This was my first time engaging in a cold war with her, but it wasn't the first time I felt uneasy about her closeness to Eric.

When Eric came to our city to pursue his medical doctorate, Cynthia drove my car to pick him up from the train station, leaving me to squeeze onto the subway during rush hour.

The subway was packed like sardines, and I lost a shoe in the crowd, having to go to work with one foot bare.

I texted her about it, but it took ages for her to reply.

Finally, I received a message from her, mocking me for being unable to handle a little hardship.

Initially, I thought Eric was just a close classmate of hers, but during a class reunion, someone let it slip that Cynthia had been entangled with Eric for many years.

After that, I made it clear, both directly and indirectly, that I wanted her to keep her distance from Eric.

Yet, she continued as if nothing had changed.

Whenever I expressed even the slightest dissatisfaction, Cynthia would look at me with her enchanting eyes, as if I were a disappointment.

"Eric is a doctor; connections like that are hard to come by. When our family has health issues, who else will we turn to but Eric?"

I told her that we could see a doctor through proper channels and that she didn't need to compromise herself for someone like him.

Cynthia had once confessed to me how deeply hurt she was when she broke up with Eric, losing seven pounds in a week.

I didn't want to see her suffer because of his presence again.

Cynthia looked at me with indifference. "Liam, have you lost your mind? In this day and age, if you don't have some connections, which doctor is going to take you seriously at the hospital? If it weren't for our past relationship, we wouldn't even have the chance to know someone like Eric!"

Her argument was too solid for me to counter.

But when my dad suffered a brain hemorrhage and was hospitalized, the usually proactive Cynthia fell silent.

I tentatively suggested she ask Eric for help in reviewing the scans, but she quickly grew impatient.

"Liam, aren't you making things difficult? Eric is a massage therapist; he can't possibly look at brain scans!"

"Cynthia, didn't you say Eric was doing well at the hospital? Can't he help find someone who can?" I nearly begged her, thinking of my father's condition.

"Ugh, are you annoying me? Eric hasn't graduated yet; he wouldn't dare ask those big-shot doctors for favors. Just take a leave and go home to find a doctor there!" Cynthia's tone was icy, her refusal unwavering.

I turned over in frustration.

She claimed Eric wasn't a cardiologist, so he wouldn't help with my dad's scans.

But he wasn't a dermatologist either—why could Cynthia send him intimate photos?

Deep down, I already knew the answer; I just didn't want to face it.

When all possibilities are ruled out, the remaining possibility, no matter how cruel, is the truth.

I sighed heavily, feeling a wave of despair wash over me.

The next morning, I broke my routine and didn't make breakfast. I left early, something I'd never done before.

In the past, I would prepare breakfast and coax Cynthia to wake up.

She had a terrible morning mood, and I had to tread carefully, half-pleading and half-begging her to eat.

I would wait until she finished before eating her leftovers.

But not this time.

At work, I enjoyed a nutritious breakfast and started my day calmly.

Not long after, I received a call from Cynthia.

She was furious, accusing me of not waking her up and making her late for work.

She demanded I transfer her 5,000 dollars as compensation for her tardiness.

After listening, I paused and simply replied, "Next time, remember to set your own alarm."

Then came the silence.

One minute, two minutes, three minutes. Finally, Cynthia, growing impatient, shouted into the phone, "Liam, are you even listening? Are you mute? Transfer the money, or I swear I won't forgive you!"

Her voice was loud, drawing the attention of a few colleagues.

I quickly hung up.

How could Cynthia say such things?

She hadn't even explained her situation with Eric but was quick to blame me.

I pressed my fingers to my forehead, trying to calm my emotions.

A colleague nearby chuckled, teasing, "Your girl is like a thorny rose; not everyone can handle her! But, to be fair, she has her charms!"

I laughed it off, but inside, I felt bitter.