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.

When I woke, I was lying in a hospital bed. The doctor held my chart, his expression grave. ： “Miss Henson, your body went through severe trauma. Help didn't get to you in time — you lost the baby.”

I sat there blank for a long moment, then reached up and gripped the chart so hard the paper bent.

From the second Isaac stopped trusting me, this child was never going to have a happy life. A clean break hurt less than a slow one.

While I was unconscious, I had felt something small and mine slipping away, silent, until it was gone. Thrown out with the medical waste.

Isaac was so sure I could never leave him. Then let him carry this for the rest of his life: his own child, killed by his own hand.

After I picked up my last paycheck, I went back to the apartment and started packing.

The door was kicked open. Isaac stormed toward me, his hand closing around my throat. ： “Willow never did anything to you. What the hell was that news story you planted?”

I froze, opened the app, and saw the number-one trending story ： RODRIGUEZ HEIRESS THE OTHER WOMAN? Old flame with Sanchez heir rekindled

The reposts and engagement had already shot to the top. That kind of reach — I was nobody. I couldn't buy that kind of traffic if I tried.

I stared at him, the words forced through my teeth ： “I don't have that kind of money to push a story, and I have no reason to smear her.”

Isaac let out a cold, derisive laugh. ： “Of course you do. You're jealous that I love her more than I ever loved you.”

His grip tightened. Air stopped reaching my lungs and the blood rushed to my face.

“Willow's locked herself in her room. She won't eat. Her stomach can't take this kind of stress.”

And my body could? My body could take being destroyed like this?

I clawed at his chest like something feral, drowning in the suffocation that swallowed me whole.

Isaac let go without warning. I hit the floor hard.

Then he dragged me upstairs, kicked the study door open, held up his phone with the camera facing me, and spoke in a voice like the devil whispering ： “Go live. Confess that you have a disability fetish and a mental illness, and that's why you tried to steal Willow Rodriguez's boyfriend.”

“Then get on your knees and bow your head to the floor and apologize.”

I clenched my jaw and refused to lower my head.

“Your mother's still in the hospital. What do you think happens if someone accidentally pulls out her oxygen tube?”

He held up a surveillance feed. On screen, a man in black stood beside my mother's bed, his fingers pinched around her oxygen line.

I screamed every filthy thing I could think of at him. In the end, I had no choice. “I'll do whatever you say. Just don't hurt my mom.”

In front of the camera I became a puppet on strings, reading lines in a dead voice, confessing that I had interfered in their relationship, that I had even threatened to kill myself to keep him.

It turns out that when you break completely, you can't cry. By then, everything I felt for him had gone numb.

Isaac stared at me, his gaze snagging on the bloodstains on my pants.

His face twisted with disgust. ： “You got period blood on yourself? When did you become this disgusting?”

It wasn't menstrual blood. I had coughed it up that morning and it had gotten on my clothes. The doctor told me my blood wasn't clotting right anymore. The pregnancy had been fragile from the start — any shock at all could end it.

Right then, Isaac's phone rang — the ringtone he kept just for Willow. He picked up ：

“Isaac, how come you're not home? I don't see you anywhere.”

He grabbed his jacket and was already heading for the door. ： “I'm on my way back now.”

I shouted at his retreating back ： “Isaac Sanchez, are you her dog? She says jump and you jump.”

He whipped around like I'd stepped on a nerve, swung his hand, and slapped me so hard my vision blurred. ： “Watch your mouth.”

I pressed my palm to my swollen, burning cheek and watched him walk away until he was gone.

I stuffed everything in the apartment worth anything into a suitcase. The only thing I left behind was the matching couple's rings by the front door.

The moment I got into the car, I looked up at the place I had called home for five years. The blueberry plant on the balcony had finally fruited, but fruit that was never meant to be yours always tasted bitter.

I rolled up the window, leaned back, and closed my eyes.

At the same time, an email containing a forged death report landed in Isaac Sanchez's inbox.