Late one night, I stumbled upon my wife and the heir to the Wynott fortune, locked in a passionate kiss. My wife, Mackenzie, froze in panic. The heir, Scott, was the picture of calm. I walked right up to them with a big, friendly smile. "Sis! Bro! Fancy seeing you two out here." The next day, I was handed the deed to a 2,000-square-foot apartment in Manhattan. 1 My wife is exceptionally beautiful. We were college sweethearts. We got married right after graduation, moved to New York, and crammed ourselves into a tiny walk-up in Queens. I adored her. Just looking at her face, I could never bring myself to resent our poverty. I only hated my own inability to provide for her, to give her the life she deserved. I worked myself to the bone, but in a sinking economy, just not getting laid off felt like a victory. I was a failure as a man. Mackenzie and I scrimped and saved, dreaming of buying a place of our own. It’s the quintessential American dream, after all. But this was New York. The prices were astronomical. Our meager savings were a drop in an endless ocean. We were destined to fail. 2 Lately, I’d noticed Mackenzie was becoming even more beautiful. Being poor, I couldn't tell designer brands from department store knock-offs. But I knew her clothes, her shoes—they all looked better, tailored to fit her perfectly. Her skin glowed. She looked like she did back in our freshman year of college. Mackenzie has always been the perfect woman: gentle and sweet by day, insatiable and alluring by night. Seeing her blossom like this, I finally felt like I was seeing a rose in its proper garden, not wilting in a forgotten pot. 3 My boss is Isabelle Wynott, a titan of New York society. Her younger brother is Scott Wynott, the heir to their family's empire. I was just one of thousands of employees in their massive corporation. But one day, Scott showed up at my desk just to see me. He looked me up and down and said, "So, you're Leo." The cologne he wore was the same scent that had been lingering on Mackenzie. The chain around his neck was the other half of a matching set to the one Mackenzie had recently started wearing. That weekend, I told her I was going out shopping, but instead, I staked out a spot near our apartment building. Soon enough, a sleek sports car, utterly out of place in our rundown neighborhood, pulled up to the curb. Scott’s car. Mackenzie got in. I broke down and cried like a child. 4 I wasn't angry. I was just heartbroken. Desperate. It was my fault. I was useless, so my wife had been lured away by the glittering world outside our cramped apartment. I knew I could make a scene. I could scream at her for betraying me, for wasting my youth. But what good would that do? Mackenzie was a kind woman. She was beautiful, and she had spent the best years of her life with me. Waking up to her face every morning, sleeping next to her perfect body—it was the greatest happiness I had ever known. What right did I have to resent her? Besides, she was too good. I couldn't bring myself to blame her. I told myself that real love means forgiving everything. It means only blaming yourself. It means always feeling like you owe the other person more. I should be the one to set her free. A woman as beautiful as her was always destined to fly away from my impoverished nest. Like a flawless diamond, she was never meant to stay in a shack for long. It was fate. 5 But I couldn't let go. What if Scott got bored of her? What if he cast her aside, and I had already divorced her? Wouldn't she be all alone, feeling like the whole world had abandoned her? So I stalled, pretending I knew nothing. Until one night, I worked late and got home around 9 PM. There, right under the flickering streetlight in front of our building, I saw them. Mackenzie and Scott, locked in a deep, searing kiss. My mind went blank. I just stood there, frozen. My heart ached. My wife. I was destined to lose you. Mackenzie saw me. Her eyes, wide with shock, met mine. It hit me then. I’d forgotten to tell her I was working late. She must have thought I was already home. Damn. So much for plausible deniability. The sadness was overwhelming. Scott, however, didn't flinch. Just as you’d expect from an heir. Cool as a cucumber, even in the face of disaster. I had to learn from him. 6 I walked forward, my voice booming with forced enthusiasm. "Sis! Bro! You guys out for a walk too?" Scott stared at me, completely bewildered. "What did you just call her?" I wiped a tear from my eye and said with utter sincerity, "Bro, this is my big sister." Scott burst out laughing. He laughed so hard tears streamed down his face. To be so relaxed in the middle of a scene like this… I was genuinely envious. Mackenzie was still looking at me with a tragic expression, as if she'd been forced into this. "You're a real piece of work," Scott said, still chuckling. I shook my head quickly. "Bro, I'm just a poor guy." Scott leaned in and gave Mackenzie another quick, possessive kiss. He was handsome, effortlessly charming. Mackenzie, pale and beautiful, looked stunning even in her distress. A perfect picture. She was being kissed by another man. And deep down, I felt a strange flicker of pride. That's my wife. Good enough to be poached by the best. Scott got in his car and drove off. Even the exhaust fumes smelled like money. 7 Back in the apartment, Mackenzie stood before me, her eyes red. "I'm sorry, Leo. I was vain. I couldn't resist the temptation." Seeing her tear herself apart like that broke my heart. When you truly love someone, you have to think about their long-term happiness. I took her hands in mine. Her fingers were long, pale, and warm. I'd always loved holding her hand, loved the feel of her hands on me. She was perfect. I couldn't even hate her. We sat down on the sofa together, and I apologized to her. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I couldn't make enough money to give you a good life. Marrying me has made you suffer." She shook her head. "No, it's my fault. I have no ambition. I said I was studying for my certification exams, but I just went shopping and wasted time. I failed you." "You're so beautiful," I argued. "If you hadn't married a broke guy like me, you wouldn't need to study for anything. It's all because I'm useless." We went back and forth like this for ten minutes. I realized it would never end if I didn't stop it. "Mackenzie," I said, my voice firm. "We need to talk." 8 When we were young, we thought love was all we needed. Now, we had love, but our life was a constant struggle. My worldview had been shattered. I looked at her and said, "Mackenzie, since Scott likes you, you should be with him. He's handsome, and I can tell he really cares about you. I'd feel better knowing you were with him." She shook her head, tears welling up. "The one I truly love is you. Him… he… he spent so much money on me. Every time I was in trouble, he was the one who solved it… I just couldn't resist…" She explained everything. Her father's gambling debt—fifty thousand dollars that Scott had paid off. Her mother's surgery—Scott had loaned her the money without a second thought. He was a good guy. He never forced her; he just gave and gave. Mackenzie had told me about her parents' problems before. At the time, I felt like my world was collapsing. Not only could I not help, but my own negativity had made things worse. I had seen her parents as a burden. She was so kind, always thinking of others. We only had three thousand dollars in savings. It was nothing, but if she had given it to her parents, I would have been heartbroken. So she didn't touch it. After that, I just buried my head in the sand and pretended nothing had happened. I was such a coward. Not long after, Mackenzie had told me cheerfully that her family matters were resolved. She even apologized for making me worry. I never knew it was Scott who had helped her. Comparing myself to him, the difference was stark. I was ashamed. "You don't have to explain. I get it. I want you to have a good life. If he can make things easier for you, you should be with him. I love you, and that means I want you to be happy." Mackenzie stared at me, stunned. The look on her face was killing me. I pulled her onto my lap. "Let's get a divorce tomorrow. If he ever dumps you, you come back to me, and we'll get remarried." "Tonight… can you be with me one last time?" Mackenzie was silent. 9 I eventually convinced her. We went and signed the divorce papers. I told her she should let Scott know. His reply was a string of "hahahahaha." I was starting to notice that was his favorite response. After we got the papers, I went back to work as usual. My mind was a mess of conflicting emotions. Happiness, because Mackenzie had found someone who could take care of her. Sadness, because I had lost her. Panic. My wife, who had been poor with me, was about to become rich. I was still a nobody. I felt the terror of being left behind. And grief. My love story had lost its battle with reality, and I had been the one to surrender. I was about to cry at my desk when I got a friend request on my phone. The profile picture was Scott's confident, arrogant face. 10 I accepted immediately. I wondered what he could possibly want with me. He sent a single message: "Be at the realty office on Park Ave this afternoon. I'm gifting you a Manhattan co-op." I rubbed my eyes again and again, making sure I wasn't dreaming. Then I immediately sent him three bowing-and-scraping emojis. I quickly typed: "Bro, you're too good to me! I freaking love you, man! Seriously, thank you! Your new brother-in-law won't cause any trouble, I promise. My sister is amazing, but if she ever steps out of line, you just tell me, and I'll set her straight. Oh man, am I texting too much? Sorry, you're busy. I'll be there on time. Bro, anything you need, just say the word. By the way, I've already packed her stuff. Should I drop it off at your place?" Scott replied with another long string of "hahahahahahahaha…" I took that as a good sign. So I texted my now ex-wife: "Sis, should I bring your luggage over to your new place?" Mackenzie: "No need. I've got it." I was so jealous. That afternoon, I took my documents to the realty office and signed the papers for my very own place in New York City. 11 I started sending Scott two messages a day. In the morning: "Good morning, my Prince. A new day has dawned. Your humble servant is online and awaiting your command. Love ya, love ya, love ya!" Accompanied by a heart-eyes emoji. At night: "Good night, my Prince. Hope you have sweet dreams. Call me if you need anything. Your digital valet is always on standby." I used to call him "bro," but one day he said, "Calling me 'bro' makes me feel old." So, I switched to "my Prince." My devotion paid off. On the 19th day of my one-sided morning and evening greetings, he sent me a hotel address and a room number. He wanted me to buy him condoms. His exact word was: "rubbers." You need a certain amount of life experience to understand slang like that. I shot out of bed like a rocket and raced to the pharmacy. I bought every brand, every size, every style. On my way to the hotel, I sorted them into different categories and even bought some emergency contraceptives, just in case. Safety first.
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