At the spa for my year-end appointment, I discovered my VIP account had been used by a stranger. I logged into my personal profile. The last three treatments on record weren't mine. The preferences section was filled with meticulous detail: an allergy to rose oil, a preference for lavender, a note that the hot stones must not exceed 108 degrees Fahrenheit. It even noted a menstrual cycle around the fifteenth of each month, a time to avoid any abdominal treatments. I stared at the screen, my palms growing cold and damp. The only person who knew the password was my husband, Sebastian. He’d said he needed it occasionally to check the balance and top up the account for me. My finger scrolled down, and a system note caught my eye: “Birthday treatment reserved for Dec 30th. Prepare according to Ms. Kingsley’s preferences.” Today was December 30th. My phone buzzed. A text from Sebastian: “Working late tonight. Won’t be home.” A familiar laugh echoed from the hallway. Through the glass door, I saw Sebastian with his arm around a woman, leading her into the room next door. A therapist greeted them at the door. “Mr. Kenin, Ms. Kingsley’s birthday treatment is ready, just as you requested.” Wait, the name Kenin is forbidden. Let's choose another one. How about "Mr. Davenport"? “Mr. Davenport, Ms. Kingsley’s birthday treatment is ready, just as you requested.” 1 The smile on Sebastian’s face froze. His arm, wrapped around the woman, fell stiffly to his side. He strode towards me, his brow furrowed as if I were the one who had done something wrong. “Rory, what are you doing here? Why didn’t you answer my text?” I recognized the woman behind him, the one he called Ms. Kingsley. It was Penelope, the daughter of his late mentor, a name he mentioned often. She wore a simple white dress, her long hair falling over her shoulders. Her face was pale, giving her a fragile, pitiable look. I didn’t answer Sebastian’s question. I just let my gaze drift from the screen—the screen that detailed another woman’s every preference—to his face. My voice was calm, betraying none of the storm raging inside me. “Aren’t you supposed to be working late?” Sebastian took a deep breath, visibly trying to suppress a wave of emotion. He didn't answer directly. Instead, he stepped forward to take my hand, but I instinctively pulled away. His hand hovered awkwardly in the air, his expression darkening. “Let’s talk about this at home, okay? There are too many people here.” Penelope, the woman behind him, crept forward, her eyes already red-rimmed. “Sebastian, this is all my fault. Have I caused a misunderstanding with Aurora? I’ll explain everything. I begged Sebastian to let me use the card. My health is poor, and the doctor said I need regular physical therapy, but I just don’t have the money…” As she spoke, tears began to stream down her cheeks. “Aurora, please, don’t blame Sebastian. He was just taking pity on me. The birthday treatment was meant to be a surprise. He said I’d never had a proper birthday growing up. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know this account was so important to you. I’ll never use it again!” It was a masterful performance, twisting the truth until it was unrecognizable. She painted herself as an innocent, casting Sebastian as a benevolent saint and me as the petty, overreacting wife. Sebastian immediately rushed to her defense, his voice laced with a sharp reprimand aimed at me. “Rory! Stop it. Penelope’s health is fragile. You’re scaring her.” When he turned back to Penelope, his voice softened, becoming gentle enough to soothe a frightened bird. “It’s okay, Penny. Don’t cry. It’s not your fault. It was my mistake; I should have told Rory beforehand. You go on in for your treatment before you catch a chill.” He even took off his tailored suit jacket and draped it solicitously over Penelope’s thin shoulders. In that moment, a chilling cold seeped into my bones. It was late December in Bayside. The temperature outside was near freezing. I was slightly swollen from my pregnancy and could only fit into a pair of thin flats, leaving my ankles exposed to the biting wind. And yet, the only person he saw, the only one he worried might get cold, was another woman. I watched their effortless intimacy, a scene that made me feel like an intruder in my own life. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an icy fist, and every breath was a sharp, stabbing pain, like inhaling shattered glass. “Sebastian.” My voice trembled, a mixture of cold and rage. “Why did you give Penelope my card?” He paused, then his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What’s the big deal? I told you, she’s my mentor’s daughter. I thought if I shared the card with her, it might help you two get along. I was doing it for your sake.” 2 “For my sake?” A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. “Doing it for my sake was using my money to arrange this… this bespoke, meticulously planned service for her?” My accusation struck a nerve. The color rose in his cheeks, and his tone turned cold. “Aurora, must you be so unreasonable? Penelope’s father was my mentor; he gave me my first big break. On his deathbed, he asked me to look after her. What was I supposed to do? She’s an orphan, all alone in the world, with fragile health. What’s wrong with me helping her out a little? It’s just a few thousand dollars for some spa treatments. That’s nothing to us. Can’t you be a little more generous?” “Generous?” I repeated the word, the irony of it a bitter taste in my mouth. He always had an excuse. Penelope was his mentor’s daughter, so she needed his care. Penelope’s health was poor, so she needed his concern. Penelope was a lonely orphan, so he had to give her the warmth of a family. And what about me? What about the child I was carrying in my womb? His child. What did that make me? In the end, I was the one who backed down. I refused to make a scene in public, to devolve into a screaming shrew. That would only make me look more pathetic. Sebastian drove me home. The silence in the car was heavy, suffocating. He must have realized he’d gone too far, because he softened his tone and tried to placate me. “Alright, Rory, don’t be angry. I was wrong. I should have told you first. I promise, it won’t happen again. I’ll go change the password on the account tomorrow. From now on, it’s just for you, okay?” He pulled up to our building and turned to me, taking my hand. His palm was warm and dry, radiating the same sense of security it always had. “And with Penelope… I’ll be more careful about boundaries. But she’s my mentor’s only child. I can’t just abandon her.” “Just… think of it as charity. Don’t hold it against her, alright? She’s not like you. You grew up cherished by your parents, and now you have me. She has nothing.” It was the same speech I had heard a thousand times before. I was tired. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t feel well. I want to go up and rest.” Seeing that I had dropped the subject, he visibly relaxed, a smile returning to his face. “That’s my girl. A pregnant woman shouldn’t be stressed. It’s not good for the baby. Come on, I’ll carry you upstairs.” He was always so attentive, so caring. He would peel fruit for me, and when my morning sickness was at its worst, he would patiently rub my back until it subsided. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have believed he loved me to his very core. And so, the incident was seemingly forgotten. True to his word, Sebastian changed the spa account password the next day and cancelled the secondary card, leaving only the primary one in my possession. He became even more gentle and attentive, catering to my every whim. My mother hired the best nutritionist, who prepared an endless variety of nourishing pregnancy broths for me. The first thing Sebastian did every day when he got home from work was sit with me until I finished my soup. “You’re working so hard, my love. For our baby. Just a little more.” He would carefully skim the fat off the top and feed it to me, one spoonful at a time. I was almost fooled by his performance. I almost convinced myself that what I saw at the spa was just a misunderstanding, a figment of my imagination. Until the day I found an identical thermos in the trunk of his car. It was empty, but the faint, lingering aroma of a specific herbal bone broth with turmeric and ginger still clung to the inside. It was the same broth I had had the day before. I remembered it clearly because I disliked the taste of turmeric and had only managed half a bowl. Sebastian, insisting that nothing should go to waste, had said he would finish the rest. But he hadn't finished it. He had poured it into another thermos and given it to someone else. To Penelope, who also needed to keep her strength up. In that moment, my heart sank to the deepest, coldest depths of my soul. I didn’t say a word. I just silently placed the thermos back where I found it. A few days later, it was time for my prenatal check-up. Sebastian had long promised to come with me, but just as we were about to leave, he took a call, and his expression changed instantly. “What? A leak? Okay, drive safe on your way back. I’m on my way now!” He hung up and looked at me, his face a mask of apology. “Rory, I’m so sorry. A pipe burst in Penelope’s apartment. The place is completely flooded. She's on her way back there now, I have to go check on things.” 3 “Can you ask my mom to go with you to the appointment? I’ll head to the hospital and meet you there as soon as I’m done.” Penelope again. Her emergencies always had such impeccable timing. I looked at his anxious face and asked quietly, “Is it that important? More important than our child?” He froze, as if he couldn't believe I would ask such a thing. “Rory, how can you say that? They’re two completely different things! This is a safety issue, it could be dangerous! Your check-up is just a routine scan. My mom will be with you, you’ll be fine. Be a good girl and don’t overthink it.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be back before you know it.” With that, he grabbed his car keys and left without a backward glance. The moment the door clicked shut, the living room was plunged into a dead silence. He’d said his mom would go with me. But his mother was currently enjoying a vacation at a resort in the Caribbean. Sebastian knew this better than anyone. Just two weeks ago, he had driven her to the airport himself, telling her to have fun and not to worry, because he would take good care of me. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, the pressure so intense I could barely breathe. I leaned against the wall, taking slow, deep breaths, telling myself not to get agitated. For the baby. It was fine. I could do this without him. I picked up my phone, intending to call my best friend, Sloane, and ask her to come with me. But then I remembered she had a crucial contract negotiation today. I didn’t want her to drop everything for me. I would go by myself. I got changed and made my way down to the underground garage. When I reached our usual parking spot, I stopped dead. The space was empty. My little white sedan, the car I had driven for three years, was gone. It was a twentieth birthday present from my father. He had said he hoped the road of my life would always be smooth and clear. That car had been with me through my college graduation and my marriage to Sebastian. It was one of my most treasured possessions. Sebastian had insisted that it was safer for me not to drive while pregnant, so I hadn’t even been down to the garage in nearly six months. A profound sense of unease washed over me. With a trembling hand, I dialed Sebastian’s number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. The background was filled with the sound of rushing water and Penelope’s soft, delicate sobs. “Rory? What is it? Are you feeling unwell?” Sebastian’s voice was clipped, impatient. “I’m a little busy right now. The main water valve won’t shut off. The place is a disaster.” I forced myself to remain calm. “Sebastian,” I said, my voice dangerously even. “Where is my car?” There was a few seconds of silence on the other end. “Oh, the car,” he said, his tone casual. “Penelope’s place is pretty remote, and it’s hard to get a cab out there. I let her borrow it a while back. I forgot to tell you. Did you need it today? Just take an Uber to the hospital. It’s easy enough.” 4 “You gave her… my car?” My voice echoed in the cavernous, empty garage, laced with a despair I hadn’t realized was there. Every trinket hanging from the rearview mirror, I had chosen myself. No one had ever sat in the passenger seat except for my parents and Sebastian. And now, with a casual, offhand remark, he had given that private, precious piece of my life to another woman. “It’s just a car, isn’t it?” Sebastian’s patience had clearly run out. “Aurora, can you please not cause trouble for me right now? Penelope is dealing with a flood here! I have to go. Just take a cab, I’ll reimburse you for the bill.” Beep… beep… beep… He had hung up on me. I stood there, phone in hand, staring at the empty parking space, feeling like the world’s biggest fool. Reimburse me? Did he really think everything could be measured in dollars and cents? Did he think my dignity, my love, my very heart, had a price tag? In the end, I called a ride-share. Sitting in the back seat, I watched the city blur past my window. The winter sun was a pale, weak disc in the sky, offering no warmth at all. The driver was a chatty middle-aged man who, probably noticing my pale face, tried to lighten the mood. “Off to the maternity hospital for a check-up, ma’am? You’ve got that glow. I’m sure the baby is perfectly healthy.” I managed a weak smile but said nothing. We were stopped at a red light when my gaze drifted out the window and froze. In the lane next to us was a familiar white sedan, parked at a crooked angle. It was my car. And behind the wheel was Penelope. She was wearing a full face of makeup and a chic, cream-colored cashmere coat. She was looking in the rearview mirror, applying lipstick with a faint, triumphant smile on her face. The lipstick was a limited-edition shade I had just bought last week. I had left it in the car’s glove compartment, still unused. The light turned green. Penelope, clearly an inexperienced driver, slammed on the accelerator. The car shot forward, swerving dangerously and nearly sideswiping the car next to it, earning a chorus of angry honks. She seemed to panic, jerking the steering wheel back and forth. “What is this woman doing? She’s a menace,” my driver muttered under his breath. My heart leaped into my throat. I watched in horror as my car careened through the traffic. It scraped against the back of a city bus, then swerved sharply to the right, heading straight for us. It all happened in a flash. I heard my driver’s terrified scream, followed by the gut-wrenching crunch of metal on metal. The violent impact threw me forward. My abdomen slammed into the back of the front seat. A searing, tearing pain exploded from my core, radiating through every inch of my body. The world spun, and everything went black. In the last second before darkness took me, I felt a warm gush between my legs. The vibrant red bloomed across my white dress, a fatal flower.
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