The day I found out Jesse Gilbert had taken my father's life-saving medical fund and used it to buy an apartment for some college girl, I jumped off the balcony.

I survived. But Jesse lost his mind.

Every day after that, he handed me the dog chain himself, got down on his knees on the balcony in the freezing wind, and let me chain him there while he recited vows of devotion.

Jesse Gilbert, a man who had never bowed to anyone, knelt there day after day with bloodshot eyes, his voice shaking as he begged me not to make myself sick with anger, begged me to smile at him just once.

He swore he would never betray me again.

But today, three million dollars had been swiped from the account. The exact amount of my father's surgery scheduled for tomorrow.

When I saw the smear of lipstick on Jesse's collar, I yanked the chain around his neck so hard my knuckles went white.

"You want to fool around, fine. You want to sleep with other women, I don't care anymore. But why do you keep stealing my father's life-saving money to fund your mistress?"

He dropped to his knees and slapped himself across the face, over and over, more than a dozen times. I didn't flinch. I didn't look away.

He snapped. He tore the chain free and slammed me to the ground, pinning me beneath him.

"Are you done?! It was one time! One emotional slip!"

"You're a housewife who lives off me. What right do you have to question where my money goes?"

"You want to talk about earning your own keep? You, the girl who got expelled for screwing her professor? What could you possibly do besides sell yourself?"

The dog chain split the skin on my face. Droplets of blood fell onto the carpet.

I watched the last trace of love vanish from Jesse Gilbert's eyes, and for the first time in five years, I smiled.

"Alright. Then let me go."

——

The impatience in his eyes collapsed into raw panic.

He crawled to me, locked his arms around my legs, his voice breaking apart.

"I was wrong, Lucretia Chavez. I lost my head just now."

"Don't leave. Please don't leave."

I lay still on the cold floor, staring up at the crystal chandelier we had picked out together.

My silence only made him more frantic. Words tumbled out of him, disjointed, desperate.

"That three million, it really was a company emergency! A project went sideways and I needed to cover it!"

The excuse was so familiar it barely registered.

Five years ago, he had said the same thing.

Cash flow problems. The company needed funds.

I believed him. I voluntarily stopped my father's targeted therapy and handed over every cent of our savings.

Then I traced the bank withdrawal to an address, and the door I pushed open led to a luxury apartment.

The young college girl was wearing nothing but an apron hanging loosely off her shoulders.

She came out of the kitchen carrying a plate, picked up a piece of food with her chopsticks, and fed it to Jesse with a smile.

In that moment, every light in my world went out.

When I still didn't respond, Jesse began slapping himself again, wild, frenzied, over and over.

The sharp cracks echoed through the empty living room.

"Lucretia, hit me. Scream at me. Do whatever you want. Just don't shut me out."

He cupped my face with trembling hands, took a cotton swab from the first-aid kit, and dabbed at the blood on my cheek, bit by bit.

His touch was feather-light, as though he were handling something irreplaceable.

But minutes ago, those same hands had pinned me to the floor.

He changed me into clean clothes, then hauled me to his office without asking.

The building blazed with light despite the late hour. Everyone inside moved with urgent purpose.

When Jesse walked in with me at his side, every head turned.

A senior executive hurried over. "Mr. Gilbert, you're back? I thought you said your wife wasn't feeling well and you were heading home to be with her."

Envious glances drifted our way.

"Seriously, Mrs. Gilbert, you're so lucky."

"We're in the most critical phase of the project, and Mr. Gilbert still leaves on time every single day just to go home to you."

I listened without expression as Jesse half-carried me into his office.

The office was spotless. Not a single trace of a woman's presence anywhere.

But his desk, his bookshelves, were covered in photographs of me. Every stage of my life, framed and displayed.

Jesse settled me onto the couch, his voice so soft it practically dripped honey.

"Lucretia, trust me. Once this project wraps up, I'll fly in the best specialists from overseas to operate on your dad."

He picked up the office phone.

"I'll have my secretary pull the security footage right now. That lipstick mark was from a colleague who bumped into me during a meeting today. It was an accident."

I reached over and pressed the phone down.

"Don't bother."

The tension drained from Jesse's body all at once.

I stood and walked toward the small rest room attached to his office.

"You should stay too. Keep everyone company. It's a critical phase. They need their leader here."

Jesse lit up, agreeing over and over, practically tripping over his own words.

I lay down on the bed in the rest room. Through the door, I could just make out the secretary's lowered voice.

"Mr. Gilbert, I think your wife has calmed down."

Calmed down?

I closed my eyes.

No. I just didn't care anymore.

I lay on that bed all night without sleeping.

Jesse probably assumed I wouldn't remember.

But Edith Walker's signature lipstick shade, the one she always wore back then, was the exact crimson smeared across his collar yesterday.

Early the next morning, before the sun was up, Jesse came back.

Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. He still smelled faintly of cigarettes. But in his hand was a bag from my favorite breakfast place.

"Lucretia, I have an investor roadshow this morning. Eat while it's hot."

He opened the container carefully, picked up a dumpling, blew on it again and again, and held it to my lips.

I opened my mouth. Chewed mechanically. Swallowed.

When he saw me eat, a tired but satisfied smile spread across his face.

"Wait for me."

He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head without thinking.

His lips froze in midair. The light in his eyes went out.

In the end, he only stroked my hair, then turned and walked out.

I went to the hospital.

Dad looked much better. He was doing his rehab exercises with the help of an aide.

His face brightened when he saw me. He grabbed my hand and asked why Jesse hadn't come along.

I peeled an apple for him, the blade whispering against the skin in long, curling strips.

"Dad, I want to divorce Jesse."

The therapy ball slipped from his fingers and bounced across the floor.

He stared at me, his clouded eyes wide with shock.

"What happened? Has Jesse been treating you badly?"

I shook my head. For a moment, the words wouldn't come.

Everyone said Jesse loved me to the bone. That he'd burned through his fortune and moved heaven and earth to save me.

For five years, he'd coddled me until I was practically helpless.

But only I knew how tight the wire inside me had been pulled, every single day.

I was always wondering whether the things Jesse said were real or just another performance.

I was done living like that.

After I got Dad settled, I stepped out of his room.

The moment I turned the corner, I spotted a familiar figure walking a woman into the obstetrics department.

Michael James. Jesse's closest friend.

And the woman was Edith Walker.

My feet carried me after them before my mind caught up.

Through the closed door, I heard Michael's voice, easy and familiar. "Don't worry, Edith."

"Three million dollars this time, and they brought in the best doctor from overseas. It's going to work."

Edith sighed, a thread of exhaustion woven through her words.

"This is the tenth time in five years. I just hope it finally takes."

Three million dollars. My father's surgery money.

Michael turned and saw me standing in the doorway. The color drained from his face.

He rushed over, grabbed my arm, his voice frantic.

"Lucretia, no, it's not what it looks like!"

I ignored him and reached for the thick stack of medical records in his hand.

Michael looked like he was about to cry. He wanted to snatch them back but didn't dare.

I turned the pages one by one.

The date of Edith Walker's first embryo transfer was printed there in black and white.

Five years ago today.

The same day I received my third critical condition notice in the ICU.

So while Jesse had been sobbing outside the operating room, begging doctors to save me, he'd also been calmly arranging for another woman to carry his child.

The sheer absurdity of it washed over me like a wave.

I closed my eyes, handed the records back to Michael, and walked away.

Michael chased after me and blocked my path.

His face was flushed red as he scrambled to explain.

"Lucretia, listen to me! Back then, what that professor did to you damaged your uterus. The doctors said you'd never be able to have children!"

"Jesse was afraid it would break you, and even more afraid his family would pressure you over it. So he told everyone the problem was his!"

"But his mother's dying wish was to hold a grandchild! He didn't have a choice!"

Michael's voice cracked. He raised his hand and swore to me with every ounce of conviction he had.

"I promise you, there is nothing between Jesse and Edith. Nothing physical ever crossed the line!"

"He has always been faithful to you!"

Faithful.

The word turned my stomach.

That kind of faithfulness, I didn't want any part of.

I pushed past Michael and went home.

Every corner was saturated with Jesse's presence. And with his lies.

I opened the closet and started packing.

At the very bottom, my fingers brushed against a box.

Inside was a white dress shirt, stiff with dark, rust-colored bloodstains.

Jesse's.

Five years ago, that monster of a professor had cornered me in his office. Jesse burst in like a man possessed.

He beat the professor until bones cracked, and took five knife wounds himself. He nearly died.

I'd kept this shirt all these years, a reminder that he had once loved me enough to die for me.

Now it just looked like a joke.

My phone rang, cutting through the silence. Jesse.

His voice was brimming with excitement.

"Lucretia! The investor roadshow was a massive success! We landed the biggest deal yet!"

"I'm reaching out to specialists overseas right away. Your dad's surgery is going to happen!"

I listened to the triumph pouring through the speaker and let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

Then I hung up without saying a word.

The phone slipped from my hand. The screen stayed lit, and a livestream notification popped up.

The profile picture showed a woman's side profile. I would have recognized that face anywhere. Edith Walker.

Something compelled me to tap on it.

The account was called "Edith & A's Secret Garden." Five years of hidden love between her and a man, documented for the world to see.

No faces shown directly, but the details were everywhere.

In one photo, the watch on the man's wrist was the anniversary gift I'd given Jesse.

In one video, the man's low, quiet laugh was the same one I'd fallen asleep to for five years.

Hundreds of thousands of followers flooded the comments, gushing about their fairy-tale romance.

So a man who spent nearly every waking hour by my side had still found the time to build another love story, one blessed and celebrated by strangers.

I was about to swipe away when Edith's voice drifted out from the livestream.