On the day of our eighth anniversary, I reached into the inner pocket of Sam's coat, only to find a piece of lingerie that wasn’t mine.

When I showed it to him, his response was cold and dismissive.

“I accidentally bought the wrong size for you. I knew you'd get suspicious, should’ve thrown it away.” He defended himself

I stood there, silent, letting his words cut through me. Without saying anything, I walked over to the perfectly prepared anniversary dinner and threw it all in the trash.

Later that night, I checked my phone and there it was—her post. The one who had always been in the background, his perfect first love from abroad. In the photo, a man’s hand gently massaged her and on his rough ring finger was the wedding band that matched mine.

Her caption stung as much as the image itself: "No matter how far away I am, my Superman always comes for me."

I smiled faintly to myself, though the bitterness inside churned like a storm. I picked up an old business card and dialed the number of my ex.

"Are you still looking for people? I’m ready to leave... anytime."

——

His voice was soft, almost soothing. “I’ve been waiting for you, Mia.”

I didn’t respond. My heart twisted with the weight of my past choices. Years ago, after Sam helped me out of a tough situation, he had a falling out with my ex, Tom. Eight years had passed and here I was, crawling back, feeling like a clown. But I had nothing left to hold onto. Sam had drained the last bit of love from me.

After hanging up, I stood up and began the process of applying for my passport. I was ready to leave. Sam called me minutes later, his voice laced with impatience. He didn’t care why I was upset. He just barked orders.

“It’s just a social media post, Mia. What’s your problem now? Are you looking for trouble?”

I stayed silent, my pen scribbling as I filled out the passport forms. Sensing something off, he asked, “Where are you? You’re not home?”

I casually lied. “Getting the car inspected.”

“Oh good. I’m headed over to get a license plate for Wo’s car. Help me get in line before I get there.”

I opened my mouth to refuse, but he hung up before I could say a word. As always, he didn’t care about what I had to say—only his own agenda mattered. I sighed quietly, humbling myself one last time before walking out the door, off to run an errand for her, like the loyal dog he expected me to be.

As I stood at the registration, I saw the number on the plate: 795254. The string of numbers hit me hard. It was the same combination Tom used as his password for years. I’d asked him about it once, but he’d always brushed me off, growing frustrated when I pushed.

“It’s just a random string of numbers, Mia. Why do you care so much? It doesn’t mean anything. Either you trust me, or you don’t.”

At the time, his anger scared me. He even made me change all my passwords to match his to show "trust." I hadn’t questioned it—until now.

I stared at the number on the plate and punched it into my phone’s keypad. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. It spelled out "Tom loves Jane."

I had been living in denial, believing that maybe Tom’s anger stemmed from a breakup with someone the year before. But now, I understood: I had never been the one in his heart. Not from the very beginning. I had no reason to stay. I handed my passport application to the clerk and when Tom called to say he would personally come to pick me up, I hesitated for a moment.

“You’re a woman, Mia. You can’t just travel alone—it’s too dangerous,” he said. “And besides... I want to see for myself how far your Superman has fallen.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I fought back the lump in my throat. I forced myself to think back to the darkest moment of my life—when I lost our baby.

I had been pregnant and bleeding, needing to get to the hospital. But Sam had gotten a call from Jane and without a second thought, he left me.

As he pushed me out of the car, I had fallen into the mud, helpless and crying. But all he said was, “It’s just one intersection to the hospital, you can walk. Jane’s terrified of thunderstorms overseas and I need to get to her right away.”

"You’ll be fine. If you bleed out... well, that’s on you.”

I had watched the taillights of his car disappear in the rain, my heart shattering as I crawled to the hospital, but it was too late. The doctor told me that if I had arrived five minutes earlier, I might have saved my child.

Sam wasn’t willing to give me those five minutes. When he came back, he had coldly tossed aside the baby clothes I had prepared and looked at me with disgust. “What a waste.”

The memory cut deep, but I had no more tears left to cry. I whispered a thank you to Tom before hanging up the phone. That’s when I felt it—the familiar touch of Sam’s hand behind me.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?”

Sam stood right behind me, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he saw me hang up the phone. The tension in the air was suffocating. His towering presence, once something that made me feel secure, now made my skin crawl.

Without a word, he took a step closer, peering at my phone like he was trying to catch me in some act of betrayal. Before he could interrogate me further, his own phone buzzed in his pocket. His suspicion vanished the moment he saw the caller ID, replaced by a grin that made my stomach turn.

His tone shifted, becoming sweet and light in a way he never spoke to me. “Don’t worry, babe. You’ll be driving your new Porsche in no time. You deserve the best of everything, you know that.”

He was practically cooing into the phone like a lovesick teenager, oblivious to how humiliating it was for me to stand there and witness it. The man who used to look at me with pride now couldn’t stop fawning over another woman.

Years ago, I’d begged him for a car—a modest one. I wanted something that would make commuting easier, something that showed he cared about the life we were building together. But he had shut me down with cold disdain.

“You think I’m going to spoil you like some princess? You’re with me to build a life, not to expect luxuries you haven’t earned. You can’t even handle riding a bike to work without complaining?”

Yet now, for her—for Jane—he was willing to do anything. The Porsche, the attention, the affection, all for her. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to remain calm. There was nothing left to say.

I turned on my heel, determined to leave, but Sam stepped in front of me, blocking my way with his arm. His cuff was undone, something that would have once made me reach out to fix it for him automatically. I had always been eager to take care of these little details, as if it was my duty to make his life easier. But now, I didn’t care. His untidy appearance wasn’t my problem anymore.

Seeing my indifference, he raised an eyebrow, his voice filled with irritation. “What’s your problem now?”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I reached for the wedding ring on my finger—the ring that had once meant everything to me—and pulled it off. I held it out to him, my hands steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

For a moment, he looked shocked. His eyes flickered with disbelief, as if the idea of me standing up for myself was unimaginable. “You’re mad because I made you wait in line?” he scoffed.

I shook my head, refusing to explain. There was no point in telling him how much he had hurt me, how he had chipped away at my soul piece by piece over the years. He wouldn’t understand and even if he did, he wouldn’t care.

Sam’s face twisted with frustration. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gift box, shoving it toward me. “Here. Open it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

I opened the box out of curiosity, only to find a silk scarf—a giveaway from this season’s Dior collection. It was the kind of gift that wasn’t meant for me. I didn’t even need to ask who it was originally for. My heart sank. Was this really how little I meant to him? A leftover gift, a cheap consolation prize for a woman who had become irrelevant in his life?

I snapped the box shut and handed it back to him, the weight of everything too much to bear. Sam’s face turned red with anger.

“Mia, stop acting like this! It’s our anniversary! I got this for you,” he growled, his voice rising. “What more do you want?”

I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “The anniversary was yesterday, Sam.”

His face softened, the anger fading for just a moment. “I didn’t know, Mia…”

I waved him off. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. I was about to leave when a voice, sugary sweet and dripping with false innocence, interrupted.

“Mia, you’re here too?” Jane chirped as she waltzed into the room, her steps light and graceful, her dress perfectly tailored to show off her every curve.

I felt my heart clench in my chest, but I kept my face neutral. Her presence had always been like a thorn in my side, but now, it was worse. She had become the center of Sam’s world, while I had become nothing more than an afterthought.

The moment Sam saw her, his eyes softened, filled with affection and tenderness—emotions I hadn’t seen from him in years. He treated her like the most precious thing in the world.

“I asked Mia to come help me with a few things,” Sam said, glaring at me as though I were the problem. “And now she’s making a fuss over nothing.”

Jane batted her eyelashes innocently. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mia. I’ve just come back and don’t know my way around yet. You’re not mad, are you?”

Her words dripped with false sincerity and her eyes sparkled with smugness, as if she was proud of the wedge she had driven between Sam and me. My hands trembled, but I forced myself to remain composed.

I shook my head silently, too exhausted to argue. Jane grinned, satisfied and with one delicate motion, she lifted her foot to adjust her shoe. Immediately, Sam dropped to his knees, tying her shoelaces like a devoted servant. I watched, feeling a mixture of disbelief and nausea.

For eight years, I had silently endured. I had swallowed my grievances, told myself that Sam was too busy, too important to care about the little things. I had convinced myself that my expectations were unreasonable.

But now, I realized the truth. It wasn’t that he didn’t care—it was that I didn’t matter.

“Oh, Sam, don’t do that! Mia might misunderstand,” Jane said with a giggle, casting me a sideways glance, as if daring me to say something.

Before I could respond, Sam snapped coldly, “There’s nothing to misunderstand. Jane and I have the purest relationship. Only someone with a dirty mind would think otherwise.”

The way he looked at me, with such disgust and disdain, made my blood boil. He treated me like an outsider, as if I were the one intruding on their moment.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to speak. “You’re right, Sam. I don’t have a place here. So why am I even bothering?”

Before he could react, I grabbed my bag and walked out of the room, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and relief.

***

By the time I returned home that evening, I had made up my mind. I packed my bags, ready to leave for good. Sam still hadn’t come home and that was fine. I needed the space to finalize my decision.

As I contemplated how to bring it up, I noticed my phone lighting up with messages. The office chat group had erupted with excitement.

“Guys, you won’t believe what I just saw! Mr. Stone Cold brought a woman into the office!”

“Yeah, it was intense. They were all over each other and her stockings were literally thrown on the floor!”

“Wait, doesn’t he have a girlfriend? Isn’t she in the same company? She’s been with him for years, right?”

My heart sank as I scrolled through the messages. The pictures were all there—Sam carrying a drunken Jane into the office, her arms wrapped around his neck, her scarf discarded on the floor. The very same scarf I had returned to him earlier that day.

My hands trembled as I accidentally tapped Sam’s name in the chat, notifying everyone that I had seen the messages. The group went silent, the mood shifting from gossip to panic.

Not five minutes later, Sam stormed into the apartment, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. His face was red with fury, his hand gripping my arm as he practically dragged me across the room.

“Mia, what the hell are you playing at? Posting in the group? You trying to make a scene?”

Hot coffee spilled from his mug, staining my clothes, but he didn’t even notice. He was too consumed by his anger, too focused on controlling the narrative.

I looked up at him, my expression blank, my voice eerily calm. “I quit.”

Sam blinked, momentarily stunned. Then he burst out laughing, the sound harsh and mocking. “You? Quit? Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve got no education, no connections and you certainly don’t have the looks. You really think you’ll survive without me?”

I met his gaze, unflinching. “I haven’t forgotten what you did for me back then, Sam. But eight years have passed and I think I’ve repaid that debt in full. We’re done.”

For a fleeting moment, I saw panic flash in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a sneer. “Mia, do you really think I’m going to fall for some sob story? I hate women who try to manipulate me.”

He grabbed his jacket and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

But this time, I didn’t text him to apologize. I didn’t care anymore.

***

The next morning, Sam returned, his expression cold and unreadable. Without a word, he tossed a beautiful, expensive dress on the bed in front of me.

For a moment, my heart fluttered, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he had thought of me. But then I realized—the dress wasn’t even my size.

He averted his gaze, his tone sharp. “You’re good at sewing, aren’t you? Fix this for me by tonight.”

And that was it—the final straw.

I wasn’t going to fix anything for him ever again.

I stared at Sam, unimpressed by his demand. We had been together for eight years and in that time, he had given me very little—barely any gifts, let alone clothes. I was always stitching up old dresses, refusing to buy new ones. I had worn the same outfits for years, quietly mending and patching them because I didn’t want to burden him.

But this dress—this wasn’t for me. The expensive fabric, the high-fashion cut—it was Jane’s style, not mine.

Sam ruffled his hair in frustration, perhaps realizing that he had never once given me anything this beautiful. He muttered, “Forget it. I’ll figure it out myself. You’re useless.”

I looked at the dress for a moment, then raised my head. “I’ll have it ready for you by five tomorrow afternoon, but on one condition.”

He paused, narrowing his eyes. “What condition?”

“Approve my resignation. Let me leave the company.”

Sam froze, disbelief flashing across his face. He clearly didn’t expect me to ask for this again. His eyes darkened, filled with anger as he spat, “You’re still thinking about leaving? Fine! You want to quit so badly? Come to me tonight and I’ll approve it.”

His voice grew louder, dripping with venom. “I want to see what kind of life you think you’ll have without me! Who do you think will want you? A used-up, broken woman!”

The rage in his voice, the way his eyes burned red with hatred—it was clear he had lost all control. But I stood still, unmoved, despite the way his words stabbed at my heart. For eight years, I had lived in this nightmare, where I was nothing more than a servant, a doormat. I had endured his disdain, his cruelty and the endless insults from our coworkers at the office, who treated me like I didn’t belong.

I couldn’t help but grip the sewing needle tighter, my fingers trembling as I stabbed it into the fabric. The needle pricked my fingertip and a drop of blood stained the cloth. It wasn’t just the dress that needed mending—my whole life had been unraveling for years.

I felt the tears welling up but held them back. I picked up the phone and dialed Tom’s number, my voice shaking as I spoke.

“I can’t stay here any longer…”

He comforted me, his voice calm and reassuring. “I’m coming. Just hold on.”

I focused on sewing the last stitch, feeling an odd sense of relief. This was it. I had fulfilled my end of the deal and now, there was nothing left tying me to Sam.

I texted Sam to ask where to send the dress. His reply was as cold as ever: “You can keep it. I don’t want it—it’s too dirty for me now.”

I stared at the text, my heart heavy. It was always the same with him—every message, every conversation, it was always me reaching out, me trying to bridge the gap. In eight years, I had never felt like we were equals. I had given so much of myself and he had given nothing in return.

I didn’t respond. A few minutes later, more texts arrived, this time laced with frustration.

“Didn’t you see my message?”

“I don’t want the dress, I said. Keep it for yourself.”

“Are you deaf or blind? I don’t want it!”

I blocked his number and, instead of replying, sent a photo of the finished dress to Jane. Her reply came quickly, soft and sweet, just like always.

“Oh, so you’re the one who sewed it for me! Sam told me a maid would take care of it. I’m so sorry—he insisted on giving me that dress because it was from the first time we met. I told him I didn’t want it anymore, but he can be so sentimental!”

The words stung like salt in an open wound. I was nothing to them, just a servant, cleaning up their messes. Her last message was like a final slap to the face.

“Could you bring it to the Drunken Colors Bar? Oh, and could you pick up some condoms on your way? Thanks so much!”

My stomach churned, but I did as she asked. I grabbed my bike and rode across town, feeling the cold air sting my skin as I approached the bar. When I arrived, I spotted them immediately—Sam and Jane, dancing closely together, their bodies entwined as if they were the only two people in the world. Around them, many of our coworkers laughed and cheered, all too familiar faces.

Sam spotted me and his expression turned to fury. His brows furrowed and he stormed toward me, yelling, “What the hell are you doing here? Are you that desperate?”

Jane, ever the actress, pulled him back with a soft laugh. “Come on, Sam. She was kind enough to sew my dress. Why are you being so harsh?”

She turned to me with that sweet, fake smile. “I asked her to bring the dress. It’s important to us, after all.”

Sam immediately softened, his anger replaced with a doting expression. “Whatever the little princess wants,” he said, pinching her cheeks affectionately.

I watched in silence as he turned to me, his eyes cold and indifferent. “What else do you want?”

I straightened my posture, keeping my voice steady. “I did what you asked. Now sign my resignation.”

The entire room went silent. All eyes were on us and I could feel the weight of their judgment, their curiosity. Sam’s face contorted with anger, clearly not expecting me to confront him like this, especially in front of everyone.

For a moment, he seemed stunned, unsure of what to say. The whispers around us grew louder.

“Wow, she’s really standing up to him.”

“Yeah, they must have something going on. She’s not just any employee.”

Sam’s rage boiled over. He grabbed the resignation papers from me and scribbled his signature on them, thrusting them back at me with such force that they scattered to the floor.

“Fine! You want to leave? Go ahead! You’ll regret this—you’re nothing without me!”

I bent down, calmly picking up the papers. As I stood, something small and shiny was thrown at my feet. It was our matching wedding ring.

Jane smiled sweetly, her voice dripping with innocence. “Oh, Mia, don’t forget this. Sam said it was old, so he replaced it with a new one for me. You don’t mind, do you?”

Before I could respond, a firm hand grabbed mine, pulling me to my feet. The ring was kicked away, back toward Sam’s feet.

“You have hands and feet. Throw away your own trash.”

I turned and looked up to see Tom standing beside me, his face a mask of controlled anger. He had arrived faster than I expected.

Sam’s expression went from shock to fury the moment he recognized him. “What the hell are you doing here? Mia is mine!”