Work? The image of that torn stocking in the photo flashed in my mind. So that was where they were "working" together—right on the bed. I could only imagine how wild it must've gotten if it landed them both in the hospital.

I pulled away in disgust when Mark tried to touch my shoulder. He frowned and threw a secondary bank card at my face.

"Enough already. I've unfrozen your card. Now get back to wedding planning and stop with this nonsense."

Just hours ago, this card could have saved my mother's life. But now, like the eight years I'd spent with him, it was worthless. I opened my mouth to respond, but his phone rang.

Chloe's sugary voice came through loud and clear through the speaker, "Mark, that lotus leaf chicken soup you made was delicious! Will you come over and make it again?"

He glanced at me, then took his phone out to the balcony. His voice softened, a tenderness I'd never heard before. I could make out, "Okay, baby… sure, sweetie," and other unfamiliar words came over one after another.

He returned only long enough to remind me to clean the house and press his suit for tomorrow. Then, he left.

In eight years, he'd stepped into the kitchen just once, only to shatter all the dishes and nearly start a fire. That disaster meant I cooked every meal for eight years. Only now did I find out through another woman that he could actually cook—and even well—just not for me.

I brushed away tears and picked up the card he'd thrown. Eight years ago, I'd moved to this unfamiliar city for him, supporting him with all my savings, driven by love and the hope of paying for my mom's treatments. Now, love was gone and so was my mom. I had no reason to stay. There was nothing left for me here.

***

With a simple wrap on my injured foot, I went to register my mother's passing. My mother, once so full of life, was now reduced to a slip of paper, pressing on me like a weight I could barely hold. After scheduling her cremation tomorrow, I returned to sort through her belongings, my heart breaking with each piece.

Late in the evening, at the bottom of a box, I stumbled on a rough sketch of a wedding venue—one Mark had once made. I froze, remembering that early year we were together, clinging to each other with a promise that someday, he'd make something of himself.

He had held my hand in front of my mom and vowed, "Rachel, one day I will succeed. I'll give you the grandest wedding. I'll use everything I have to make up for every struggle you have been through all these years."

In order to prove his heart, he stayed up all night and drew this sketch with one stroke according to my preference.

Funny how time blurs even the most solemn promises, how new love erases the old. I was about to toss everything into the trash when Mark walked in. When he saw that I wasn't cooking, his expression was a bit unhappy. He mockingly laughed after looking down and seeing the wedding sketches in my hands.

"This is the tacky nonsense you came up with after a whole day?" he scoffed. "It's ugly and outdated—just like you. I wouldn't mind if I were stingy, but stop embarrassing me with your penny-pinching. Honestly, I should have Chloe handle the choices. Her taste is way better than yours."

He had forgotten our promises and discarded the memories. Without a word, I tossed the sketch—and, with it, every remaining piece of our past—into the trash.

Mark looked at me with a frown. "Still angry, huh?" He exhaled as if offering the final solution to my ungrateful mood. "Fine, I've already contacted an overseas specialist to treat your mom's stroke. Maybe she'll be well enough to join our wedding." Then, with a surprising touch of condescension, he reached out and patted my head the same way he petted Chloe. "Happy now?"

My stomach turned. His lie was as obvious as revolting and I had no energy to confront it. Instead, I turned away, letting the tears fall in silence.

When I didn't respond, he grew impatient. He shoved me, his tone rough. "Did you hear me? Don't look at me like that! You're lucky I'm even trying to be nice. What good are you if you're just bitter all the time? Nowhere is better than Chloe and you have a foul temper, you deserve to be unpopular wherever you go."

My injured foot hit the edge of the coffee table, reopening the cuts, but he didn't even glance back before slamming the door on his way out.

This was his favorite game, his go-to routine for control as tearing me down with insults, cutting me off financially, freezing me out until I cracked until I was crawling back to him, blaming myself and begging for forgiveness. I'd knelt, apologized and even slapped myself to make him stay in the past. But no more. This time, he'd only come back to an empty apartment.

I packed only what he hated—the things he called ugly, tacky. His couple's mugs, my "cheap" sweaters. Then, I used his credit card to book a room at a nearby hotel.

Later that night, after a shower and a moment of calm, I saw Chloe's new social media post: she was flaunting a huge diamond ring.

Chloe: [Happy Anniversary!] the caption read.

Chloe: [Only the dumbest woman would fail to see how amazing this man is.]

Mark knew Chloe's birthdays, anniversaries—even her cycle. But somehow, he had forgotten that today was my birthday, too. Every year, whenever I would suggest celebrating, he would wave me off.

"Rachel, do you even know what it takes to make money? Why waste it on these things? Do you even want to marry me or not?"

I believed him. I would put my life on hold for eight years, sacrificing everything for him. In the end, he had left me with nothing, not even dignity.

I blocked Chloe. If she wanted him, she could have him. I was finally done.

***

The next morning, I woke to my phone vibrating, Mark’s name lighting up the screen. I ignored it, but his voice echoed in my head. "Where did you go this time? Do you think you are still twenty, running off like this? You are nearly thirty, Rachel! And what's with the blood on the carpet? Do you know that's a custom-imported carpet Chloe picked out herself? It cost over two hundred thousand dollars ……!"

I hung up. He had not noticed that I had packed up my life and had not even asked why I was bleeding. To him, as long as it was related to Chloe and what she liked, it was worth more than me—or my mother's life.

If it was me a day ago, I would have blamed myself for those words and tried to find a way to apologize to Mark. But that version was gone.

But now, I had far too much on my mind to waste more emotions on Mark. I glanced at the time, grabbed my things and headed to the mall to buy a new suitcase. After wandering around a bit, I picked out a pink one—the color Mom had always loved.

I suddenly heard a familiar voice while dragging the suitcase to prepare for the crematorium.

"Mark, my foot hurts so much…"

I looked up and saw Mark, with Chloe in his arms. He was gently rubbing her nose before lifting her up effortlessly, all under the curious gazes of bystanders.

I froze in place and suddenly, a memory hit me—the day I begged Mark to go with me to the hospital. Back then, he had been impatient just because of a single word of urgency, shoving me out of the car when I was still pleading. I had fallen, bloodied and in pain. I was unable to get up and wanted him to help me.

"You're not young anymore," he had said coldly, watching me struggle. "Stop pretending. No matter how pathetic you look, I'm not giving you a single penny."

"Chloe is waiting for me," he continued. "When you learn to be as well-behaved and understanding as her, you can ask me for things."

His harsh words and indifferent departure still stung, but now, watching him tenderly care for Chloe, it was like seeing two completely different people.

I clenched my teeth and tried to walk away, but Mark called out to me. He reluctantly set Chloe down.

"So, you're spying on me now?" he asked, his voice tinged with guilt. He then noticed the suitcase in my hand and sneered.

"You spend money like it's nothing. I never promised you a honeymoon trip. Why would someone like you need a suitcase anyway? You never leave the house. Always wasting money on nonsense."

Before I met Mark, I had loved to travel. I had explored half the country by myself. But after I met him, I spent all my money supporting his business ventures. Once his company became successful, he started taking Chloe on exciting trips while I was stuck at home, always in the kitchen.

I am so tired of living like this.

Ignoring his anger, I spoke coldly, "If I want to buy it, I can buy it. Your money is half mine."

I had invested half a million dollars in his business. Two hundred thousand of that had been my mother's savings, money she had put aside as my dowry. Eight years of my life were wasted. But now, I wanted that money back. I needed it to give my mother a proper farewell, to ensure her dignity in death.

"Rachel, you are so shameless," Mark spat, smashing a pendant for dispensing in my face. Then he grabbed Chloe's platinum bag, flaunting it in front of me. "Do you really think I am poor with this amount of money?"

"I am not stingy," he sneered. "You just don't deserve it!"

He raised his voice, drawing the attention of passersby. "There are so many things to do for the company. I will spend money on Chloe because she is worth it. She deserves my appreciation for her hard work. But you? You are useless. Always lazy, always causing trouble. You can't even handle the simplest things. All you know is to fight over jealousy and disgrace people!"

I pressed my hand to my forehead, feeling the warm trickle of blood from where the pendant had hit me.

My silence seemed to make Mark think I was once again backing down. He softened his tone.

"Fine, fine. You can buy it. Just stop playing the victim. I am not that bad and not short of money. I'm happy to spend it on the wedding. As long as you well-behave, I won't…"

But then, out of nowhere, Chloe burst into tears.