My husband, Michael Collins, has offered to buy his childhood sweetheart, Natalie Sweeney's virginity for ten million dollars so that she can afford to treat her cancer.

I'm about to stop him from doing so when he begins berating me instead.

"Natalie has always been prideful since young. If I were to give her money outright, she'd think that I was giving it to her out of pity. It'll bruise her ego instead.

"Can you please be more sympathetic toward her? Must you feel jealous over such a small thing?"

Instead of replying to Michael, I just smile and nod in agreement.

What Michael doesn't know is that I, an infectious disease specialist, have already picked up on Natalie's weird symptoms.

She doesn't have cancer at all—she actually has late-stage AIDS infection.

By the time Michael Collins came home, it was already deep into the night.

He didn't say a word. He just took off his shirt, and when he turned, the scratches across his back were revealed.

I stood there, stunned, unable to speak.

He was the one who broke the silence. "Natalie was a virgin. Of course, she reacted strongly."

My hands curled into fists. I tried to stay composed, but the question slipped out anyway. "Did you use protection?"

He shook his head, completely unbothered. "She took medication beforehand. You're worrying over nothing."

At those words, my heart, which had been wound tight with anxiety, sank.

Just then, his phone rang.

It was Natalie Sweeney calling. Her voice came through the speaker, shaky and tearful. "Mike, I'm bleeding a lot all of a sudden. I'm really scared."

He panicked and quickly tried to calm her, "Don't be afraid. I'm coming over right now. I'll be there in ten minutes!"

Despite feeling utterly disheartened, I still reached out to stop him. I wanted to tell him the truth about Natalie's condition.

Instead, he shook me off with visible irritation.

"I told you already. I only did this to help Natalie. If there were really something going on between us, do you honestly think I would've let you find out?"

He shot me a glare, pulled on his clothes, and headed straight for the door.

Just before leaving, he turned back and said, "Wash my clothes and underwear. I got blood on them. If you leave it sitting, it won't come out."

The door slammed shut with a thud.

After Michael left, I stared at the wedding photo on the wall in a daze.

Over the years, I had built everything with him from the ground up. We'd moved from a cramped rental apartment barely big enough to turn around in to a luxury apartment in the heart of the city.

Every hardship we'd endured along the way was still vivid in my memory.

By most standards, Michael counted as a decent husband. When he made his first real money, the first thing he did was make up for the wedding we never had.

He even had a ring custom-made. The diamond wasn't large, and there was a faint crack running through it. Even so, I treated it like a treasure.

Michael was the perfect husband in the eyes of our family and friends. And yet, he'd be the one to do the very thing that broke me.

After a high-risk encounter without protection, the infection rate was practically guaranteed.

I was angry, but in the end, I couldn't be cruel.

He still had 72 hours. As long as he started post-exposure medication in time, the infection risk could still be controlled.

Natalie had just posted on social media. The caption read, "I heard marriage was meant to tame a man, but it looks like someone clearly didn't get the memo."

The photo showed her shoulder and neck covered in bite marks. It looked like she was complaining, but it was really a show of how passionate her encounter with Michael had been.

What caught my eye, though, wasn't the marks. It was the ring on her finger. The design was almost identical to mine, only hers had a larger, fuller diamond.

My heart lurched.

I flipped my own ring over, found the serial number engraved inside, and called the brand's customer service line.

After checking, the representative answered politely, "Mr. Collins did place an order for a diamond ring with us. However, the first version had a defect, so we later remade the ring."

She paused before adding, "Ms. Sweeney, we're very sorry for the inconvenience. Is there anything else you're dissatisfied with?"

Keeping myself together, I softly denied it and hung up.

As it turned out, the ring had been custom-made for Natalie from the start. The one I received was just the defective version.

At that moment, it felt like someone had wrapped a hand tightly around my throat. Pain and suffocation came all at once.

Just as I was at the end of my rope, Michael called. His voice was frantic. "Honey, Natalie's covered in red rashes, and her lymph nodes are swollen. What's going on? "You're a doctor. Should she go get checked?"

Listening to him, I became even more certain that Natalie hadn't taken any medication to control the virus after being infected.

Based on her symptoms, this wasn't just late-stage AIDS. There was a strong chance she had other infections as well, like syphilis.

On the other end of the line, Michael pressed impatiently, "Honey, say something. I need an answer!"

I clenched my teeth and replied evenly, "It's probably a common complication. She just needs to rest for a few days."

With that, I hung up.

Outside, the night was heavy.

I put on gloves, carefully gathered Michael's clothes, and brought them to the balcony before setting them on fire.

I knew very well that his infection was only a matter of time. As we lived under the same roof, one careless moment could put me at risk, too.

To avoid alerting him, all I could do for now was keep my distance.

…

Early the next morning, I packed my bags and left.

Only after that did I message him, saying I had gone out of town on a work trip and wouldn't be back for two weeks.

After settling into the hotel, I opened the surveillance app on my phone that I had never used.

A few months earlier, the neighborhood had upgraded its security system and installed cameras in every unit. Michael hadn't been home, and I'd been so busy that I forgot to mention it afterward.

Before long, the bedroom feed flickered to life on my screen.

What I saw made my blood freeze.

I'd been gone less than half a day, but Michael had already brought Natalie home.

She was wearing my nightgown, sitting at my vanity with her legs crossed, twisting open a face cream worth thousands of dollars.

She wasn't using it on her face. She scooped out a large amount and slowly rubbed it onto her feet. Then, apparently finding it inconvenient, she shoved her toes straight into the jar and stirred.

Michael lay nearby, watching without a hint of concern.

"Mike, Josephine's skincare isn't cheap. Won't she be upset if she finds out?" Natalie asked, though her movements never stopped.

He got up lazily, wrapped an arm around her waist, and smiled indulgently. "Her face is a waste of good products anyway. You might as well use it on your feet."

As he spoke, he hooked a finger through the strap of her nightgown.

"It's the same nightgown, but when you wear it, you look sweet and tempting. You're nothing like that old hag. Everything looks like a sack on her."

Natalie leaned into him, laughing uncontrollably.

The moment they rolled onto the bed, I shut off my phone. If I kept watching, I was afraid I'd catch something just through the screen.

…

Soon, two weeks passed.

I took preventive medication in advance, put on a mask, and steeled myself to go home.

I told Michael ahead of time and assumed he would at least send Natalie away.

But when I opened the door, she was still there, lounging on the couch and snacking on my top-grade caviar that cost 300 dollars a gram.

I suppressed my anger and looked at Michael. "Michael, you brought an outsider into our home. Did you not think to discuss it with me?"

Before he could answer, another voice came from the kitchen.

"My son bought this house. He can let whoever he wants live here. Who are you to interfere?"

I was taken aback, only then realizing my mother-in-law, Laura Barker, was there.

She glanced at me impatiently and stepped protectively in front of Natalie. "Besides, Natalie isn't an outsider. She's pregnant. She's the most precious person in the Collins family!"

I shuddered at her words.

When I looked at Michael again, he deliberately avoided my eyes and said, "Honey, you know Mom has always wanted a grandchild. But after all these years… the crib is still empty."

Natalie spoke timidly then. "Josephine, please don't blame Mike. This is my fault. I mixed up my birth control pills with my vitamins and got pregnant by accident. If this makes you uncomfortable, I can go to the hospital right now and get an abortion…"

Her eyes reddened as she pretended to stand.

Laura exploded. She rushed over and slapped me across the face, hard.

"Josephine Schofield, are you trying to end our family name with Michael? I'm warning you. If anything happens to this baby, I won't let you get away with it!"

My ears rang as I covered my face, stunned.

Turning my head to the side, I saw three sets of dinnerware on the dining table.

Laura noticed and said righteously, "I didn't know you were coming back. I only prepared lunch for three people."

I understood the message. Biting my lip, I turned and left.

Laura slammed the door behind me. Even then, I could still hear her raised voice inside.

"Michael, you're a billionaire. You should've divorced that barren excuse for a wife years ago! She's way out of your league and wasting your time!"

I leaned against the door and laughed.

Back then, to support Michael's startup, I interned at the hospital by day and bused dishes at restaurants for extra money.

Every cent I earned went to him.

What was ridiculous was that no matter how much Laura humiliated me, Michael never defended me once.

The sting on my cheek hadn't faded, but all I felt inside was nothing but numbness.

Just then, my phone vibrated with a message from my colleague. "Josephine, I got Natalie's medical records from the CDC."

My brow furrowed, and I immediately tapped on the file. Even though I had expected it, the sheer amount of data still stunned me.

She was infected with late-stage AIDS and tertiary syphilis, which I already knew. What I hadn't anticipated was that she carried more than a dozen additional infectious diseases.

Most of the viruses were transmitted through blood or sexual contact. But close daily contact, shared towels or utensils, or broken skin could all pose risks.

Fortunately, that wasn't my concern anymore. After all, I wasn't the one who'd be suffering.

I applied for long-term leave with the hospital director, packed my bags, and booked a flight to a seaside town I'd always wanted to visit.

On the 20th day after leaving, Michael called.

"Josephine, where have you been? Even sulking has its limits."

When I didn't answer, he softened his tone. "Don't take what my mom said to heart. She was just anxious for a grandchild."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Honey, Natalie and I have talked it through. Once she gives birth, I'll give her some money and send her abroad. She won't come back."