I'd been in a long-distance relationship with my husband for ten years, separated by an ocean. I applied for a marriage-based green card ten times. Denied every single time.

By the tenth rejection, even the immigration officer looked exhausted. He dropped all pretense and laid it out for me.

"Ma'am. I've told you—your paperwork is invalid. Your so-called spouse is already married. He has a legal wife. She was granted her green card ten years ago. Your marriage certificate is a fake."

He turned his monitor around so I could see the records myself.

Under the spousal information column next to my husband's name, there it was in black and white: Jill Galloway. His widowed sister-in-law.

I couldn't believe it. I called him right then and there.

His voice on the other end was lazy, almost bored.

"Our marriage certificate? Yeah, it's fake."

"I registered with Jill. What was I supposed to do? It was the only way to get my brother's kid into the country for a better education. A real shot at a decent life."

"Besides, you've already waited ten years. What's a few more? Once Henry Abbott turns eighteen and his citizenship is locked in, we'll get married for real."

I didn't explode. My voice came out perfectly calm.

"Don't bother. I have no interest in being a second wife."

Then I called my assistant. "Notify the overseas company. Fire Lester Sanchez. And freeze every card under his name."

——

Ten years ago, Lester Sanchez had lost his overseas assignment to someone with better connections. I couldn't stand watching him spiral into depression, so I quietly created an entire position just for him. I reached out to the most prestigious universities abroad, invested millions to secure a faculty appointment in his name. I paved every inch of his path with money—smoothing over relationships, assembling a world-class R&D team around him—until he became the youngest foreign consultant in the United States.

Because of my visa restrictions, I could only stay in the country for three months each year before I had to leave. For a decade, I flew back and forth across the Pacific, running myself ragged.

Every single year, I prepared the green card application materials well in advance. I reviewed every last detail, dotted every i, crossed every t, and submitted.

And every single time, I was denied.

Lester always had the same reassurance ready:

"The marriage-based green card process is incredibly strict, especially when the spouse is a high-level technical consultant like me. Getting rejected is normal. We'll try again next year."

I always thought I was just unlucky.

Now I knew the truth. The man sleeping beside me had been lying to my face the entire time.

I'd even asked Jill once—asked how she'd managed to get her green card, how she was able to stay in the country long-term with her son.

Every time, she'd given me that same look. That half-smile that never quite reached her eyes.

"Guess I'm just lucky."

So that was it.

To say I wasn't devastated would be a lie.

The second I hung up with my assistant, Lester's number flashed across my screen.

I wanted to hear what he could possibly have left to say. So I answered.

The moment the line connected, his voice hit me like a slap—sharp, scolding.

"Jill found out you called to interrogate me. She's in tears. She's talking about pulling Henry out of school tonight and flying back home. You scared the kid so badly he's crying."

Right on cue, I heard Jill's soft sobbing through the speaker, layered with her son's shrill, furious wailing:

"Mean auntie! You can't kick me and Mommy out! I'm not leaving! This is MY house! I don't want that bad woman here!"

Then Jill's voice, trembling and gentle: "Linda Taylor, if you need to blame someone, blame me. Please don't fight with Lester over this..."

Lester's tone shifted instantly—warm, soothing—but it wasn't directed at me. It was for them.

"I'm here. Nobody's going to make you leave."

Then, just like that, his voice turned back to me, cold and expectant. "I'm going to need you to apologize to them now. Linda. Say you're sorry."

I hung up.

I tore every last one of those visa documents to shreds, turned around, and walked home.

That green card? He could keep it.

I didn't want it anymore.

Lester's car pulled up beside me before I'd gotten very far.

He rolled down the window and said, "I knew you were upset. Fine, you don't have to apologize. But honestly, getting jealous over a single mother and her kid? Come on."

"I came all the way out here to pick you up. Get in."

I didn't bother responding. I walked straight to the passenger side and pulled open the door.

Jill was sitting there.

She raised an eyebrow and gave me an apologetic look. "Sorry, Linda. I'm not feeling great today, so I took the front seat. You don't mind sitting in the back, do you?"

Lester's eyes darted to me, his lips parting as if ready to jump to Jill's defense.

On any other day, I would have frowned and insisted. I would have argued my way back into the passenger seat, the seat that belonged to the woman of the house.

But today, I said nothing and climbed into the back.

The visa center was over ten miles from downtown. Cabs were nearly impossible to flag down out here. If he wanted to come pick me up, fine. I'd treat him like a free ride.

Lester looked surprised. His lips moved, and he turned his head to say something to me.

Jill cut in before he could. "Lester, the car behind us is honking. Let's go."

I closed my eyes. I didn't know how long we drove before the car came to a stop.

When I opened them, we were parked outside a Michelin-starred restaurant.

I frowned. Lester smiled and said, "Jill knows you're upset about the green card. She wanted to treat you to dinner. Her way of making it up to you."

"No thanks," I said flatly. "I want to go home."

But Lester just laughed and pulled me out of the car.

"Come on, be good. Jill and I will explain the whole marriage certificate thing over dinner."

I sat down with a blank expression and spent the entire evening watching the three of them play happy family.

One moment, Jill was cooing as she slid her steak over to Lester, asking him to cut it for her. The next, Henry was throwing a fit, demanding Lester feed him.

My patience ran out. "If you have something to say, say it."

Lester took his time. "Hold on. Let me order some wine first."

He'd barely finished ordering when Henry knocked over the bottle of red wine.

Jill let out a gasp.

Lester turned to me quickly. "Babe, let me take Henry to the restroom to clean up. Wait here for me."

Jill shot me a smug look, then grabbed Lester's arm and led them both away.

I waited for a full hour. Not one of them came back.

Instead, the restaurant manager appeared, all polite professionalism. "Ma'am, we're closing up for the night. I'll need you to settle the bill. The total comes to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

I froze.

A second later, my phone buzzed with a message from Lester.

"You just had to make things difficult for Jill and the kid. You still won't apologize. It's because I've spoiled you rotten."

"I've frozen your card. You're in a foreign country with no money to pay. Let's see if you're ready to back down and apologize."

The manager watched me staring at my phone in silence and raised his voice. "Ma'am! The bill, please!"

Whispers rippled through the remaining diners, punctuated by quiet laughter.

"Can't afford to eat here, so why bother coming? Embarrassing her whole country."

"People like that should just go back where they came from..."

Countless mocking stares landed on me, each one stinging like a slap across the face.

My phone kept buzzing.

"Linda, apologize to Jill. Promise you'll never bring this up again. Otherwise, you can sit there until they call the cops on you."

I read his message, my expression unchanged.

Then I looked up and spoke in flawless English:

"Call your manager. Tell her Ms. Taylor is here."

The manager had no idea what that meant, but something in his gut told him he'd better do exactly as I said.

After he left, I pulled out the bank card from my wallet, snapped it in half, and tossed it in the trash.

Lester really thought I was nothing more than a parasite, a vine that couldn't survive without him to cling to.

What he didn't know was that I'd inherited everything my parents left behind. Their holdings spanned the globe.

I'd never told him any of this, and for one reason only: when my parents died, their will stipulated that if I ever married, I had to conceal my identity from my spouse. The moment my partner discovered who I really was, every asset I owned would revert to the family trust, and I'd be left with nothing but an annual dividend.

I understood why they'd done it. They were protecting me from being bled dry.

I used to believe Lester was different.

He was driven, ambitious. His grades were exceptional enough to earn him a faculty position straight out of school. He'd even been selected for a government-sponsored fellowship abroad.

But when the final list came out, his spot had gone to someone with connections. The blow nearly destroyed him. He locked himself in his study for days, hollow-eyed and defeated.

I couldn't bear watching someone that brilliant gather dust. So I quietly had my assistant donate an entire building to a prestigious overseas university. In return, I secured a joint research fellowship and a visiting professorship.

When Lester heard the news, he wept with joy. He pulled me into his arms, his voice breaking.

"Linda, I'm going to work so hard out there. Once I've made something of myself, I'll bring you here for good."

The truth was, I didn't care about a green card.

All I cared about was not wanting our time together limited to three months a year.

The thought drew a bitter smile to my lips.

Lester had never planned to keep me here at all.

He'd already given his legal sponsorship to Jill.

No wonder every time I visited, I'd find things in the house that didn't belong to me. No wonder every time, even before my three months were up, Lester would pack my bags and usher me toward the door.

All along, during the nine months I was gone, another woman had been living in the home I'd carefully made ours.

The restaurant manager returned moments later, and right behind her was the owner's representative. The moment she saw me, she bent at the waist in greeting.

Then she turned to the manager.

"Ms. Taylor is our boss. Her bill doesn't need to be—"

I raised a hand, cutting her off.

"Why wouldn't it need to be settled?"

I tapped a finger toward the security camera on the ceiling.

"Walking out on a check is theft. Call the police. Under local statutes, the outstanding amount should be recovered at ten times its value."

Lester, you had it backwards.

You lied to me all these years without a shred of guilt, and the only reason you got away with it was because I loved you.

Now that love is gone.

Let's see how far you fall.

I went home. The moment I pushed open the door, I was greeted by the picture of a perfect little family.

Henry sat curled in Lester's lap, begging him to tell a story. Jill stood beside them holding a plate of fruit, popping a grape into Lester's mouth every now and then. Her fingertip grazed his lips, and a blush crept across her cheeks.

But my eyes locked onto one thing only: the matching pajama set Jill was wearing. Nearly identical to the one on Lester.

I'd bought those pajamas. I'd begged Lester to wear the matching set with me. He'd barely glanced at them.

"Linda, that's so childish. Only teenagers do that."

The next year, when I came back, the pajamas were gone.

I'd always assumed he'd thrown them away.