed that nothing and no one could ever come between Christopher and me. Not even Chloe. I had even tried to deceive myself with Leo's words, telling myself that Christopher would never cross that final line. But there they were. Christopher and Chloe, fingers intertwined, lost in a passionate kiss. On the nightstand, an open box of Durex. His phone lay on the carpet by the bed, vibrating, the screen lit up with my name: Clara. It vibrated until the screen went black. "Haha..." I covered my face with my hands, a laugh bubbling up from my chest. It was hilarious. Utterly hilarious. My phone was dead. And in my current state, I was probably dead too. I had gambled my last breath on Christopher, the person I trusted most in the world, and I had lost. They had finally crossed the line. Just like on our anniversary, when faced with a choice between me and Chloe, he chose her. Last time, she was sick, and he chose her. This time, I was dying, and he still chose her. He chose to lose himself in bed with her, deaf to my cries for help. Now, I was dead. He was free. I was no longer his burden. But if I'm dead, why does my heart still ache like this? As if it's being shredded by a thousand knives. A sudden gust of wind blew through the window, knocking over a lamp. The room plunged into darkness, and the sounds they were making became even more piercing. The only mercy was that I was suddenly back in my own body. I was lying alone in the wilderness as the rain poured down on me. I stared up at the oppressive, black sky and slowly closed my eyes. Maybe it was better to die like this, quietly, alone. I would no longer be a burden to anyone. "Clara?" A voice called my name again. But I had no strength left to answer. "Clara?" The voice persisted, unwilling to give up. But I could feel my soul dissipating. My last conscious thought was a question: If I had never gotten sick, if I had let Christopher go, let myself go, how would I have lived? And then, in the vast, desolate wilderness, I dissolved into the biting wind and the cold, unforgiving rain. 7. When I regained consciousness, I was in a hospital. A police officer handed me my phone. He said I had dragged my broken body from the bottom of the ravine to the side of the road and flagged down a passing car. That’s how I got here. I had no memory of it. The doctors said my wounds had healed at a miraculous rate; otherwise, I never would have made it. I couldn't explain it either. After everyone had left, I held my shattered phone and plugged it in. It was surprisingly resilient; it turned on. But there were no missed calls from Christopher. My desperate plea for help from the night before had vanished without a trace. But this time, I felt no sadness. I could even let out a small, derisive laugh. It was as if after dying once, the illness that had haunted me for so long was just... gone. The memories with Christopher felt like they belonged to another lifetime. I was no longer a participant in our story, but an observer. There was a dull ache, a suffocation, but no heartbreak. And that ache wasn't for our love, but for the person I used to be. I felt sorry for her. The old me, the me before the illness, the me whose parents were still alive, the me who wasn't trapped in a cage with Christopher—that me could have lived more fiercely than anyone. I loved him, and sacrificing for him wasn't my mistake. Getting sick wasn't my mistake. My illness was not an excuse for Christopher and Chloe to get together. He could have divorced me to free himself. But he shouldn't have used my sickness as a justification to let his heart wander, to end up kissing and groping her in his office before our marriage was even over. Clara, you wanted to know how you would have lived without the illness, without Christopher, didn't you? Watch closely. Without these chains, you can be happy. You can be the sunbeam, the firecracker. You can be a black hole of emotion. But you will never, ever be anyone's burden again. 8. I checked myself out of the hospital that night and found my old phone. After I got sick, I had cut myself off from the world, unwilling to interact with anyone. Every word of concern felt like another source of pain. So I got a new phone, a new number, and sealed away all my old friends, family, and the millions of fans on my social media accounts. I left myself with only one person: Christopher. Perhaps the old me had clung to him as my only support, my only light in the darkness. But I didn't need that light anymore. I turned on the old phone, and the first thing I did was block and delete Christopher's number, kicking him out of my life for good. Then I found a lawyer in my contacts and asked her to draft a divorce agreement for me. My friend, either fearing I'd change my mind or having anticipated this for a while, drew it up and sent it over in record time. "Damn, Clara! We've been calling you for a year, showing up at your door, and nothing. I honestly thought you were going to be stuck on Christopher for the rest of your life." I saved the divorce agreement, forwarded it to Christopher's email, then printed out a few copies, signed them, and replied to my friend with a smile. "How boring would that be? Why give up an entire forest for one rotten tree?" I couldn't believe those words came out of my mouth. My friend seemed just as surprised. The chat bubble showed her typing for a long time, but no message came through. After all, the old me—even the pre-illness me—would never have said something so audacious. But who cares? I'd died once. Now, I was going to live freely. The pain, the constraints, the conventions, the love, the suffering—I was done with all of it. I placed a signed copy of the divorce agreement on the table just inside the front door, where he couldn't miss it. There was nothing else I wanted to take. Holding my old phone, I walked out of the home Christopher and I had once shared. I logged into the social media account that had fifty million followers but had been dormant for over a year. I typed out a post and hit send. "Urgently seeking a new husband. Must be handsome, a sweet-talker, squeaky clean, with 10/10 loyalty. $100k/month allowance, full benefits package included. First come, first served."
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