1 When Mom was terminally ill, her only dying wish was to see me married. I begged my boyfriend, John, for twenty-seven days. Finally, he agreed to go to City Hall with me. But I waited there until closing time. He never showed. That same day, John’s childhood sweetheart, Tiffany, posted their marriage certificate on social media, captioning it: “Can’t believe it’s almost been a month already. Three more days to our one-month anniversary!” It hit me then. The very first day I’d asked him, he’d already married his childhood sweetheart. A text from John popped up: “Emily, Tiffany’s family is forcing her into an arranged marriage. I couldn’t just watch her go through hell. We’ll be divorced in three days. Then, I promise I’ll marry you.” Three days later, John, dressed in a sharp suit, stood at the City Hall entrance. All he received was my message: “John, goodbye forever.” In the morgue, I gazed at Mom’s peaceful face, tears streaming down. She’d raised me alone, asked for nothing, and I’d failed her most sacred, dying wish. When she was sick, I’d begged John, my boyfriend of six years, to marry me. I wanted her to know I’d be cared for. But he’d put me off for twenty-seven agonizing days: The first day, Tiffany’s car broke down and he had to pick her up. The second, he had to help Tiffany move. On the twenty-sixth, Tiffany had a stomach bug and needed looking after… If Tiffany hadn’t posted that marriage certificate, I’d still be completely in the dark. I knelt by Mom’s hospital bed until dusk. John called, his voice still infuriatingly gentle: “Where are you so late? I’ll come get you.” Usually, I’d whine and play stubborn, but now, I couldn’t utter a single word. When he heard I was at the hospital, he promised to rush over. Ten minutes later, a text popped up: “Emily, I have to deal with Tiffany’s family right now. Next time, I promise I’ll see your mom.” For the past two years, “next time, for sure” had been his go-to excuse. Missed our anniversary? Next time. Blew off seeing Mom? Next time. Put off getting married? Tomorrow, for sure. He knew I'd always forgive, always bend, and that's why he broke me with such casual cruelty. Mom wouldn't have a “next time,” and neither would I. 2 That night, I stayed at the hospital, watching over Mom. John sent countless messages and made countless calls. I ignored them all. First thing next morning, I arrived at the company, ready to draft my resignation. John founded this company. I’d been by his side since he had nothing, building it from the ground up. Now, my presence felt utterly meaningless. My vanishing act would barely cause a ripple in his world. As I printed the documents, John suddenly appeared behind me. I calmly picked them up, but he didn't seem to notice my sudden distance, still speaking in that infuriatingly gentle tone: “Done printing?” He called me to his office. When he tried to embrace me, I stepped back. “Mr. Hayes, this is the office.” He frowned, then promised: “Don’t be mad. I’ll go with you to see your mom tonight.” I shook my head. “No need.” Mom was gone. More than anything, I couldn't bear for her to know I was now labeled “the other woman” because of John. I'd always despised people who broke up families; after all, that's exactly why my own father abandoned Mom and me. John seemed to sense something was off, quickly scrambling to explain: “Just two more days until I can divorce Tiffany. Then we’ll get married, I promise.” He handed me a gift box. “This ginseng is for your mom, to help her recover.” His “sincerity” came too late. Mom didn't need it anymore. He was about to say more when his phone rang, interrupting him. He glanced at me, then answered the call and left. Whispers drifted from nearby desks: “Mr. Hayes is married now.” “No wonder Emily kept their relationship secret – she's the other woman!” “She always claimed to hate homewreckers, what a hypocrite!” I stood frozen, a bone-deep chill seeping from my soles, crawling through my veins. I knew that was Tiffany calling. After all, she was John's legal wife now. My heart remained still. Empty. Because I simply didn't care anymore. After that, I submitted my resignation. Vice President Davies seemed oddly prepared for my sudden request. “Emily, I’m sure Mr. Hayes has everything arranged for you.” I bit my lip, the absurdity of it all hitting me. It was as if everyone had decided I was John's 'kept woman,' a gilded cage canary at the company. They thought he'd prepared my gilded cage. But they couldn't grasp that I was his rightful girlfriend, a woman now utterly broken, about to leave. Leaving the company, I ran straight into John and Tiffany at the elevator. 3 Seeing me, John's gaze flickered, and he instinctively started to explain: “Please don’t misunderstand, I brought Tiffany here to…” Before he could finish, Tiffany slipped her arm through his: “Just showing my husband around his company,” she purred. I said nothing. Tiffany spoke again: “Emily, you don’t mind, do you?” She fixed me with a taunting stare. Silently, I stepped out of the elevator, clearing their path. John watched me, hesitation clouding his eyes, as if he wanted to say something, but Tiffany tugged him away before he could. That afternoon, at the crematory, I watched Mom’s body turn to ash. I laid her to rest in the cemetery. Night fell. John never showed. Not a word, not a text. I didn't care. Without his presence, Mom's passage felt more peaceful. I knew her spirit, wherever it was, wouldn't want me to be entangled with him anymore. She wouldn't want to see me marry him. Our six years together, they had to end. Here. Now. Leaving the cemetery, I walked all the way home. It had been a long time since I'd walked alone at night. First, I held Mom's hand. Then, I leaned on John's arm. From now on, I'd walk by myself. I knew I'd get used to it. It was past midnight when I finally got home. The living room light was on. John was sprawled on the couch, texting. The moment I walked in, the anxious frown on his face softened, and he rushed toward me, reaching for my hand: “Where have you been? You didn't answer your phone, didn't reply to my texts. Do you know I was about to call the police?!” I flinched, pulling my hand from his grasp. “I was with my mom,” I said, my voice flat. “I didn't want her disturbed.” At the mention of Mom, John's face contorted with guilt, remembering his empty promises from earlier. Suddenly, he looked at me with an almost desperate hope, pulling a small box from his pocket and solemnly presenting it. I took it, opening it instinctively. Inside, a diamond ring shimmered. My breath hitched. He'd once held my hand, swearing he'd put a ring on my finger, hand me a marriage certificate, and let Mom witness my happiness. I'd waited countless days, hoped countless times. But that was before. I closed the box and handed it back. John's brow furrowed slightly, as if something clicked, and he said, a touch awkwardly: “It’s past midnight now. Just one more day, and I can divorce Tiffany.” “Don't worry,” he added, “I’ve always remembered my promise. Tomorrow, I'll put this ring on your finger myself, and then we’ll go get married.” His empty words of devotion didn't touch me. I simply stated, detachedly, “Alright, I get it. I’m tired. I’m going to rest.” John's smile froze. For the first time, he seemed to sense my indifference. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, and he reached for my hand. Just then, Tiffany emerged from the bedroom, wearing my pajama set. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, but she glanced at me, then immediately linked her arm through John's, whining: “John, Emily’s back already. Let’s just get ready for bed.” John quickly looked at me, scrambling to explain: “Tiffany had a fight with her family. I just let her stay in the guest room for the night.” 4 He stared at me intently, as if afraid I'd misunderstand. I nodded, indifferent. “It’s fine,” I said. “I can stay at Mom’s place for the night.” John froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily. But Tiffany wasn’t about to let me backtrack. She turned, a triumphant smirk on her face, and darted back into the bedroom. When I pulled my suitcase toward the door, John was still standing in the living room, frozen. His lips were pressed thin, his grip on my hand tight, unwilling to let go. The guilt in his eyes deepened, growing heavier. Finally, urged by Tiffany's impatient calls from the bedroom, he spoke: “Tomorrow, after we get married, we’ll go see your mom together.” Dawn broke. I finished packing and headed back to the company for final handover. The moment I stepped inside, colleagues watched me with strange, knowing looks. As I walked past, hushed whispers and pointed fingers followed me. It wasn't until I saw Tiffany sitting at my desk that I understood the bizarre atmosphere. Everyone was staring at their computer screens, yet their eyes kept darting toward the unfolding drama. Seeing me, Tiffany looked up, a smug, arrogant gleam in her eyes. “I’m starting today,” she announced. “I’ll be sitting here. You can find somewhere else.” I looked at her, then nodded calmly. “Alright,” I said. “I’ll just clear out my things.” The company colleagues, witnessing my composure, mistook it for cowardice in the face of the 'rightful wife.' With Tiffany and me standing there, no one dared speak aloud. Instead, they typed furiously on their keyboards, their disdain for me palpable even in silence. I wanted to set the record straight, to explain everything, but the words wouldn't come. After all, Tiffany was John's legal wife. Any more explanations would only humiliate me further. As I finished packing and prepared to leave, John walked over. Seeing me with my box, his face tightened. “Where are you going?” “I—” Before I could answer, Tiffany cut in, “She’s making space for me. I like this spot.” Seeing me about to leave, John quickly grabbed my arm. “No, this desk is yours. No one can—” I cut him off before he could finish. “If she likes it, she can have it.” After all, I’d resigned. Who sat where was none of my business. John, however, stood frozen, his expression unreadable. Only after my back, carrying the box, disappeared from view did he snap back to reality. John shoved Tiffany aside, who had been humming as she cleared her desk. Then, in front of everyone, he slapped her hard across the face. “Did our sham marriage give you the wrong idea, make you think you could walk all over me?!” “Did you forget?” he snarled, “I warned you not to mess with Emily!” After I left the company, my phone buzzed with texts from John. “I’ll be waiting for you at City Hall tomorrow.” “I’ve arranged for specialists to see your mom tomorrow.” “After we get married, we’ll go see your mom together.” I smiled, a sudden, bitter taste in my mouth. John, goodbye. I gathered my luggage and headed for the airport. The next day, John stood at the City Hall entrance, clutching his freshly signed divorce papers.
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