1 The moment Daniel’s father was rushed back into the emergency room, Daniel fled to a secluded corner of the hospital, his eyes bloodshot, phone pressed to his ear. “Chloe, I’m falling apart,” his voice cracked. “Can you just… talk to me for a bit?” Hidden behind a door just down the hall, I couldn't hear the voice on the other end. But I didn't need to. In that instant, I knew it was over between me and Daniel. He was under an immense amount of pressure, after all. His father was in and out of the ICU, with doctors constantly handing us grim prognoses. His company was hemorrhaging investors, who weren't just pulling their projects—they were taking the capital with them. The weight on his shoulders was crushing. And now, there was a girl who could soothe that pressure. A girl who could buy him a simple bubble tea and make him feel a flicker of peace. What chance did I have? I was the girlfriend whose three calls a day had become a burden. What right did I have to cling to him, to drag this out any longer? Daniel had once promised we’d get married in his thirty-second year. It was a silly, sentimental thing. His grandmother, a woman who read tarot cards like most people read the news, had sworn that if he didn’t have a major "joyful event" to ward off the bad luck in his thirty-second year, he’d face "a cage of steel"—her dramatic way of saying jail time. So I waited. I waited twelve long years for him to finally reach that fateful year, for him to be ready to marry me. But as soon as the year began, instead of wedding bells, disaster struck. First, his father had a massive stroke and was hospitalized. Then, one by one, his business partners started pulling out, gutting the company’s most promising projects. The pressure transformed Daniel. He was either chain-smoking on the balcony or collapsing into bed, the breath rattling in his chest, too exhausted to even speak. My own life was its own special kind of hell. I’d confidently told my mother at the New Year’s party that this was it, this was the year. Now, six months had passed in silence. Her calls became more frequent, her tone sharper with each one. “What is going on with you two? You swore this was the year! What happened?” “Do you have any idea how old you are? You’re thirty-two, Eve! You and Daniel have been together since college. Look around you! Your friends who started dating years after you are already married with kids in kindergarten. What are you waiting for?” Every conversation was a new wave of anxiety. At first, I tried to be patient. I’d explain, “Daniel’s company is in trouble, his dad is in the hospital. I can’t bring up marriage right now.” But her nagging wore me down until one day, I snapped. “If you want to get married so badly, you go do it! Why are you pressuring me?” The stress of that argument sent my mother to the hospital with heart palpitations. So there I was, juggling my job, looking after Daniel’s father, and now, my own mother was in a hospital bed. My head was a constant, buzzing hive of stress. And my mom, she wasn’t done. Lying in her bed, she’d weep and threaten me, the heart monitor beeping erratically beside her. “If you don’t marry Daniel this year, Eve, I’ll die. I swear it.” I couldn’t be the reason my mother died. I caved. I promised her I would talk to Daniel that very night. “Are you insane?” he roared when I brought it up. “Eve, my father is dying in a hospital bed, my entire life is falling apart, and you want to talk about getting married?” His words struck me like a physical blow, and the air left my lungs. My face went pale. It took me a moment to find my voice, my lips trembling. “Daniel, don’t you remember? Your grandmother… the prophecy. If you don’t get married this year, you’ll…” He stared at me for a second, a flicker of something in his eyes, before it was replaced by pure rage. “You actually believe that crap?” he spat. “It was just something I made up to get you to stop bringing up marriage every five minutes! You’re obsessed!” My heart didn’t just drop; it shattered. It plunged into an icy abyss. He didn't even seem to notice me standing there, frozen in shock. He just turned and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. After that, a wall of ice went up between us. He wouldn’t answer my calls. He’d leave my texts on ‘read.’ Two weeks ago, I couldn’t take it anymore. I went to his office. It was like stepping into a different man’s world. His minimalist desk was now cluttered with tiny, cheerful green plants and a collection of colorful designer vinyl figures. And his usual black Americano had been replaced with a strawberry boba tea. Daniel hated strawberries. For twelve years, he’d hated them. A chill snaked its way into my soul. As I stood there, reeling, a muffled sound drifted from the conference room. A sob. I knew that sound. It was Daniel. I’d heard him cry like that in his sleep for months now. My heart hammering against my ribs, I crept towards the conference room. Through the glass wall, I saw him. His head was buried in the shoulder of a young woman, his back shaking with ragged sobs. His hands were wrapped around her waist, clutching her like a drowning man holding onto a piece of driftwood. “Chloe,” he choked out, “I’m so tired. I feel like I can’t go on.” The girl gently stroked his back. “Shhh, it’s okay,” she murmured. “Everything’s going to be okay. If the company fails, it fails. We’ll figure it out. And your dad will get better. You have to believe that.” Hearing her words, Daniel lifted his head and kissed her. A deep, desperate kiss. The world went cold. I was so stunned, so horrified, that the thought of storming in and confronting them didn't even cross my mind. All I could do was stumble backward, my only instinct to flee. Later, I did some digging. Chloe Reed. An intern he’d hired a year ago. A former classmate from his high school. They had even had a brief, bittersweet romance back then, one that ended when he left for college. When I found out, I locked myself in my apartment for three days. But how do you just sever a twelve-year bond? I wasn’t just heartbroken; I was furious. I wasn’t ready to give up. So I started clinging to him, like a fool grabbing at straws. I called him constantly. I begged him to come home. I even humbled myself, apologizing for pressuring him about the wedding. He came home, sometimes. But the warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by a chilling indifference. The dinners I cooked for him would be reheated three or four times before he’d finally walk through the door. I’d text him in the morning—Did you eat breakfast? How are things at the office?—and he’d either ignore me or snap back. Can you just stop texting me? I’m swamped. I don’t have time for this. But I knew the truth. A well-placed designer handbag had bought me a spy inside his office. I had a real-time feed of his daily life. The man who had no time to read my texts had plenty of time to go downstairs for bubble tea with her. The man who was too stressed to talk to me had time to take her shopping and to the movies after work. The memories made my chest ache with a dull, throbbing pain. In the past, if I’d seen him like this—huddled in a stairwell, crying like a lost child—I would have rushed to him, wrapped my arms around him, and whispered, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.” But now? Now, I just watched him for a moment, turned around, and walked away. I found the private nurse I’d hired to care for his father. I handed her a thick folder containing his insurance cards, medical records, medication lists—everything. “Please give these to Mr. Cross,” I said, my voice steady. “And from now on, you’ll need to get your salary from him.” The nurse stared at me, her mouth agape with confusion. I didn’t offer a single word of explanation. I just turned, walked to the escalator, and descended, leaving that part of my life behind me on the floor above. 2 I had barely stepped into the apartment I’d once shared with Daniel, ready to pack my things, when my phone rang. It was him. His voice was a low growl, laced with raw impatience. “Where the hell are you? Eve, have you lost your mind? My dad’s in the middle of a fucking crisis, and you just disappear?” He didn't even wait for an answer. “Do you have any idea how important my meeting this afternoon is?” Hearing that familiar, angry tone, a tremor of pain shot through me, even though I’d been expecting it. I took a deep breath, forcing my own voice to remain calm, level. “Daniel, let’s break up.” There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end. Then, the explosion. “What the hell is wrong with you, Eve? How much more drama can you possibly create? My father is lying in a hospital bed, he could die any second, and you pick now to break up with me?” He was right. The old me would never have done this. For the past six months, no matter how much his stress-fueled anger was directed at me, no matter how cruel his words became, I never once mentioned leaving. I understood. People crack under pressure. Their personalities warp. I had even tried to carry some of his burden, to keep him from completely shattering. I was the one who found the best private nurses. I was the one who pulled strings to get appointments with specialists. I was the one who navigated the bureaucratic nightmare of hospital admissions and surgery schedules. Even when I found out about him and his little intern, I made excuses for him. He’s just under too much pressure. He made a mistake. Just last week, his father’s condition worsened dramatically. The doctor issued three critical warnings in a single day. I called Daniel, no answer. I texted him, no reply. I couldn’t let his father die. In a panic, I borrowed $30,000 from my parents and authorized the emergency brain surgery myself. I saved his father’s life. And for my troubles, I got a slap across the face. “Are you crazy, Eve?” he’d yelled, his handprint stinging my cheek. “He’s an old man! You let them perform brain surgery on him? Is it because he’s not your father that you can be so reckless with his life?” My cheek throbbed, a dull, sour ache, but I didn't dare cry out. I just held my face and tried to explain, my voice trembling. “Daniel, listen to me. The doctor said he wouldn’t have made it through the night without the surgery. You told me… you told me you couldn’t lose your dad. I was just trying to save him.” My eyes filled with tears of fear and hurt. He didn’t care. He just shoved past me and rushed into the hospital room. Then, last night, I saw his text messages. While his father was fighting for his life in the ER, Daniel was on a “getaway to the countryside” with his intern, Chloe, to “de-stress.” And on his frantic drive to the hospital after I finally got through to him, he’d actually detoured to take her to a clinic because she was having period cramps. So, let me get this straight. His father is dying, and he gets to have a romantic escapade with his mistress, but I’m expected to stand vigil outside the ICU like a goddamn martyr until my feet go numb? I choked back the suffocating pain in my chest. “Daniel,” I said again, my voice eerily calm. “What does your father being sick have to do with me breaking up with you? Or do you just subconsciously believe that it’s my duty to stand by you through thick and thin?” I paused, letting the question hang in the air. “I gave you twelve years, Daniel. I think that’s enough, don’t you?” I didn’t wait for his answer. I hung up. What was the point? No matter what I said, he would just see it as me being unreasonable, creating more drama. There can be a million reasons not to love someone, but you only need one to love them. My reason was long gone. 3 I moved out that day, leaving the condo Daniel had bought and returning to my own small apartment. That evening, I texted my mom to tell her it was over with Daniel. I braced myself for the inevitable frantic phone call, the barrage of yelling and accusations. But it never came. She just replied calmly, asking if I wanted her to come stay with me for a few days. I said no, even managed to joke with her on the phone for a bit. But the second I hung up, the tears started to fall. A silent, steady stream. Twelve years. From college sweethearts to something more like family. You can’t just sever a connection like that with a single sentence and not feel the phantom limb. As I was drowning in my own misery, my phone buzzed with a notification from a group chat I’d joined—a support group for families of patients at the hospital. Someone had sent a picture with a caption: “Un-freaking-believable. This guy’s dad is dying in the ICU, and he’s in the men’s room getting it on with some girl.” The picture was a grainy, clandestine shot of two people kissing passionately in a hospital bathroom. It didn't show their faces clearly, but I knew. I knew it was him. The left hand, sliding up the woman’s dress, had a small tattoo on the back of it—a stylized design of my initials. The ring on his finger was the matching couple's ring I had given him for our ninth anniversary. The expensive leather shoes in the shot were the ones I’d bought him just two weeks ago. Even the brand of boxer briefs, visible where their clothes were bunched up, was the one I always bought for him. Was he that desperate? That shameless? The moment I break up with him, he drags his intern into a public restroom? Wearing the clothes I bought him, the ring I gave him, to be with another woman? A strange numbness spread through my chest. The picture was scandalous, and the group chat exploded with comments. I couldn't bear to see any more. Tears streaming down my face, I left the group chat and was about to turn off my phone when an unknown number called. I answered. A soft, gentle voice cooed on the other end. “Hello, is this Ms. Eve Wallace? Hi, my name is Chloe. I’m Mr. Cross’s assistant. I was just helping Daniel organize his things at the apartment, and I noticed that his mother’s heirloom bracelet, the antique one, seems to be missing. I was just calling to ask… did you happen to steal it?” 4 She put a special emphasis on the word steal. Daniel’s mother’s bracelet. He’d pawned it last month to cover a company shortfall. I wasn’t sure if Chloe knew that, but I knew exactly why she was calling. It was a declaration of victory. I’m in his home now. I’m the woman of the house. Everything that was yours is now mine. I didn’t answer her. Instead, I calmly used my other phone to dial 911. Hearing me speak to the police dispatcher, Chloe’s sweet facade finally cracked. “Eve, what are you doing? Why are you calling the police?” I ignored her, finished explaining the situation to the operator, and then finally turned my attention back to her. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Well, Chloe, you accused me of stealing. Words are just words. You wouldn’t believe any explanation I gave you, so I thought it would be best to get the authorities involved.” I paused for effect. “I’ll meet you at the precinct near Daniel’s apartment in twenty minutes.” I hung up before she could respond. Then, I began to put on my makeup. Frankly, I was curious. I wanted to see this woman who had managed to steal Daniel’s heart—or what was left of it—up close. 5 When I arrived at the police station, Chloe was already there. She was wearing a slinky, red silk nightgown I recognized—one I’d left behind because I never wore it. Over it, she had on a designer jacket worth a few thousand dollars—also mine. She looked stunning, a perfect blend of sexy and sophisticated. I took a deep breath and walked toward her. The moment I was in front of her, she burst into tears. “Oh, Eve, I’m so, so sorry!” she cried, her voice catching. “I didn’t know Daniel had sold the bracelet to cover business expenses. It was all a huge misunderstanding. I’ve already explained everything to the officers.” My brow furrowed. Her apology was too quick, too easy. One of the officers chimed in, patting her arm consolingly. “It’s all cleared up now,” he said, giving me a stern look. “It was just a misunderstanding. No need to get so worked up. You’ve scared the poor girl.” Just then, the screech of tires echoed from the street. Before I could even turn around, Daniel’s furious voice cut through the air. “Eve! What are you doing now?” He rushed over, yanking Chloe behind him protectively. He glared at me, his eyes filled with a venom I’d never seen before. “Can’t you just leave us alone?” he seethed. “The second we break up, you drag Chloe to a police station? What is your game, Eve? What kind of revenge are you trying to get?” He shoved his phone in my face. On the screen was a screenshot of the chat logs between me and the employee I’d paid to spy on him. “Look at you! Is there any line you won’t cross? Threatening me to get married, hiring people to spy on me… you’re disgusting.” My gaze shifted from his phone to the girl cowering behind him. I saw the triumphant, defiant glint in her eyes. I understood. This was her plan all along: to make Daniel and me tear each other apart for good. I didn’t say a word. I simply stepped forward and slapped him. Hard. The sharp crack echoed in the night air. “Daniel,” I said, my voice dangerously low, “I’m the one who found out you were cheating. Shouldn’t you be the one who’s scared?” His face paled slightly. Seeing his reaction, a bitter, mocking smile touched my lips. “I was with you from college until now, Daniel. When you started your business with nothing, I supported you. When you were at your lowest, my salary paid our bills. And what did you do? You refused to marry me. For the last six months, I’ve been the one taking care of your father, running around like a madwoman trying to save him. And you? You were screwing your intern.” I took a step closer, my voice rising with every word. “You scream at me because you’re stressed, because your company is failing, and I tried to understand. I bent over backwards to understand. And all along, you were betraying me. Now you have the audacity to stand here and question me? Do you even have the right?” The last words were laced with all the pain and fury I’d been holding back. Did he have any idea what the last six months had been like? My hair falling out in clumps, crying myself to sleep every night, desperately trying to save a man who wasn’t even my own father. And for what? So he could find solace in the arms of another woman. My vision blurred with tears. Maybe it was the sight of my tears, but a flicker of something—humanity, perhaps—returned to Daniel’s eyes. He hesitantly raised his hand, as if to wipe a tear from my cheek. But before his fingers could touch my skin, Chloe shot forward from behind him, slamming her body into mine.
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