Sweat beaded across his forehead, and the top two buttons of his shirt hung open.

He saw me, then saw Felicia standing inside the doorway. His feet stopped dead.

“Joy.”

He called my name.

His voice came out thin.

Felicia's eyes went red instantly, and she rushed to his side.

“Fabian, she called the cops!”

“She said I broke in illegally!”

“She even said this apartment is hers!”

Fabian pulled her behind him without thinking.

The gesture was subtle.

But it told me more than any explanation ever could.

I stared at him.

“Fabian.”

“Don't you think you owe me an explanation?”

He wouldn't meet my eyes.

“Joy, calm down first.”

“Felicia just got divorced. She had nowhere to go.”

“I just let her crash here for a few days.”

“I was going to tell you.”

I looked at the brand-new lock on the door.

“Crashing for a few days requires changing the locks?”

He choked on his own words.

Felicia whimpered behind him.

“Fabian, maybe I should just go.”

“A divorced woman like me is just a nuisance wherever she goes.”

Fabian panicked immediately.

“Don't say that.”

He turned to look at me.

His tone hardened.

“Joy, do you have to be so aggressive about this?”

“Your family's well off. Don't fight her over a little space.”

I almost laughed out loud.

“I'm fighting her?”

“Fabian, this is my apartment.”

“Not a shelter for your ex.”

He frowned.

“Yours, mine, what's the difference.”

“We're getting our marriage license next week.”

“Once we're married, it's all one family, right?”

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Two officers arrived.

“Who called this in?”

I raised my hand.

“I did.”

The officers checked my ID and the photo of my property deed.

Then they asked Felicia to show proof she had a right to be there.

Felicia stammered and stalled.

All she could manage was one line：

“Fabian told me I could live here.”

The officers turned to Fabian.

“Are you the property owner?”

Fabian said nothing.

The officers' expressions tightened.

“If you're not the owner, what gives you the right to move someone in and change the locks?”

Felicia finally realized something was wrong.

She grabbed Fabian's sleeve.

“Fabian, didn't you say you bought this place?”

“Didn't you say her name's on the deed only because her family pressured you into it?”

I laughed.

Fabian's head whipped toward me.

A warning flashed in his eyes.

“Joy, let's talk about this at home.”

“Don't make a scene out here.”

I looked right at him.

“A scene?”

“You moved your ex-girlfriend into my home. She's wearing my slippers. Sleeping in my bed.”

“And now you're worried about making a scene?”

Even the officers looked disgusted.

“The situation's clear enough.”

“The owner doesn't consent. You both need to vacate immediately.”

Felicia lost it.

“On what grounds?”

“All my stuff is in there!”

I glanced toward the apartment.

“Your stuff?”

“Perfect.”

“Officers, do you mind if I go in and take inventory?”

The officers nodded.

I walked through the door.

The moment I stepped inside, a wave of cloying perfume hit me.

Like someone had crammed a piece of rotting candy into the home my mother had prepared for me.

Two wineglasses sat on the coffee table.

One of them still had a lipstick mark on the rim.

A few shipping boxes were stacked next to the TV stand.

Recipient：Felicia Chavez.

The master bedroom door was half open.

I pushed it the rest of the way.

The bed was dressed in a deep burgundy bedding set.

A color I had never seen before.

In the corner of the bay window, a pair of decorative pillows lay tossed aside.

My mom had embroidered those by hand.

She'd sat under the lamp with her reading glasses on, stitching for two straight nights.

She'd pricked her fingers three times.

Now the pillows were buried under Felicia's torn-open delivery boxes.

She hadn't even glanced at them.

On the nightstand sat a Polaroid.

Fabian and Felicia in matching pajamas, leaning into each other.

On the back, a line of handwriting：

“After all this time, it was always you.”

I picked up the photo.

Fabian followed me in.

The second he saw what was in my hand, his face changed.

“Joy, don't go through other people's things.”

I turned to look at him.

“Other people's things?”

“Sitting on the nightstand in the master bedroom of MY apartment?”

He had nothing to say to that.

I threw the photo at his chest.

“Fabian, the wedding invitations have already been sent out.”

“My mom has been calling relatives every single day this week to confirm who's coming.”

“And you?”

“You were in my wedding apartment, taking couple photos with your dream girl.”

He bent down and picked up the photo.

His first instinct wasn't to throw it away.

He wiped it off. Carefully.

I watched him do it, and whatever warmth was left inside me went cold.

“Joy.”

He said.

“I admit what I did was wrong.”

“But you're not innocent either.”

I stared at him, caught off guard.

He lifted his head and met my eyes.

And there it was. Righteous indignation. Like he actually believed what he was about to say.

“You always bring up the apartment.”

“The deed is in your name. Your parents paid for it. Your family covered most of the renovation.”

“Do you have any idea how much pressure that puts on me?”

“Every time your mom says this place is your safety net, it feels like a slap in the face.”

“I was supposed to be marrying you, but I felt like a stranger living in your house.”

“Felicia's different.”

“She'd never hold any of that over my head.”

I looked at him.

“So you went ahead and became one.”

“A stranger. And you brought someone else in to take my place.”

His expression froze.

From outside, Felicia called for him.

“Babe, come help me pack my stuff!”

Fabian turned to leave.

I stopped him.

“Keys.”

He looked back.

I held out my hand.

“And the smart lock code.”

Fabian frowned.

“You really have to be this cold about it?”

I didn't answer. Just looked at him.

He dug a set of keys out of his pocket and slammed them onto the bed.

“Fine.”

“Don't come crying to me later.”

I picked up the keys.

“I won't be the one crying.”

I didn't go back to my rental that day.

I went straight to my parents' place.

The moment my mom opened the door and saw my face, she forgot to put down the spatula in her hand.

“Sweetheart, what happened?”

I opened my mouth.

Not a single word came out.

My dad walked over from the living room.

“Did Fabian do something to you?”

I handed them my phone.

The photos I'd taken at the apartment were still on the screen.

The wine glasses.

The matching pajamas.

Felicia's delivery boxes.

The Polaroid on the nightstand.

And the wedding pillows, crushed underneath it all.

My mom's face drained of color.

She gripped the edge of the dining table and didn't speak for a long time.

My dad swiped through them one by one.

When he reached the last photo, he set the phone down.

For a long, long time, he said only one thing：

“The wedding is off.”

My mom finally snapped out of it.

Her eyes were red.

“How dare he?”

“That's the apartment we bought for you.”

My nose stung with the threat of tears.

That apartment wasn't just a home to our family. It was everything.

My dad hurt his back in a factory accident when he was young. These past few years, he couldn't even stand up straight on rainy days.

My mom, trying to scrape together the down payment for me, took early retirement and went to work as a cashier at a grocery store.

Standing on her feet all day, her legs would swell so badly she couldn't get her shoes off.

The day we bought the couch, she quietly checked the price tag three times.

She thought I didn't see.

When she swiped her card, she told the saleswoman：

“This one. My daughter likes it.”

I never said I liked it.

She just wanted to pack every good thing she could into my future.

The day we closed on the apartment, my mom cried in secret.

She said：

“Sweetheart, your dad and I aren't rich. We can't give you much.”

“But this apartment is your safety net.”

“If anyone ever wrongs you, at least you'll have somewhere to go.”

Fabian knew all of this.

Every bit of it.

And he still moved Felicia in.

My mom sat on the couch, her hands trembling the whole time.

“Do his parents know?”

I shook my head.

“I don't think so.”

My dad let out a cold laugh.

“Don't be so sure.”

I looked at him.

He picked up his phone.

“I'm calling Arnold Chavez right now.”

“They don't get to touch that apartment again.”

“And every dollar you lent Fabian, we're getting it back. Every last cent.”

I froze for a second.

“Dad……”

He looked at me.

His eyes were red too.

“Sweetheart.”

“It's not about the money.”

“It's about you.”

“He treated you like dirt today because he thinks you'll cave.”

“You can't let him believe your kindness is worthless.”

That night, I slept in my old childhood bedroom.

Sticky notes from SAT prep were still on the headboard.

I stared at the ceiling and didn't sleep at all.

At four in the morning, my phone buzzed.

A message from Fabian.

“Babe, today was my fault.”

“But Felicia really has nowhere else to go.”

“Stop making a scene. Once we're married, I'll make it up to you.”

I stared at the words “make it up to you” for a long time.

Then I typed back：

“The wedding is off.”

His reply came instantly.

“You wouldn't dare.”

Then another message, right on its heels.

“Joy, don't forget, the invitations are already out.”

“You cancel now, your family's the one who looks pathetic.”

I stared at that line.

And laughed.

So it wasn't that he didn't know this would humiliate me.

He was just using my humiliation as leverage.

I didn't reply.

When morning came, I called the wedding planner.

“Hi, I'm the bride for next Saturday's ceremony.”

“The wedding is off.”

Silence on the other end.

“Are you sure? The deposit is probably non-refundable.”

“I'm sure.”

I hung up and started calling every friend and relative, one by one.

I kept it simple.

“The wedding is off.”

“Fabian cheated.”

“He moved his ex into my apartment.”

Some were stunned.

Some offered comfort.

A few tried to talk me out of it.

“Men make mistakes before the wedding. If he can change, just let it go.”

I looked at that message and deleted it.

Change?

A man who sneaks into someone else's home doesn't get called a man who made a mistake.

He gets called a thief.

The next morning, my lawyer and I went to the property management office.

The manager's face went stiff the moment he saw me.

“Ms. Fox, this was an oversight on our part.”

“But Mr. Dickerson came in with an authorization document and a copy of your ID.”

“We assumed……”

I cut him off.

“Where's the authorization document?”