Before we entered the private dining room, I changed my paralyzed boyfriend into a fresh pair of disposable briefs.

I wheeled Isaac Sanchez inside, and the first thing I heard was Willow Rodriguez mid-sentence：“Nancy Henson's got a disability fetish, seriously. You haven't seen the way she stares at his legs. The look on her face is pure obsession.”

My grip tightened on the wheelchair handles. I looked down at Isaac. Not a trace of embarrassment on his face.

Willow glanced up the moment we came through the door, her smile bright and easy.“Isaac, aren't you tired of the whole invalid act yet? Why don't you do a little magic trick for Nancy.”

And just like that, the man who had been sitting in the wheelchair slowly pushed himself to his feet.“Yeah. I'm over it.”

He turned to face me, the corner of his mouth lifting.“Nancy. I've recovered. Happy?”

That mocking stare, without a flicker of guilt. I couldn't even find a place to put my anger.

I didn't have much time left. I was done playing along.

“You're right, I do have a thing for the disabled. Since you've recovered, let's break up.”

The room went dead silent. Every pair of eyes ping-ponged between the three of us.

Isaac froze.“Don't joke around. I know exactly what kind of person you are. I kept it from you for one month. Is that really worth all this?”

He pulled out a chair and sat down as if nothing had happened.“You guys have no idea. When my legs were bad, she got up twice a night to turn a hundred-and-fifty-pound man over in bed. She helped me with the bedpan. Spent every day elbow-deep in filth. Who else is gonna want her after all that?”

He reached over and pulled out the chair next to him.

“Stop with the face. Sit down and eat.”

I forced the corners of my mouth up. A bitter, hollow smile.

Dishes filled the table. I held my chopsticks but didn't touch a single one, just picking at the plain rice in my bowl.

Not one dish on the table was something I liked. Some of them I was allergic to. Every single one was something Willow loved.

Five years together, and Isaac still hadn't learned what I ate.

He glanced at the bare white rice in my bowl, his expression souring.“I say a few things to you and now you're throwing a tantrum and refusing to eat.”

He picked up a few garlic scapes and dropped them into my bowl.“You've gotten so thin taking care of me. Eat more.”

I leaned forward and the smell hit me. My hand flew to my mouth as I gagged.

Isaac slammed his chopsticks down.“When did you get so high-maintenance?”

I'd always been a picky eater. My parents used to say I had princess tastes on a pauper's budget and that one day I'd starve.

After Isaac and I got together, he used to cook for me and pick out every sliver of scallion, ginger, and garlic from my food before I even asked.

“Do you think I'm impossible? That I won't eat anything?”

Isaac's eyes crinkled at the corners, and he curled his finger to flick my forehead gently.“Silly girl. Everyone has their preferences. My job's just to go along with yours.”

I stared down at the rice in my bowl, my heart wrenched like a fist had closed around it—a vicious, savage pain.

Isaac pushed a glass of water toward me and lowered his voice.“Whatever this is, we'll deal with it at home. Just finish the meal.”

He'd kept me in the dark for a month, and to him, I wasn't even allowed a reaction.

I wasn't his girlfriend. I was his caretaker.

Before long, a few of Isaac's friends got drunk enough to lose their filters, and one of them started rambling.“Bro, I'm telling you, you should've just been with Willow. If it weren't for her that night, your legs would've never……”

Isaac clamped his hand over the guy's mouth, eyes darting to me in barely concealed panic.“He's wasted.”

I don't know where the strength came from, but I pried Isaac's hand away.“Let him talk.”

“Three years ago, Isaac was at a conference in the next city over. He got a call. Willow said she was scared of the thunder and couldn't sleep. Didn't even think twice. Jumped in his car in the middle of a downpour to drive back. The car hydroplaned, he lost control, and that's how his legs got messed up.”

That night, my mother was being rushed into the ICU. I was frantic. I called Isaac over and over. Every call went unanswered.

I sent more than a dozen messages after that. Nothing. Dead silence.

The next word I got about him was from the hospital.

For years, I believed his accident was because of me.

I never stopped to think that the drive from the neighboring city to ours took two hours.

He'd made it in one hour, five minutes, and seventeen seconds. His departure time lined up exactly with the moment Willow called.

My fists clenched so hard my nails broke through the skin of my palms, blood welling in the creases, and I didn't feel a thing.“You were driving back for her?”

Three years. Three years I spent caring for a paralyzed man. Feeding him, dressing him, managing every detail of his life. Absorbing his rages, his mood swings. And the woman who caused it all got to sit there and call me a disability fetishist.

The warmth drained from my eyes as I looked at him, and Isaac faltered for a moment.“I'm like a brother to her. When Willow can't sleep, she gets migraines. I couldn't just ignore that.”

My jaw locked. I could hear my own voice breaking into a cry. “I only want to know one thing. That night. Did you see my messages?”

Something guilty flashed through Isaac's eyes. He turned his face away, his thumb brushing the wetness at the corner of my eye, his voice low and measured.“I was driving. I only glanced at them.”

He knew my mother was in the ICU. He knew how desperately I needed him. And he still drove, without hesitation, in the opposite direction.

Willow suddenly spoke up.“It's all my fault, one way or another. I shouldn't have called. Miss Henson, I owe you an apology.”

Without a word, Willow grabbed the bottle of liquor from the table and poured herself a full glass. She hadn't even brought it to her lips before

Isaac shot to his feet beside me and snatched the glass from her hand.

The sudden motion knocked his teacup off the table. Scalding tea spilled across my thigh.

I gasped from the burn. Isaac glanced down at me, then looked away just as quickly, his attention already back on Willow. “It's not your fault. Stop apologizing. You know your stomach can't handle alcohol.”

I dabbed quietly at the wet fabric on my leg. The water was hot enough to scald, but I couldn't feel it. The only thing I felt was cold—freezing cold, straight through my chest.

I'd always known, really. Isaac had never gotten over what he and Willow once had. His phone password was still their initials, to this day.

He remembered everything. He just refused to admit it.

I stared at the scene in front of me—Isaac fussing over Willow, comforting her with that tender look on his face—and felt nothing but a bone-deep pointlessness. I just wanted to leave.

“Isaac. Don't come home tonight.”

He didn't even look at me. Just a careless, “Fine.”

Willow leaned against him, her voice light, almost idle. “How have you been, all these years away? It's been so long since you came by the house.”

She glanced at the others slumped drunk in their seats.“Might as well drop them off on the way.”

Isaac picked up Willow's bag and helped her to the car.“Nancy, there's no room. Take a cab.”

I stood alone at the entrance of the restaurant, watching the two of them, how close they were, disappear into the car.

When it pulled away, the tires cut through a puddle at the curb and splashed dirty water across the hem of my dress. It was the dress Isaac had bought me when he closed his first deal. The only one he ever bought me.

I turned and looked at the wheelchair sitting behind me, still and useless.

The year of Isaac's accident, his company had barely gotten off the ground. There was almost no cash flow.

I'd taken the sixty thousand I'd saved from working and bought him a good wheelchair.

But now the wheelchair had no value. Neither did the person who gave it.

I found a donation center and dropped it off without looking back.

Then I pulled out my phone and made a call.

“Mr. Farley, I changed my mind. That offer to take me away—does it still stand?”

A beat of silence on the other end, then his voice came back, steady. “Whenever you're ready, let me know. I'll arrange a flight.”

Back at the apartment, I showered, then walked into the study and punched Willow's birthday into the safe in the corner. It opened, exactly as I knew it would.

Over the years, as Sanchez Group had grown, Isaac had gotten into plenty of business that couldn't survive daylight.

I opened the safe and photographed every piece of evidence without hesitation. These photos would be my insurance—the thing that kept me standing if it ever came to that.

I hadn't been lying in bed long when my phone lit up on the nightstand. A video call from Isaac.

“You home? Get some rest. I'll explain everything tomorrow.”

I didn't hear a word he said. I was staring at the wall behind him, covered in framed photos—Isaac and Willow, from childhood to now, every one of them. In every single frame, he was smiling. Really smiling.

I'd already lost all faith in him, and still, seeing those photos sent something sharp and sour through my chest.

I scrolled through my own phone. The photos of Isaac and me were pitiful in number. The only one we had together was one I'd asked a stranger to take. In it, his face was stiff and unsmiling.

After his accident, there were even fewer. Sometimes I'd raise the camera and he'd frown, his voice cold—don't.

I'd told myself it was because of his legs. That he was unhappy.

But even after his legs were fine, he'd refused just as hard.

It was never that he didn't like photos. It was that the person he wanted beside him in them wasn't me.

The rage in my body seemed to rush straight to my head, a sudden dry heat flaring behind my nose.

On the screen, Isaac's expression shifted to alarm. “Why is your nose bleeding?”

I swiped at my nose and looked down. My hand was covered in blood. I ended the call.

I pulled a bottle of pills from the drawer, shook two out, and swallowed them dry.

The next morning I packed up and headed to the dessert shop for my last shift.

I was at the front counter washing fruit when a familiar voice floated through the door：“You were five seconds late squeezing toothpaste for me this morning. Your punishment is taking me somewhere I don't even like.”

Willow hung off Isaac's arm with one hand and jabbed the other toward the menu board, her tone dripping entitlement：“One matcha crêpe cake. Extra sugar. Lots of it.”

Isaac didn't notice me until he pulled out his phone to pay：“Nancy, isn't today your day off?”

I said nothing. Turned around, brought out the matcha crêpe cake.

One thought kept circling：he didn't even like dessert.

The day I met Isaac, he'd been sitting alone by the window with more than a dozen plates of sweets spread in front of him.

Out of nowhere he'd said：“Dessert cures a bad mood, right?”

Back then he'd left home to make something of himself. Every night after work he'd come in and order one matcha crêpe cake, extra sugar.

I only learned later that they'd broken up that same day. The reason：after college Isaac had done nothing with himself, just stayed home living off his family.

So he'd walked out. Built a company from scratch. All of it, every bit of the effort, just to prove to Willow that he could stand beside her as an equal.

Behind our so-called chance meeting was a love story that had always belonged to him and Willow.

Fine, then. I would cut the thread myself, this bond I'd held like something precious.

I handed him the cake, looked into the face I knew by heart, and said slowly：“Isaac. I'm breaking up with you. This time I mean it.”

The plate slipped from his hands, the crêpe cake smashing into a mess on the floor. He pulled out a few napkins, wiped his fingers clean, then let out a short, ugly laugh：“Nancy, don't push your luck. You're the one who wanted to be together. You volunteered to take care of me. And now you want to break up? Not a chance.”

So that was what it felt like, hearing those words from his mouth.

I couldn't stop shaking. My fingers trembled as I pulled the medical report from my pocket, and it took everything I had to speak：“I'm pregnant. But the baby could miscarry.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn't look at him.

He laughed. The mockery hit me without a shred of restraint：“You'd really pull any stunt to get attention, wouldn't you.”

Willow folded her arms, satisfaction all over her face：“Miss Henson, AI is so advanced these days. Fakes can look perfectly real.”

His eyes were bloodshot, locked on me.

One glance at the report and he'd see the hospital was one of his family's own.

I pulled the medication from my pocket, my voice shaking：“I'm not lying. These are prenatal pills.”

The fury in Isaac's eyes erupted：“You think I don't know you've been taking birth control this whole time?”

He snatched the bottle out of my hand and dumped every last pill onto the floor：“You like swallowing pills so much? Then get on your knees and lick them up.”

I didn't have the luxury of caring about his humiliation. I dropped to all fours and gathered the pills off the ground like a dog. Each pill was two days of my life, three days' wages.

Willow clutched her stomach, laughing so hard she doubled over“Isaac, doesn't she remind you of those cartoon dogs we watched as kids? Head down, tail wagging, begging for scraps.”

A sudden roar filled my ears. Every sound around me dropped away. My vision blurred, and something warm ran down between my legs.

I reached up and caught the edge of Isaac's sleeve：“Please take me to the hospital. The baby's in danger.”

Isaac stared down at the mess I'd become. Something flickered in his eyes, just for a second.

Willow's face changed instantly. She cut in, voice sharp：“Miss Henson really came prepared — she even brought her own blood bag.”

Whatever pity was left in his eyes vanished completely. He took Willow's arm and walked out without looking back.

In the last moment before everything went dark, all I saw was Isaac's blurred silhouette moving away, and tears slid down my face without a sound.