Marco stumbled into the room, clearly drunk and cupped my face in his hands, pressing a kiss to my forehead. His eyes, glazed with alcohol, were filled with something soft—concern, maybe even guilt.

“Why are you standing by the door?” he asked gently.

“It’s nothing,” I said with a smile. “I was bringing you something to help sober up… spilled it by accident.”

“You shouldn’t be doing that. Let the housekeeper handle it,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve been exhausted lately. Get some rest, or I’ll start worrying.”

Then he leaned in and kissed me again—soft, familiar, just like he always did.

Just this time, I couldn’t feel a thing.

It was strange, how a person could go so far, do so much… all for someone who didn’t love them back. I closed my eyes and a tear slid down my cheek.

I helped him to bed and pulled the covers over him. He fell asleep almost instantly, lulled by the alcohol.

I sat down at the edge of the bed and slowly reached for his phone. The passcode was Amina’s birthday.

Once entered, the screen flickered into a hidden interface—clean, simple, but one thing stood out: the photo gallery, completely full.

He had documented everything from the Vogel case—A thousand photos, maybe more. Every single one tied to Amina. Her possible motives. The evidence that pointed to her. Even surveillance footage of her standing at the gate of the Vogels’ villa the night they were killed.

Clear as day.

When I reached the end of the gallery, I found something that hit harder than anything else. He had labeled the case as “unsolved.”

Marco had brought the files home to avoid drawing suspicion from his colleagues. The only record he kept was here—on his phone. Hidden. Just for himself.

His bias. His protection of her. It was all there, plain as day.

The weight of it made my chest ache. He’d always been a principled investigator—firm, intuitive, driven by truth. Those were the very reasons I fell so deeply in love with him.

I never imagined he’d abandon all of it—his integrity, his convictions—just for Amina.

And then, I noticed another folder. Private. Locked.

I opened it. Nothing but photos of Amina smiling. Hundreds of them. Snapshots spanning five years of her life since the wedding.

As the second daughter-in-law, marrying into the Fisher Family, she naturally had attended countless public events—and Marco had saved them all.

In every group photo, my face had been carefully cropped out. That message couldn’t have been clearer.

I let out a dry, bitter laugh and closed the album. I didn’t need to see any more.

Instead, I pulled out my own phone and began to quietly document everything—every image, every piece of evidence he thought he’d hidden.

That night, I booked a one-way ticket. Departure: three days later. Destination: anywhere but this city.

I filed for the cancellation of all my personal documents—ID, bank cards, everything tied to my current life.

I didn’t sleep.

At sunrise, I went to the bathroom to wash up. My phone buzzed.

Marco’s voice came through the door, confused, “Polly? Why did you cancel your ID?”

I quickly pulled the phone from the counter, slipping it out of sight as casually as I could.

“Oh, nothing,” I said with a small smile. “My ID was about to expire—I just booked an appointment to renew it.” I paused, trying to appear calm. “Don’t you have training today? You should get going.”

He didn’t question it. Instead, he pulled me into his arms, holding me close, his cheek brushing against mine.

“Babe,” he whispered, his voice soft and teasing, “are you trying to surprise me?”

I froze for half a second.

“I saw the pregnancy report.” He reached out and playfully tapped my nose. “Mom and Dad have been asking about grandkids for five years. If they knew, they’d be over the moon.”

Then his tone softened, a little reverent, a little too smooth. “Their memorial’s coming up, isn’t it? Let’s go together. We’ll bring some flowers and tell them the good news, yeah? Maybe even host a family dinner after—Marc hasn’t been back in a while.”

I smiled faintly. Said nothing.

He spun me in a joyful circle, his excitement overflowing. For five years, he had tried so hard to patch things up between me and Marcel, his brother and my former fiancé, pushing for family reunions, holiday dinners, “accidental” run-ins.

I used to believe that was love. Now, I saw it for what it really was—calculated. He wasn’t building bridges for my sake. He just needed a reason to see Amina again.

This entire marriage—five years of it—had been one long, careful performance.

Now, it was time to bring down the curtain.

Not long after Marco stepped out the door, I left the house.

I headed straight to the law office to print the divorce papers. Then, I finalized the cancellation of all my personal documents.

There was no point in going to the police now. The files were already in Marco’s hands. Without evidence, I didn’t stand a chance. Leaving was the only option I had left.

I took the divorce papers and made my way to Marco’s precinct.

But as I reached the building, I heard voices—his colleagues, chatting near the entrance.

“That woman—isn’t she Captain Fisher’s wife? She looks familiar… Wait, wasn’t she connected to that Vogel murder case five years ago?”

“Hey, you trying to get yourself sent on double shifts?” one of them whispered sharply. “Watch your mouth. The Captain’s made it crystal clear—she wasn’t the killer. You want him to snap again? He’s had more than one screaming match with the chief over that case.”

“Still… that outfit’s gotta cost six figures easy. I heard she just got back from overseas. Someone that rich—hard to believe she’d be capable of murder. And the way the Captain looks at her? If she was the killer, he would've arrested her on the spot.”

My nails dug into the flesh of my palms.

I stood frozen just outside the office door. Then I heard it—his voice. Familiar. Intimate.

“Has he been treating you well these years?” It was Marco.

A reply came with, light and teasing tone, “You know your brother. He found out I was flying back and insisted on buying me a private jet. I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s been married for five years and still acts like a lovesick kid...”

Marco’s voice followed—low, tight, laced with longing he couldn’t quite hide.

“Good,” she said lightly. “That puts my mind at ease.”

“Marco, I really owe you for what you did back then. If it weren’t for you, I might’ve ended up in prison.”

“Then, about the big family dinner tomorrow… maybe I should skip it. I don’t want to upset Pauline. Every time she sees me, it just reminds her of Uncle and Aunt Vogel. I’m afraid she’ll start another fight with you…”

That was Amina. Always playing both sides. Taking everything she could—and still finding a way to act like the victim. Passive-aggressive. Sugar-laced venom.

I remembered the old case files Marco kept hidden away. I’d seen them—briefly, secretly—back when he was still investigating.

Amina was the only suspect.

On their wedding day, I stood up in front of everyone and called her out. Told the crowd she was the one who killed my parents. Demanded she be taken to the police.

But no one believed me. They called me bitter. Unreasonable. Hysterical.

Marco… back then, he was the only one who stepped in to shield me.

At the time, I thought he was my salvation. But now I saw it clearly. He was the one who had pushed me into the abyss.

Inside the office, I watched as Marco gave a quiet, bitter smile. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small ceramic figurine.

“I made this myself,” he said softly. “It’s not fancy like the things in stores, but… it’s from the heart. I heard you’re expecting. Consider it a little welcome gift—for the baby.”

Amina took the ceramic gift with a bright smile and a playful little shrug.

“So cute,” she said, sticking out her tongue like a mischievous kid.

Just then, my hand trembled against the doorframe, making a soft noise.

Marco looked up and, through the glass, spotted me standing just outside. His expression shifted instantly—panic creeping into his features.

“Polly? What are you doing here?” He stood so quickly you’d think I’d caught them in something.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said quickly. “Amy just got back into town, she stopped by to catch up—and we were just talking about tomorrow night’s dinner.”

“Pauline,” Amina chimed in sweetly, rising to her feet. “It’s been so long.”

She wore a brand-new designer dress, the kind that screamed exclusivity. Perfectly styled, perfectly poised. Standing next to her, I felt like I’d walked in from another world—plain, tired, out of place.

I smiled and nodded, swallowing down the knot in my throat.

“It’s nothing,” I said gently. “Just passing by. Thought I’d drop in… but you’re busy. I’ll let you get back to it.”

I leave afterwards.

Marco assumed I was upset. So, he ran after me, catching up just outside the door.

“Polly, wait—don’t overthink it, please. Amy’s pregnant too, I just wanted to ask her for advice. I thought it might help me take better care of you.” He looked genuinely worried. Like he still believed I didn’t see through it all.

Somehow, that made me want to laugh. He had broken every rule he ever claimed to live by—Abandoned his ethics, his honor, his vows—All to protect Amina.

He’d sacrificed our entire marriage for her.

Since he got exactly what he wanted… Who was he still pretending for?

"Don't worry, the past is behind us. Didn't you say it was all just a misunderstanding? I'm not as immature as you think."

Marco let out a visible sigh of relief and personally walked me to the car.

"You two talk. I'll head home and wait for you."

On the way, my colleagues from the department gave me these looks—full of sympathy, like they all knew something I didn’t.

I ignored them. Once in the car, I pulled out my phone and scheduled an abortion for two days later.

Back home, I gathered everything Marco had given me over the past five years and burned it all. Every last bit of it.

The final flicker of flame had just died when I heard the delivery guy outside. Marco was listed as the buyer—but the package was addressed to Amina.

I signed for it.

When I opened the box, it was packed with premium baby products from all the big brands.

Almost immediately, Marco sent a message: [Polly, I ordered some office supplies but accidentally had them shipped home. Don’t open it—I’ll come by and take it to the station.]

I replied with an emoji. Then I resealed the box.

I had already made up my mind to leave. His lies weren’t even worth unraveling anymore.

That night, Marco claimed he was working late on a case and wouldn’t be coming home. Amina, on the other hand, posted something for the first time in ages. She was checked in at a luxury hotel downtown.

In the candid photo, the man’s shoulder insignia stood out his police rank. His wedding ring was gone, leaving behind a pale, sun-weathered mark on his finger.

In the reflection of a wine glass, the woman was beaming like spring, while the man looked at her with unmistakable tenderness.

As she’d hoped, I gave the post a like. Then, I started packing my things.

It wasn’t until the following afternoon that Marco finally messaged me. He told me to head over to the Fishers’ family estate.

The moment I stepped through the door, carrying nothing, his parents’ expressions turned cold.

“Marc’s been working himself to the bone at the station,” his mother snapped. “And you can’t even be bothered to bring a gift? Walk in empty-handed and already pulling an attitude—what kind of wife are you?”

Relatives sitting nearby all turned to stare—judgment in their eyes.

“You’ve been married five years and still think you’re some pampered Vogel heiress? Wake up. The Vogels went bankrupt five years ago! If Marc hadn’t emptied his savings to cover your family’s debts, God knows where you’d be—probably selling yourself on some street corner!”

“Like it or not, we’re your in-laws. Your parents are gone and we’re the only family you’ve got now. You don’t even know how to show respect? Anyone hearing this would think Marc begged you to marry him!”

Just as the words hung in the air, Amina walked through the door—arms full of expensive health supplements.

The Fishers’ faces lit up the moment they saw her, beaming as they rushed to greet her.

"Amy, you're here! The flight must've worn you out. Go upstairs and get some rest—we’ll have your sister-in-law cook something nice. It’s not often you come home."

"You always bring so much stuff—oh, you shouldn’t have! Your mom and I are getting old, we don’t need all these things. You and your husband should save your money for yourselves."

"Still, it shows how thoughtful you are, Amy. Not like some people, who walk in like they’re here to collect a debt. Her parents have been gone five years and she still won’t let it go—such a downer every time!"

Despite the protests, Mrs. Fisher’s hands didn’t stop as she eagerly accepted the gifts.

Amina giggled sweetly and looped her arm through her mother’s.

"Mom, don’t say that. The Vogels' case has been cold for five years—no killer, no justice. It’s understandable she’s still upset. She's hurting, let’s not pour salt on her wounds. We're family, after all—we share the same name, remember?"

“Oh! And I heard she’s pregnant too. Double blessings for the family today!”

"Don’t make her cook, Mom—Marco will get mad if he finds out you had her in the kitchen."

At the mention of Marco, Mrs. Fisher’s cheerful smile faltered for just a second.

"Got himself a wife and forgot his mother—that’s my son, alright!"