I was folding his laundry when he spoke, his voice casual. "You know, sometimes, you're just... cheap." My hands froze mid-fold. Before I could form a reply, he plowed on. "Don't get me wrong, you love me, I know you do. You're responsible, you take good care of me, of the house. But you just can't compare to Helen." He sighed, a sound of profound disappointment. "Anyone could do what you do. It's nothing special. It's not like what I have with Helen." My mind flashed back a month ago, to when his ex-girlfriend had invited him to a concert. I’d told her he wasn’t going. He was still holding it against me. I dropped the shirt I was holding and turned to leave the room. The irony was suffocating. Just this morning, my boss had offered me a position at our overseas division. A huge promotion. I had turned it down. For him. But now, as I was finally ready to walk away, to give his precious Helen the space she so clearly wanted… Why would he end up crying, begging me to come back? 1 I threw the half-folded laundry onto the bed. Ethan didn’t move from his chair, just watched me walk to the door. "What, was I wrong?" he challenged. "There's another show tonight, isn't there?" I said, my hand gripping the cool metal of the doorknob. "Is that what this is about? All this passive-aggressive bullshit? Go. I don't care." He’d never heard me talk back to him like that. A slow, incredulous smile spread across his face. "You really think you can stop me?" "Do whatever you want." "Amelia!" he snapped, his voice sharp. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Was anything I said untrue? Will you be happy if you force me to go?" "I told you," I said, my voice flat. "Do. Whatever. You. Want." I pulled the door shut behind me. A few steps down the hall, I heard the satisfying crash of a glass shattering against a wall. I sat in a Starbucks, stirring a latte I couldn't afford, scrolling through my phone for Ms. Davenport's number. For years, I’d been pinching every penny for the down payment on our first home. The most expensive drink I ever bought myself was a slushie from the corner store. This Starbucks… it wasn't as magical as I'd imagined. But the feeling? The freedom? That was priceless. Ms. Davenport answered on the second ring. I didn't waste any time. "Ms. Davenport, that offer for the overseas division… is it still on the table?" There was a pause on the other end. Then, a warm laugh. "It's yours if you want it, Amelia." "I want it!" "And your wedding plans with your boyfriend…?" "We broke up," I said, the words tasting like liberation. There was no sympathy, no awkward condolences. Instead, she actually snorted. "Good. It's about time you came to your senses." For six years, everyone in my life had gently, and not-so-gently, reminded me that my career had far more potential than my relationship. That I shouldn't have to put my life on hold while Ethan got his feet back on the ground after his failed startup. But I couldn't bear to leave him when he was at his lowest. I stayed. The hilarious part? His ex, Helen, was the one who had dumped him back then because he was broke, running off with some rich kid she met in Europe. Now that Ethan was successful, she was back, sniffing around for a second chance without, of course, giving up her lavish lifestyle. My phone buzzed. A new Instagram story from Helen. It was a picture of her and Ethan, their faces projected onto the giant screen above the concert stage. They were nestled close, their hands forming a heart for the camera. The entire arena could see them. No one would doubt for a second that they were a couple. The caption read: After all this time, the right person is still waiting right where you left them. And right below it, a single "like" from Ethan. I took a screenshot and fired it off to my best friend. I can't deal with these two psychos. A question mark came back instantly, followed by a screenshot of Helen's empty profile. My friend couldn't see the story. I checked with a few other people. Same thing. Helen had set the story's privacy so only certain people could see it. No, not people. Just one person. Me. A cold smile touched my lips. I blocked her number and deleted her contact. 2 By the time I left Ms. Davenport's office with the signed contract in my hand, most of my anger had dissipated, replaced by a thrilling sense of purpose. I was scheduled to fly out in a week, and I had no intention of spending another minute playing maid for Ethan. But when I got back to our apartment to pack, I found it already occupied. The place was a disaster. Helen stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding a plate of blackened, incinerated chicken wings. "Oops," she chirped, looking at Ethan. "Is it okay that I made such a mess, sweetie?" Ethan, a notorious neat freak, just shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Amelia will clean it up." "I feel so bad," Helen pouted. "I'm just useless at housework…" "Hey, don't say that," he cooed. "This kind of stuff isn't for you, anyway." I walked straight past them, heading for the bedroom to grab my suitcase. Ethan stared, stunned into silence for a moment. Helen put down the plate of charred remains and followed me. "Amelia, I— ah!" I shoved her out of my way. It wasn't hard, but she reacted as if I'd hit her with a battering ram, stumbling dramatically and collapsing onto the floor. "Helen!" Ethan rushed to her side, helping her up. He glared at me. "Amelia, she's my guest! If you're going to be angry, be angry with me!" My fists clenched. Ignoring them, I started yanking my things out of the closet, tossing miscellaneous junk onto the floor. A folder slid out from a shelf and fluttered to the ground, landing right at Helen's feet. She picked it up. Her eyes scanned the top page. Her face crumpled, and her eyes welled up with tears. She dropped the folder as if it were on fire and spun around to leave. "Helen, wait!" Ethan grabbed her arm. She struggled, her voice choked with sobs. "Let me go! You two are already engaged!" I glanced down. It was the paperwork for our engagement party venue. 3 Ethan held onto Helen's wrist, but despite her tearful performance, she wasn't actually trying very hard to get away. "Amelia," Ethan said, his voice tight with frustration as he struggled to hold onto her. He shot me a furious look. "Apologize." I stared at him. "For what?" "If you hadn't pushed this whole engagement thing, she wouldn't be this hurt right now! You pretended to be cleaning out your closet, but you just wanted her to see this, didn't you?" A harsh, bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Ethan, I never realized how stupid you could be." He blinked, taken aback. I turned my attention to Helen. "Let me get this straight. You couldn't tell we lived together? You didn't know we were a couple? If that's the case, why were you calling me his 'sister-in-law' earlier? You knew everything. So who is this little 'I'm the innocent, heartbroken victim' act for?" Her eyes reddened further. She made another show of trying to leave, and Ethan tightened his grip. "Amelia! That's enough!" I ignored him and went back to packing. Helen's voice rose in a dramatic wail. "Don't stop me! She already misunderstands everything! You're engaged! I never should have come here!" "Amelia!" Ethan snapped, his grip on Helen unwavering as he glared at me. "Apologize. Now." My hands balled into fists so tight my knuckles were white. "No." "Are you sure about that?" My chin jutted out. "I'm sure." Ethan stared at me for a few long seconds, his jaw tight. Then, he bent down and picked up the engagement papers. "See? This is why you'll never be as good as Helen," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "All you know how to do is play these petty, jealous games. It's so obvious you've never been out of the country. Your worldview is pathetic compared to hers." With that, he ripped the folder in half. "Since you won't apologize, I guess this engagement is off. You can keep this worthless piece of paper for all I care." He tore it again, and again, until the documents were nothing but confetti in his hand. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he flung the scraps into my face. He didn't look back. He just grabbed Helen's hand and walked out. I snatched our framed photo from the nightstand and slammed it onto the floor. A spiderweb of cracks fractured the glass, splitting our smiling faces apart. I kicked it across the room until it slid to a stop next to the trash can. 4 Three days passed. Not a word from Ethan. We used to talk every single day. Our Snap streak was over two thousand days long. Though, if I was being honest, I was the one who started the conversation for more than half of those days. In just three days, the little flame icon vanished. I was in my hotel room, finalizing handover documents for my old job, when his name flashed on my screen. It was the first time he'd called. "You're not home?" he asked, his voice flat. "Do you need something?" I replied, not looking up from my laptop. A picture message came through. It was our apartment. The trash was overflowing. There were dirty dishes in the sink, caked with dried food. A pile of his wrinkled shirts lay in a heap on the bed. You've had your fun. It's time to come home now, his text read. The apartment is a mess. You should show a little more concern. "What about Helen?" I typed back. Helen tries to help, but she's not good at this stuff. She's used to a certain lifestyle, Amelia. She didn't come back here to do chores. I didn't have time for this. You're a successful man, Ethan. Hire a maid. He was silent for a moment. Then, another text. Even the best maid isn't as thoughtful as you. Helen has high standards. They just don't measure up. You're insane, I wrote, and then hung up. He called back immediately. I blocked his number. A minute later, I got a notification from my bank. The joint credit card had been frozen. It was the card Ethan had given me. After his startup failed, I was the one who supported him, encouraged him, and took care of everything at home so he could rebuild. I turned down promotion after promotion to be his stable foundation. In six years, he became the respected CEO everyone looked up to, while I remained a junior associate. The card was supposed to be his way of thanking me, of providing for me. In reality, most of the money went to household expenses. He was freezing it to force me to come crawling back. I had never been more grateful for Ms. Davenport. A separate notification glowed on my screen: a direct deposit from the company. My promotion bonus. I didn't need his money anymore. The next day, I was at Starbucks putting the final touches on my paperwork when I saw them. Ethan and Helen. I stood up to leave, but Helen spotted me and walked right over, a sickly sweet smile on her face. I couldn't understand how she had the audacity to approach me after I had made my disgust so clear. In the clumsy shuffle as I tried to get past her, my folder of documents slipped from my hand, scattering papers across the floor. She bent down, her eyes widening as she read the top page. "A transfer letter?" she gasped. "Sister… you're going to the overseas division!" 5 I snatched the papers from her hand. Ethan was staring at me, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. "You're… leaving?" Helen's eyes filled with tears instantly. "Sister, did you do this because you knew I wanted to apply for that division? Are you trying to show me up?" I was speechless. Helen started swaying, her hand flying to her forehead as if she were about to faint. She stumbled, collapsing into Ethan's arms. He held her, his brow furrowed in disapproval as he looked at me. "Amelia, is this what this is about? You see that Helen has international experience, so now you want to copy her? That division was her dream! What do you think you're doing, applying at the same time?" "This transfer is being revoked!" he declared. I clutched the letter to my chest. "No, it's not." "Ethan," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "I'm curious. It's her dream, so she's allowed to go. But I want it, so I can't? What's the matter? Are you afraid to let her go?" He hesitated. "I can't hold her back… She didn't come back to be tied down by me. I can visit her. I will always respect her freedom." A knot tightened in my chest. "So you weren't angry when she abandoned you all those years ago?" Ethan closed his eyes for a moment. "She had her reasons. It wasn't fair to ask her to struggle with me. Amelia, these overseas opportunities are rare. Be good. Withdraw your application. I'll pull some strings and get you a better job here. Just stop competing with Helen over everything." Crack. The sound of my hand hitting his cheek echoed through the quiet coffee shop. Helen shrieked and threw herself between us. "Sister! Don't take it out on him!" she cried, grabbing my arm, tears streaming down her face. "I won't go, okay? Please don't fight with him because of me, I—" Crack. Another slap, this time across her face. Her words died in her throat. "What are you two yapping about?" I asked, my voice cold as I carefully placed the transfer letter back in my folder. Ethan pulled Helen behind him, shielding her. "You're crazy!" he yelled. I gave them both a look that could freeze fire. "I'm leaving. That was my decision. Nothing either of you says will change that." Then, my eyes landed on Helen. "And don't you ever pull that pathetic act in front of me again. It's embarrassing." Without another word, I turned and strode out of the Starbucks, leaving them in a stunned silence amidst the shocked stares of the other customers. I could feel Ethan's gaze on my back, a new, unfamiliar look of surprise in his eyes. He gritted his teeth. 6 I was on my way to drop off the last of my files, stopped at a red light on a deserted stretch of road, when a car slammed into me from behind. I stomped on the brake, but the car behind me didn't stop. It accelerated. I laid on the horn, a frantic, useless blare as the force pushed my car forward. The impacts kept coming, one after another, until my car was violently shoved into a concrete retaining wall. The world spun. Half my body was thrown out the open window, my chest crushed between the deployed airbag and the driver's seat. I couldn't breathe. This area was desolate. There was no one around to see. My phone was gone, flung somewhere into the wreckage. The door of the other car finally opened. Helen emerged, teetering on high heels. With tears already streaming down her face, she made a phone call. A few minutes later, Ethan's car screeched to a halt nearby. "Ethan! Help me!" I managed to gasp, the pain in my ribs blinding. "Ethan, honey! Over here!" Helen cried from where she was now sitting on the pavement, clutching her ankle and shivering. Ethan’s eyes darted between me, covered in blood and struggling for air, and Helen, with a minor scrape on her ankle. He clenched his jaw, and then walked right past me to scoop Helen into his arms. "Ethan!" I screamed, using the last of the oxygen in my lungs. "Help me first! Just… call 911! I can't… I can't breathe…" "Stop being so dramatic," he snapped, his voice laced with annoyance. "It won't take me long to get her to the hospital. I'll send an ambulance back for you. Can't you stop competing with her for one second? Can't you see how much danger she's in?" "Ethan, I—" But he was already gone, placing Helen gently in his car. My pleas were lost in the dust kicked up by his tires as he sped away. I don't remember passing out. I don't remember who found me or called the police. I woke up in a hospital. Thanks to a passerby, I had received treatment in time. My injuries were serious, but not life-threatening. The first thing I did was file a police report. I found out which room Helen was in. The license plate from the scene matched her car, and the police immediately opened an investigation. But when they questioned her, Helen just wept. "I'm so sorry… sister. I don't know what happened… I… I was having an episode." "An 'episode' gives you the right to kill someone?" I screamed, slamming my hand on the table. "Do you have any idea how close I was to dying?" "That's enough!" Ethan shoved me back. "She has depression! Stop harassing her!" "Depression?" I frowned. Of course, a psychiatric evaluation report was promptly shoved in my face. "She was in the middle of a depressive episode! Do you have any idea how much she suffers?" he roared. I took the report, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. "You can buy one of these from any shady clinic for the right price. What kind of 'depressive episode' allows someone to so precisely find a spot with no cameras and keep their foot floored on the accelerator? This wasn't an episode, it was attempted murder!" "Why can't you just leave a sick person alone? Does she have to die before you believe she's ill?" Ignoring Ethan's fury, I grabbed the front of Helen's hospital gown. "Fine. Let's have the police doctors determine if she's really sick." "Ahh! No!" Helen started trembling violently. I had barely touched her, but she flinched back as if I'd struck her, stumbling and crashing into a medical cart. The equipment clattered to the floor, and a sharp edge sliced her arm. Police officers rushed into the room. Ethan's jaw was tight with rage. "Officer, I'd like to report Ms. Amelia Vance for assault and disorderly conduct!" Soon after, Helen had a new psychiatric evaluation. This one was stamped and signed by a reputable doctor. When Ethan personally handed the report to the authorities, I saw the doctor's signature. It belonged to one of Ethan's business partners. "Ethan, I'm the victim here!" I cried, my voice raw. He instinctively moved to shield a cowering Helen. "Alright. According to the public security laws, you'll be held in a detention center for a while. I'll come get you in fifteen days." Over his shoulder, I saw a triumphant smirk flash across Helen's face. And then I understood. All of it. It was her plan from the start. My flight was in two days. Fifteen days in jail, and I would miss the deadline for my overseas transfer. My position was a one-off opportunity. If I didn't show, Ethan could easily use his influence to get Helen the job instead. And she, thanks to her "mental health issues," would walk away without facing any legal consequences. "Ethan, you can't do this to me! You're fabricating evidence!" Helen's eyes welled with tears again. "Sister, do I really have to die before you'll believe me?" With a dramatic cry, she lunged toward the wall, ready to smash her head against it. Ethan shot out a hand, cushioning the impact between his palm and the wall. Slap! His other hand struck my face, his eyes blazing with fury. "Don't you have a heart?" "Ethan!" I screamed, trying to lunge at them, but the police, alerted by the commotion, quickly intervened and separated us. "Ma'am, if you continue, your detention will only be longer," one of the officers warned. I could only stand there, teeth gritted, as I watched Ethan gently lead Helen away. His last words echoed in my ears. "I'll come for you in fifteen days." All hope drained out of me. My one chance. My escape. It was gone. I spent two days in a numb haze in the holding cell. They had taken my phone. Ms. Davenport had no idea what had happened. In a few hours, when she couldn't reach me, she would probably leave without me… I felt a pang of guilt. She had tried to promote me so many times, and when I finally accepted, I ended up standing her up. "Amelia Vance?" A police officer was at my cell door. "Come on. Someone's posted your bail."
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