My co-worker noticed something was wrong and asked with concern, “Are you okay, Jeremy? Are you feeling sick or something?”

I forced back my tears, shook my head, and said, “I’m fine. I’m just feeling a little homesick.”

Then, I added, “Do me a favor. Go to my place and grab a few changes of clothes. And bring me the small box by the entryway.”

Due to the dirty nature of my job, I never mixed my clothes with Bailey’s. The few sets I owned were all kept in a small cabinet by the door, and that little box in the entryway contained all the medical records Bailey had shown me whenever she needed money for her asthma treatments.

I always thought that if her asthma ever acted up, I could rush those records to the hospital right away. As long as I had them, I could consult a respiratory specialist and figure out what was real and what wasn’t.

When the doctor looked over her records, he studied them for a moment before frowning.

“This looks right,” he said slowly. “But this hospital requires all medical reports to have the attending physician’s handwritten signature. And here, the signature is missing. This is clearly forged.”

Hearing that, an inexplicable bitterness rose inside me.

Bailey worked as a triage nurse in this very hospital. She knew exactly what a real medical record looked like. However, because I trusted her so much, I never once questioned why none of her records had a doctor’s signature. I never even questioned why she never brought home her full medical reports, always saying the doctor had reviewed them and nothing was wrong.

I had been blindly trusting her, thinking she just didn’t want me to worry. I never imagined it to be all a lie.

Before we got married, she had looked at me with a serious expression and said, “There are three things I hope you’ll think carefully about before accepting me. The first thing is that my family was strongly against my staying with my seriously ill ex-boyfriend. That’s why I agreed to go on a blind date with you. But after we get married, I promise to let go of my past.”

I looked at her beautiful face, filled with love, and answered without hesitation, “Bailey, I trust you. I can accept that.”

She continued, “Second, I have asthma, and I need expensive medication regularly.”

I took her hand and replied gently, “It’s okay. I’ll work hard and make sure you have the best medicine.”

It was because of that promise that I worked day and night, taking on dangerous high-altitude jobs no one else wanted.

“Third,” she said, “because I work at the hospital, I’ll often need to work overtime or switch shifts. During those times, I hope you won’t bother me.”

I had laughed foolishly and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll support my wife’s job. I won’t bother you.”

Back then, because I loved her so much, I agreed to everything without a second thought. The irony was that it was all fake.

She never let go of her ex, Derek. She married me only to secure financial support for his medical care. All those nights she said she was working overtime or switching shifts? She was with him.

Just then, my phone kept ringing, refusing to stop. When I finally picked up, the first thing she said was, “Honey, I’m feeling really unwell today. Can you wire me two thousand dollars? I need to get more asthma medication.”

Hearing her voice, a scoff surfaced in my heart. She had no idea I had uncovered her lies. She still thought I was the same gullible fool she could push around. If I sent her the money now, she would definitely use it to refill Derek’s medication.

With that thought, I replied coldly, “I’m in the hospital. I don’t have money to send you.”