A pair of best friends walked into my nail salon on grand opening day. The moment they sat down, they started tearing into their boyfriends. One of them sounded exaggerated, but she couldn't hide the sweetness in her voice: “My boyfriend is great in every way, except he’s a total animal in bed. Eight times a night, minimum.” “He doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body, just materialistic. Keeps buying me designer bags and jewelry. I’m actually getting sick of receiving them.” I had just finished her friend’s nails and was about to start on hers when she suddenly stood up. “Can you do them at my place instead? I’m trying on wedding dresses this afternoon, and I’m tight on time. Triple price.” One job for the price of three—of course I agreed. I grabbed my kit and followed her to her car. As she opened the door, her phone slipped and hit the ground. I bent down to help her pick it up, and the screen happened to light up. On her lock screen wallpaper, that "eight times a night" man was wearing a shirt I had bought him, holding her close with a look of pure adoration on his face. ...... My breath hitched. The handle of my tool box dug into my palm, stinging. “Is this your husband?” Sophie smiled so wide her eyes crinkled, her tone pure boastful bliss: “Yeah! Even though I was just complaining about him, you can’t deny his looks.” She leaned closer to the screen, her fingertip tracing that face I knew all too well. “He was totally infatuated from the start. Told me he wanted to marry me the first time we met. He pursued me relentlessly for three whole years!” “If any guy even came near me, he’d chase them off completely. It was almost too much.” Three years. They had been together for three years. And I had been with Mark for five. Five years, and I had never received a public acknowledgment of our relationship from him. It turns out, that acknowledgment had already been given to someone else. I sat in her car mechanically, my mind buzzing. She pulled up in front of a bridal boutique. “Gotta try on a dress real quick, won't take but a minute.” She looked back at me, her tone chirpy. “It’s fine, I’ll wait.” I forced a smile, my throat feeling like it was full of razor blades. As soon as we walked into the shop, the employees swarmed us, respectful and eager to please. Whispered voices floated into my ears: “Big client, a thirty-thousand-dollar dress!” “Mr. Sterling specifically instructed us to take perfect care of his fiancée. We’re definitely getting a nice commission.” A thirty-thousand-dollar wedding dress, and Mark had ordered it. I had brought up marriage once. I mentioned that in my family’s tradition, we do a symbolic cash gift—around ten thousand dollars—just for show, and the money would come back to us anyway. That time, it was the first time he had ever looked at me with anger. He slammed the door and left, giving me the cold shoulder for seven days. He called me a gold digger, asked me how I could have become so superficial. For those seven days, I asked myself repeatedly: Was I asking for too much? Was I really that materialistic? But now, a thirty-thousand-dollar dress, and he didn’t even blink. Yet a ten-thousand-dollar symbolic gift was labelled "greedy." Whether someone loves you or not is truly crystal clear. After she came out from changing into her dress. I silently followed behind her and sat in that million-dollar luxury car. The car drove into the city’s top gated community, and the security guard at the gate saluted as he let us pass. I knew the houses here all too well; the starting price was five million. “Ms. Vance is truly young and accomplished,” I said, straight from the heart. But she just gave a light, cynical laugh. “What’s young and accomplished about me? I live paycheck to paycheck, spend it as soon as I make it.” She paused, her tone turning sweet: “It’s all because that jerk Mark bought this place behind my back. I was completely shocked when I found out the price. I said it was too expensive and I couldn't accept it. He said if I couldn't handle it, even better—that way I’d be too spoiled to run away.” He had once dragged me to look at this community. My family wasn't wealthy to begin with, and he always told me he was in the early stages of starting his business. I said it wasn't necessary, that when we bought a house later, an affordable starter home would be fine. But he insisted on bringing me to look, and even comforted me, saying that maybe someday we would have this. At that time, I was so warmed by his words, thinking he would definitely carve out a piece of the world for himself someday. Little did I know, that one and only time we went house hunting, it was also for another woman. Once inside the house, I set up my tools and began doing her manicures. Sophie was incredibly talkative, excitedly scrolling through her phone to show me her Instagram: August 15, 2023, Antarctic Aurora. In the photo, he held her, with the brilliant aurora in the background. That day, I had been splattered with paint by a client and called him for comfort. He said he was on a business trip and vanished for half a month. November 12, 2024, Bali Beach. They wore matching swimsuits, laughing brightly. That day my dad was in surgery, and I stayed at the hospital alone all night. I called him, and he said he was busy. She got more excited as she talked, scrolling to a photo from last month: “Oh, right! I told him I didn’t want kids, and guess what?” Her eyes were shining bright. “He went straight and got a vasectomy! Said as long as I’m happy, nothing else matters, kids or not.” My heart dropped violently, and I accidentally slipped and got nail polish on my own hand. In our five years, he never used protection, said it ruined the experience. Every time afterward, I was the one taking the pill. Taking so many hormones made me gain twenty pounds, and my cycle was never regular again. In the end, all that got me was a comment from him that I was undisciplined. But for her, he went and got a vasectomy. Sophie noticed my face was off and asked with concern, “Are you okay?” I bit back the bitterness and shook my head, pretending I was fine. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. She skipped cheerfully over to open it. My gaze fell in the direction of the door, and I held my breath. The courier was at the door. In his arms, he held 999 roses, a piercingly bright red. Sophie signed for them expertly, then turned around and dialed a number. “Mark! Can you take a break? 999 roses every single day. My place is piling up like a flower shop!” Her scolding tone was pure sweetness. “That money would be better used for charity.” On the other end of the line was that voice I knew all too well: “Wife, how can you be like this? I know you love flowers, that’s why I send them every day, and now you’re complaining?” “Is yesterday’s the same as today’s? Don’t try to save me money. Doesn’t a husband make money precisely for his wife to spend? If you’re like this, what motivation will I have to make money in the future?” My fingernails dug into my palm, drawing blood. Five years, and he had never sent me a single flower. The only time was when he accompanied me to pay respects to my father. He casually handed me a bouquet of white chrysanthemums—the kind meant for the gravestone. At that time, I even lied to myself: He just doesn't understand romance, as long as the thought is there. But it wasn't that he didn't understand how to be wasteful; it was that I wasn't the person he was willing to go through the trouble to be wasteful for. Sophie hung up the phone, sat back down, and extended her hand. “Hey sweetie, can you speed it up a bit? I need to go out and buy some things later, and tonight I have to go meet his parents.” “You guys are going to meet the parents?” I heard my own voice trembling. She tilted her head and thought about it: “Not really the first time. He’s taken me to meet his mom and dad before.” “You have no idea, his mother is too much. The first time we met, she gave me their family heirloom bracelet. I felt embarrassed taking it. This time it’s his mother’s birthday, she insisted I go, so I have to. Can’t refuse an elder’s kindness.” The family heirloom bracelet. My eyes were glued to her wrist. I had seen that bracelet. On his mother's hand. Mark had taken me to meet his parents once before, too, but that time was not pleasant. From the start of the meal to the end, not a single person at the full table gave me a good look. After dinner, I was the one who washed all the dishes alone. When we got back, I cautiously asked him if his parents didn't like me. He held me and said, “Don't overthink it, my parents are like that with everyone.” Turns out it wasn't comfort; they really didn't like me. My chest was stiflingly blocked, my throat felt like it was being squeezed. I started coughing violently, struggling for breath. My acute cough was acting up again. “Omg are you okay?” Sophie scrambled to offer me water. I trembling pulled out my pill bottle and swallowed the medicine with the water. Finally recovering, she let out a sigh of relief. Then, she stared at my pill bottle. “Hey! Is this medicine from that master over at Nanshan?” I nodded. “My boyfriend begged for it. I have an acute cough.” She excitedly grabbed my hand: “Me too! I have an acute cough too! Mark specifically went and begged for this medicine!” “That master is incredibly difficult to appeal to, only acts on fate and won't accept money. He kowtowed at every step for 999 steps just to beg for this medicine!” She smiled brightly: “But it was worth the kowtowing! I was all better the next day.” My hand violently jerked. “When was this?” The voice sounded like it was squeezed out of my throat. “Last year, January.” Last year, January. By then I had been coughing for six months. I had gone to all the major hospitals, and no medicine worked. Another six months passed, and Mark brought back a bottle of medicine. I asked him where it came from. He said, “Don't worry about it, just take it.” After taking it, I really was cured. A colleague said this medicine was exceptionally rare, that you had to kowtow every step for 999 steps to get it. I was moved to tears at the time, silently cherishing every bit of good he had done for me. So later, even when he was away on business, often not coming home late at night, I never had a word of complaint. I just took it as him working hard for our future, but now reality gave me a brutal slap. Even the medicine he once begged for me was only because it was leftover from her. Sophie's phone screen suddenly lit up. It was an electronic notification of a Master's degree certificate from Clapton University. I lowered my head, brushing her nails, striving to keep my voice steady. “Ms. Vance is not only beautiful but also so talented, a Master’s degree from Clapton University?” “I remember the tutors’ theses there are incredibly difficult to pass; very few people from here can graduate.” Once, I also applied myself and was accepted into the Master's program at this school. In order to graduate, I started preparing my thesis half a year in advance. But later, the thesis was still sent back, rejected. Later on, I wanted to revise it again, but then my mother met with an accident. With various family matters pressing down, I never had another opportunity to reapply. That was the regret of my entire life. Sophie's eyes lit up, but she gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh please, it's not that hard. Mark did my thesis for me, and he could pass it even as an outsider.” She paused, a trace of slight admiration in her tone. “But don't say that, Mark is actually quite sharp. When that thesis was published, it directly got me offers from top-tier academic institutions with a seven-figure salary.” “But I thought it was too far, so I gave it up. Now I’m just getting by with this Master’s degree. Anyway, he’s supporting me now, so I don’t need to work. I can work whenever I want to play.” My heart violently sank. I had worked so hard for so long and couldn't even exchange it for an opportunity to graduate. She can effortlessly get a seven-figure salary offer? I couldn't help but tighten my grip on the nail file, asking tentatively. “Could I take a look at your thesis? I studied for a Master's at this school once, too.” I wanted to know where the difference was between me and others. At least it would soothe my long-held regret. Hearing my words, Sophie flashed a look of surprise. But she still generously pulled out her phone, pulled up the old academic thesis, and handed it to me. I took the phone, my fingertips trembling slightly. When I saw the thesis topic, the arguments, the evidence, even the core points inside. It was exactly the same as my old thesis. My heart felt like someone had rawly torn it apart. The only person who had ever been in contact with my old thesis was Mark. I had also asked several senior colleagues and classmates in the academic group to check it for me, and they all said that with my level, graduating would be no problem. But right when my mom met with her accident, I was overwhelmed with family matters, so I had Mark submit it on the website for me. He said he had submitted it for me.
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