After our wedding, Arthur was recruited by Columbia University with a multi-million dollar tenure-track package. I gave up everything to move to New York with him. But three years passed, and I still hadn't even received my temporary resident card. Meanwhile, the female assistant who had relocated to the US with us had already secured her Green Card through Arthur’s connections. Furious, I demanded to return home to Toronto. For the first time ever, the always-calm Professor Arthur Vance had red, teary eyes. He held my hand, begging me to stay. "I'm providing for you, so there's no rush for these documents. Besides, immigration is a formal process. My status is highly scrutinized right now, and I have to avoid any conflicts of interest." "As for Chloe, she left her hometown to follow me to New York for work. Helping her settle down first is what a good boss should do." My heart softened, and I ultimately let go of my suitcase. That was until the day I went to the bank to handle some business. When I pulled out my marriage certificate for verification, the teller told me: "Ma'am, the federal system shows that you are not legally registered as Mr. Vance's spouse. Please verify your documents." I froze on the spot. From the very beginning, I was never his legal wife. So how could there ever be a spousal visa sponsorship or a job arrangement for me? Without a word, I packed up all my belongings and quietly booked the fastest flight back to Toronto. Some farewells don't require saying goodbye. ... When I returned to the apartment, I tried the fingerprint lock three times. Each time, it beeped: “Verification Failed.” That was when I finally snapped out of my shock. I double-checked the door. I hadn't gone to the wrong apartment. It was just that the smart lock was no longer the one Arthur and I had installed together when we first moved to New York three years ago. I called Arthur. "What's wrong?" He answered quickly. "Why was the door lock changed?" It was perfectly fine when I left the house this morning. The other end of the line was silent for two seconds. "Oh, this afternoon Chloe said the lock on her apartment broke. She said she was used to the model we have, and ordering a new one online would take too long. So I took ours off and installed it on her door for now." "I bought a new lock for our place, but I haven't had time to register your fingerprint yet." "Just find a hotel for tonight. I'm working late, so I won't be coming home." Chloe's lock broke? So he uninstalled our front door lock and gave it to her... And told me, the lady of the house, to go stay in a hotel? I thought I had misheard him. I instinctively wanted to argue. But when the words reached my lips, all that came out was a single, "Okay." What else was there to say? It was supposed to be our home, yet it held the fingerprint of an outsider like Chloe Bennett. Didn't he say that when she moved to New York, he even kept a spare bedroom for her in our apartment just in case? Wasn't it only natural that she was "used to" our lock? I hung up the phone. I booked a room at a cheap motel down the street from our luxury complex. It was $150 a night. When I swiped my card, the balance was almost empty. When we first moved to New York, Arthur had given me an unlimited American Express card. Later, Chloe started handling a lot of his personal shopping. His suits, his watches, even the insulated coffee mug on his desk—they were all bought by her. Gradually, he handed the Amex over to her. Instead, Arthur would deposit a $2,000 allowance into my debit account every month. He said she was better at shopping than I was, that she had a better eye for fashion and coordination. She claimed she was simply fulfilling her duties as an executive assistant. I didn't feel like I had the right to argue. That was until our third anniversary. Arthur and I were having a romantic candlelit dinner at home. Just as the mood was getting intimate, the doorbell rang. Arthur went to open it. Chloe stood outside, panting slightly as she handed him a box of ultra-thin condoms. "Professor Vance, it's your special night! I specifically went out to buy these!" She glanced past him at me, smiling naturally. "You always say this brand feels the best. Aren't I thoughtful? Don't I deserve a reward?" Arthur took the box, muttering an awkward "Yeah." She waved and left. The door closed. He walked back to the dining table holding the box and casually tossed it aside. I stared at the box. I didn't say a word. I never knew which brand he preferred... Because we had been trying for a baby, so we rarely used protection. That candlelit dinner felt like pure torture. Finally, he said he had something to handle at the university, grabbed his coat, and left. The moment the door shut, I suddenly understood. I hadn't realized an assistant's duties could be that intimate. That night, I dreamt of my first day arriving in New York. I had walked out of JFK airport dragging two massive suitcases. Arthur was waiting for me right at the arrivals gate. Back then, he was still the man who would tear up with guilt because I had given up everything to run to him. He was the man who would carry my luggage and let me lean on his shoulder when I was exhausted. But then Chloe arrived. Arthur said she had left her entire life behind to follow him, so he had to help her out. So he helped her get her Green Card. He helped her secure a cushy job at the university. I just never expected that, in the end, he would even help her take the lock off my front door... Early the next morning, I went to book my ticket back to Toronto. As I stood at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change, my phone rang. It was a friend back in Canada. "Eleanor, about that background check you asked me to run..." She paused, her voice hesitant. "I pulled some strings, but I could only see the basic registration info. The privacy laws down there are strict, so I can't get the full file." "It's fine," I said. "Just tell me what you found." The other end of the line was dead silent for two seconds. "Arthur's legally registered wife in the US... her last name is Bennett." I gripped my phone, speechless. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine," I whispered. "Thank you." I hung up. The light turned green. The crowd surged past me, and a new wave of people stopped beside me. I stood frozen in place, staring at the glass facade of the building across the street. The sunlight stung my eyes, making them water. Bennett. Chloe Bennett. It turned out his real family had been by his side this entire time. Standing on the bustling New York street, I suddenly let out a laugh. For the past three years, I had exhausted myself trying to prove my worth, desperate not to be just a housewife, that I had ignored so many glaring details. Like how every weekend, he claimed he had "university business" and would disappear for the entire day. When I asked what it was, he would always brush me off: "You wouldn't understand even if I told you." Or the time he forgot his documents, and I brought them to his faculty apartment, only to see two toothbrushes on the bathroom sink—one blue, one pink. But I had never dared to think too deeply about it. ... Pulling my thoughts back, I continued walking. I crossed two streets, turned three corners, and arrived at the airline ticketing office. As I stood in line, I remembered how long the customs line was when I first landed in New York three years ago. Because I was about to see the man I loved, I was acting like a lovesick fool. I didn't feel tired at all. When Arthur picked me up, he spun me around in his arms. Until a young woman waved at him from nearby: "Professor Vance! What a coincidence, Eleanor and I were on the same flight!" It was Chloe Bennett. Arthur smiled, taking her suitcase, and explained to me: "I forgot to mention, Chloe is coming over to continue being my assistant. It's tough for a young girl to move to a new country all by herself." Chloe smiled sweetly. "Eleanor, I look forward to your guidance." My smile stiffened slightly, but I nodded politely. On the ride to the apartment, I quietly watched them chat. When she spoke, Arthur would turn his head and listen intently. When she pointed at the skyline, he would follow the direction of her finger. That unwavering focus, which used to belong solely to me, was quietly being shared with her. I felt a sting of jealousy. But I was also happy for him. Good assistants were hard to find, and having someone he trusted by his side would make his transition at Columbia much smoother. During my first few months in New York, I tried to find a job. But because my major was incredibly niche, I couldn't find anything in my field. Hundreds of resumes either vanished into the void or were met with automated rejections. Growing up, I was an honors student. My path had always been smooth. I had never tasted the bitterness of rejection. During that time, I tossed and turned every night, wondering if I just wasn't good enough. Eventually, out of desperation, I asked Arthur for help. After dinner one night, I sat down next to him. I stuttered, "Um... could you maybe... ask around at Columbia for me?" "Since you have that spousal sponsorship quota... I was hoping, maybe they could arrange a position for me..." I couldn't finish the sentence. I had never asked anyone to pull strings for me in my entire life. Even though employment assistance was a standard perk in his multi-million dollar recruitment package for spouses, my face burned with shame when I asked. It felt like I was doing something dirty. "Yeah," he kept his head down, flipping through a research paper. "If you want to work, I'll ask around when I have time." I felt a wave of relief. But I waited for three months. When I asked him again, he said he was too busy and told me to wait a little longer. Yet, from what I knew, Chloe had been officially hired by Columbia ages ago. An administrative role, weekends off, excellent benefits. Arthur explained it was just standard recruitment. And I believed him. Looking back now, her degree and experience were nowhere near mine. She wasn't fluent in foreign languages, and she even stumbled over basic local professional jargon. Why was it that I, who had submitted the exact same resume to the university, didn't even get a single interview? The answer had been right in front of me all along. I just didn't want to see it... The line moved forward a step. It was my turn. I handed my passport to the agent. The staff member typed on her keyboard, her brow furrowing. "Ma'am, the system won't let me issue your ticket." "Why not?" She turned her monitor slightly toward me. "The federal system shows you have overstayed your visa." I froze. "Overstayed?" "Did your recent extension application get denied?" She glanced at me. "There is no valid legal status for you in the system." I stood at the counter, completely silent. Three years. I had lived in New York for three years, and I didn't even have valid legal status? "Then what do I do now?" "You need to go to USCIS to process the paperwork, pay the penalty fine, and obtain a departure clearance waiver before you can buy a ticket." She slid my passport back to me. "Next in line, please." I stepped aside, making room. The person behind me pushed forward, quickly filling the space. I stood there, staring at my Canadian passport. It turned out I wasn't even legally allowed to be here. Then what were these past three years? Outside the ticketing office, I called the immigration consultant we used. "Mrs. Davis, I wanted to ask, for a case like mine, why has my visa extension never been approved? Now they're telling me I have to pay a massive penalty." Mrs. Davis's voice was as cheerful as ever: "Mrs. Vance! Well, about your situation... logically, it shouldn't be an issue. Your husband is a tenured professor at Columbia. Spousal dependent visas are usually rubber-stamped. Did your husband file the sponsorship paperwork?" "He did." "Then that doesn't make sense..." She paused. "Give me a moment, let me check the system." The other end of the line went quiet. When she spoke again, her voice was much lower: "Mrs. Vance, forgive me for overstepping, but when your husband sponsored you... did he apply through the spousal family-reunification channel?" I gripped my phone, silent. "The system shows..." she weighed her words carefully, "that the individual approved under your husband's spousal quota is a Ms. Bennett." "He did sponsor you, but not as his wife. He used a different, secondary channel." "However, that specific secondary channel was suspended over a year ago by the government. That's why your status was never approved." I took a breath. "I understand. Thank you, Mrs. Davis." I hung up. Standing on the sidewalk, a lot of details started flooding back. When we first arrived in New York three years ago, Arthur said he was going to handle my paperwork and took all my identification documents. Later, he told me it was all sorted out, so I never asked again. It turned out that the move I thought was for love had just turned me into an undocumented immigrant... I stood on the street corner for a long time. I went to every federal office I could. Finally, I discovered there was only one way to resolve this. My former sponsor—Arthur—had to sign a sworn declaration. He had to state that he failed to inform me of the sponsorship channel change, proving that my visa overstay was not intentional. Only then could I pay the fine, apply for a short-term exit waiver, and legally leave the country. It was simple. It just required one signature from him. But how could I ask? Say, “Since you gave your spousal quota to someone else, can you sign this so I can leave?” If I did that, wouldn't we have to settle the score for the past three years as well?
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