On our journey home for the New Year, my wife suddenly reminded me that we’d forgotten the special medication my mother-in-law needed for her heart condition. Without hesitation, I rushed back to retrieve it.

As I was hurrying, my phone rang. My mother’s frantic voice echoed through the line, “Your dad... he’s clutching his chest. He collapsed, and he’s not waking up!”

Panic clawed at my chest as I called my wife, a celebrated heart surgeon, begging her to check on him in the neighboring village. But her voice was laced with icy disdain, “Are you seriously using this as an excuse to ruin my reunion with Declan? We haven’t seen each other in years, and you want to sabotage it with your drama?”

Before I could even respond, she hung up.

Stifling my turmoil, I urged my mom to call for an ambulance. But she told me the hospital had been deliberately stalling and refusing to send help.

Just then, I stumbled upon Declan’s latest social media post, my wife’s childhood friend and someone she’d always held dear. His words hit like a slap to the face.

[Working overtime during New Year’s and even got pranked with a fake heart attack call. I mean, if someone’s having a heart attack, how could they still talk?]

Beneath his post, a casual comment added fuel to the fire.

[Thankfully, a stunning beauty brought me cake while I was on duty. This New Year’s Eve just got a whole lot sweeter.]

...

I guided my mom over the phone, desperate to help her seek aid, but her voice trembled as she whispered, "It’s too late. Your dad… he’s stopped breathing!"

Her words struck me like a bolt of lightning, leaving my legs unsteady and my heart refusing to accept the truth.

"That’s impossible…" I muttered.

By the time I rushed back home, my dad’s body had already grown cold. I clasped his icy hand, my own trembling, but no words escaped my lips, only the bitter ache of loss.

My mom, still reeling, called my wife, Yvette Laurier, pleading for her to attend the funeral. But Yvette’s tone was sharp and dismissive.

"Mom? Are you letting Ethan drag you into this charade, too? It’s the New Year; can we not talk about such unlucky things? Let me speak to Ethan!"

When I took the phone to explain, Yvette’s voice erupted in anger.

"I just wanted to spend time with an old friend, so I came up with a little excuse to keep you out of the way. But now you’ve completely lost it, involving your mom in this ridiculous act! Enough, Ethan! That’s your dad, not mine!"

The line went dead, leaving a suffocating silence. No matter how many times I tried, Yvette refused to answer. Her words, "just wanting to get me out of the way," played on a cruel loop in my mind, draining the life from me with every echo.

If I hadn’t been sent away, if I’d been there when it mattered, would my dad still be alive? The thought clung to me, suffocating, gnawing at every corner of my soul.

My mom’s panicked voice pulled me from the spiral. Her eyes, red and swollen, searched mine desperately. "Your dad is gone, and your wife won’t even come to the funeral?"

I clenched my jaw, my heart aching at the thought of burdening her further. In her eyes, my marriage to Yvette had always been a picture of harmony. If she knew the truth, that we’d grown cold and distant over the past six months, it would shatter her completely.

I quickly came up with a reason, claiming Yvette’s father wasn’t feeling well, and reluctantly took my dad to the funeral home.

It was late at night when Yvette finally called. Her timing, as always, was impeccable.

I had no desire to answer, but my silence seemed to provoke her more than my words ever could.

Her messages arrived in quick succession, each one sharper than the last.

[Are you seriously ignoring me? What’s your problem? Why aren’t you here yet?]

[Didn’t we agree to celebrate New Year’s Eve together? My parents went all out to prepare the perfect dinner. Where are you?]

[And all because I brought Declan Whitlock a piece of cake? Really? Was that such a crime?]

…

I couldn’t bring myself to read the rest of her accusations. Each word felt like a fresh slap, sharp and dismissive.

She claimed the New Year’s dinner was so important, yet she still managed to find time to bring cake to Declan.

To top it off, she’d gone so far as to fabricate an excuse, sending me thousands of miles away to Austin City just to avoid being disturbed.

My hands curled into tight fists as a new message from Declan lit up my screen.

[New Year’s is about family. Why aren’t you here yet?]

Attached was a photo of him seated comfortably with my in-laws, his smile wide and confident against a backdrop of vibrant, shimmering fireworks.

Even Yvette, who had been full of complaints in her earlier messages, now beamed at him with a radiant smile as if all her grievances had evaporated in his presence.

In stark contrast, my mother’s quiet sobs broke through the joyous atmosphere, a haunting reminder of her grief amidst their laughter.

At that moment, a wave of desolation washed over me. Perhaps I had been wrong from the very beginning.

Six years ago, Yvette confessed her love, claiming it had been love at first sight. She pursued me with relentless determination. At that age, when emotions burned brightly, who could resist someone so young, beautiful, and seemingly devoted?

Yet, standing quietly in her shadow was Declan, her childhood sweetheart.

Their families weren’t just neighbors; they were perfectly aligned in social status, destined for a seamless union.

I had rejected Yvette time and again, but she refused to give up, declaring her love with unwavering conviction. To prove her devotion, she cut ties with Declan and distanced herself from every other man, prioritizing me above all else. For a while, I believed her. For a while, she made me feel secure.

Things took a sharp turn six months ago when Declan returned to the country as a general doctor. Yvette claimed he had been forced to leave because of me, and now, after all these years, she insisted she needed to take special care of him.

The truth, though, painted a different picture. Back then, it was Yvette who made the decision to send him away. All I had done was ask her to draw some boundaries with other men. Yet somehow, I had become the villain in her rewritten story.

I refused to engage in her theatrics. Instead, I went out to buy boxed meals for my mother, who was still waiting at the funeral parlor. On my way back, fate played a cruel joke. There she was, standing on a crowded street, laughing with Declan as they browsed through fireworks together.

A flash of fury surged through me, burning hotter than the flickers of the sparklers they held. Without thinking, I marched toward Yvette.

Before she could even process my presence, I struck her across the face. The sound of the slap echoed through the bustling street, and she stumbled back, clutching her cheek in disbelief.

Her wide eyes met mine, brimming with shock. “What’s wrong with you?” she gasped.

Declan, visibly alarmed, rushed to her side, gripping her hand protectively. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t bother to ask why I wasn’t home for New Year’s Eve, nor did she attempt to explain why she was wandering the streets with Declan late at night.

Her reaction struck like ice, freezing me in place before the shards pierced through, leaving me shattered.

I locked my gaze on her, my voice as cold as my stare. “Let’s get a divorce.”

Yvette’s eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face. “What nonsense are you talking about? It’s New Year’s! You want a divorce just because I gave Declan a piece of cake?”

To her, it was incomprehensible. Divorce over something so trivial? A mere slice of cake? She couldn’t see the cracks widening beneath her feet.

She had once invited Declan to stay overnight at our home, and I had swallowed my anger in silence. Perhaps she thought I’d bury my feelings again this time.

Her uneasy gaze flitted to the boxed meals in my hands. With a mocking smile, she asked, “Are you sulking because you didn’t come to my place for New Year’s? What, your parents didn’t feed you? You had to go out and buy food for yourself?”

Her words stung like a slap, dripping with ridicule as if she had forgotten everything. Five hours ago, I had told her about my father’s heart attack.

She hadn’t taken a single word I’d said seriously, as though my feelings were mere whispers in the wind.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before locking eyes with her. “Say whatever you want. I’ll send you the divorce papers tomorrow.”

As I turned to walk away, a firm grip suddenly wrapped around my arm. Declan’s face was flushed with righteous anger, his presence a shield as he positioned himself protectively in front of Yvette.

“Ethan, don’t you think you’ve gone too far?” he snapped, his voice tight with indignation. “Since the moment I came back six months ago, you’ve been trying to get rid of me. You’ve been picking fights with Yvette and pushing me out!”

His words rushed out in a torrent, his face red with emotion. “I could’ve worked at a prestigious hospital in the city, but for your sake, I settled for a small-town clinic. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“And now, suddenly, you want a divorce. All because she gave me a piece of cake? You’re doing this to push me away, aren’t you?”

His words stung like a slap, and I could see the injustice etched on his face, his eyes filled with grievance.

The street buzzed with people, the laughter and joy of the New Year’s celebration around us, but the glances thrown my way were sharp, filled with disapproval.

Yvette, who had seemed momentarily guilty, now stood tall and unshaken, her confidence bolstered by Declan’s fiery defense.

"He actually took the time to ask for leave from the hospital to come home for the New Year. Why can’t you make the effort to visit my parents' house for the holiday? What kind of son-in-law skips out on his in-laws during New Year’s?"

Her voice was deliberately loud, trying to force an air of authority.

Maybe it was because we had been together for so long, but I could see right through her, her guilt as clear as day.

She knew it was wrong, sneaking around with Declan in the middle of the night. She knew she had betrayed me. And yet, here she was, defending him and scolding me as though I were the one at fault.

Before tonight, I might have tried to argue, to defend myself. But tonight, my father’s sudden passing had left me hollow, too drained to fight.

My mother was still waiting for me at the funeral home. I threw them both a cold, empty glance, my silence speaking louder than any words could.

Yvette's face twisted uncomfortably. "Apologize to me, and I’ll take you home to see my parents right now. As a son-in-law, you can’t just skip out on New Year’s."

She softened her voice, trying to make it sound more reasonable. "My mom even made your favorite braised prawns. Don’t you want to show her some respect?"

I let out a sharp, cold laugh, meeting her eyes with disdain. "Get lost."

Her temper flared once more, her patience clearly running thin. "I’ve said everything there is to say, both good and bad. Are you still trying to make a scene?"

She continued, her words growing sharper. "You insisted on going home for the holiday, and now look at you, wandering the streets like some lost soul. I tried to coax you, and this is how you repay me?"

A faint tinge of hurt flickered across her face, but my gaze remained as cold as ice.

She kept going on about those braised prawns as if they were some magical offering. To me, they were nothing more than a deadly allergen.

I could only eat river prawns and seafood in any form, which was something I couldn’t touch. Yet she hadn’t even bothered to remember that.

Then, the image of the photo Declan had sent me earlier of their family dinner flashed through my mind.

In the picture, the braised prawns lay in front of Declan, nearly devoured, with just one or two remaining. And there was Yvette, wearing gloves, carefully peeling the shells for him. The pile of discarded shrimp shells was a clear sign of her favoritism.

This dish, supposedly "made for me," had ended up in Declan’s stomach.

I remembered a time when I had asked Yvette to peel an orange for me. She had mocked me for the simple request as if I had asked her for something outrageous.

The sting of that memory hit me like a sharp jab to the chest, and I felt my eyes burn.

Yvette noticed the change in my expression, letting out a sigh of impatience. "What’s got you so upset now? Can’t we just have a peaceful New Year for once?"

"I don’t remember you being this difficult before."

Her words caught me off guard. I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to bring up the past.

Once, I had been the general manager of a top-ten company, respected and successful. She had been the one to ask me to step back, to take a backseat and let her take the lead.

She promised that even if I didn’t work, there would always be enough money to spend.

Whenever I mentioned wanting to work again, Yvette would find a thousand ways to shut me down, whether through arguments or the coldest silence. To keep the peace, I compromised, lowering my expectations bit by bit, each time convincing myself it was for the greater good.

Now, it hit me like a ton of bricks: just how much I had sacrificed for this marriage. It wasn’t just my career or dreams; it was my very sense of self. The person I once was, strong and unyielding, would never have allowed such self-pity to take root. Never would I have lowered my standards for anyone, no matter how much I loved them.

But love, it seemed, had the power to make us foolish.

Yvette, however, saw my sacrifices as nothing more than proof of her own worth. She didn’t understand that it was never about her, she thought I couldn’t survive without her.

Then Declan sighed heavily, his brow furrowing.

"Enough," he muttered, a hint of frustration lacing his voice. "I’m done. Let me get through this New Year, and I’ll leave the country tomorrow, alright?"

Yvette’s face immediately darkened, her expression turning to one of genuine concern.

"No," she said firmly. "You can’t go. It’s too chaotic abroad. You can’t go alone. You were forced to leave six years ago because of him, and I won’t let you make the same mistake again!"

Even now, Yvette spouted nonsense, her mind clouded by fears that weren’t even her own.