When I was struck by a stomach illness, my boyfriend, Charles Fischer, was busy blowing out birthday candles with his assistant, Beverly Wagner.

I lay there in excruciating pain, but he didn't even glance at me. Instead, he affectionately stroked her nose. 

“Bev is a year older! Make a wish, birthday girl!”

Later, after I had fainted and was rushed to the hospital, I called Charles, only for him to ignore me. 

Meanwhile, Beverly posted a photo on Instagram. Gifts filled the screen, with the caption, [Yay! Charles is the best ever! Charles and Bev, together forever!]

When I confronted him, Charles didn’t care at all. "It's Bev’s birthday. Were you expecting me not to spend it with her? If you can't handle it, we're done!"

This was the umpteenth time he'd threatened to break up with me, always confident that I wouldn't dare to leave him. 

Not this time.

When I was finally discharged from the hospital for my stomach issues, I took a cab home alone.

As usual, I pulled out my keys, but for some reason, the door wouldn’t unlock.

I heard faint noises coming from inside, so I pressed the doorbell.

Once.

Twice.

Three times…

It took forever, but eventually, the door opened.

Beverly Wagner poked her head out, sticking her tongue out as she apologized.

“Oh, Sarah! I’m so sorry! Last night, after my birthday party, it got really late. Charles insisted I stay over because he didn’t think it was safe for me to go home alone!

“You didn’t come home last night. Where were you?”

Before I could say anything, Charles Fischer gave Beverly a tender pat on the head.

“Bev’s so gorgeous. I couldn’t let her go home alone at night. It’d be too dangerous.”

Then he glanced at me. “Don’t mind her, Bev. She’s the one faking a stomachache and running off without a word. It’s a classic attention-seeking move. I’ve seen it all before.”

So that’s how he saw it.

Yesterday, Charles saw me doubled over in pain but thought it was all some petty ploy for his attention.

Beverly stood before me, her hair damp, wearing Charles’ oversized shirt, looking at me with a triumphant look.

Charles, on the other hand, was shirtless, his torso covered with faint red marks and scratches.

I kept my expression neutral and spoke calmly. “Charles, is that really what you think of me? That I’m someone so shameless?”

He scoffed, like I’d just told him the funniest joke in the world. “And what? You’re not feeling sick anymore? Convenient timing, isn’t it?

“You’re telling me it hurt so bad last night, but now you’re fine? Right when it’s Bev’s birthday? You just couldn’t stand her having a good time, huh?”

He looked at me up and down, as if he’d solved some great mystery.

“Whatever. We’ll drop it this time because Bev’s kind enough to let it go. Now go whip up a few dishes for us. She’s hungry.”

The old me would’ve swallowed my pride, buried my feelings, and quietly prepared a few light, delicious dishes.

Not anymore.

“I’m not cooking. If you’re hungry, do it yourself.”

Charles’ expression darkened immediately.

“Sarah, are you serious right now? All I did was celebrate Bev’s birthday, and now you’re giving me the cold shoulder? You’re almost thirty. Why are you competing with a younger girl?

“Forget it. I’ve lost my appetite just looking at you!”

Beverly leaned into him, wrapping her arm around his.

“Charles, don’t get upset! We still have that exhibition to check out later!”

He softened instantly, his voice dripping with affection.

“You’re right, Bev. Whatever you say.

“Oh, you’re going to help me find some amazing designers, right? Otherwise, people are going to think I can’t make it without her!”

With that, he walked out, hand in hand with Beverly, without looking back.

The door slammed shut behind them; the sound hitting my heart the same and shattering it into a million pieces.

My heart ached with bitterness, and I couldn’t help but feel that all my years of effort had been in vain.

Charles and I had been together for seven years.

When he said he wanted to start his own business, I gave him every penny of my savings to help him open a clothing company.

I worked tirelessly, brainstorming designs, creating clothing, and networking with models. There were days when I was so busy I didn’t even have time to eat.

Skipping meals became a habit. To keep our biggest clients happy, I often had to drink with them. Sometimes, it was to the point of throwing up, only to pick up the glass and keep drinking.

Under my efforts, Charles’ clothing factory went from a small, unknown operation to one of the most successful in the industry.

However, in the process, my stomach problems worsened, becoming almost unbearable.

I never told Charles about any of it because I didn’t want our relationship tainted with pity.

Yet, he gave all the credit to his assistant, Beverly.

“If it weren’t for Bev, I’d never have achieved this level of success.”

If all of this meant so little to him, maybe it was time to cut my losses.

When Charles came home that evening, I had just taken the medicine prescribed by the doctor.

The bitterness lingered in my mouth, but it couldn’t compare to the bitterness in my heart.

He handed me a takeout container.

“Sarah, you’re always pretending to have a stomachache, aren’t you? Well, this is Beverly’s favorite chicken noodle soup. I went out of my way to get it for you. Satisfied now?”

His so-called concern was laughable.

I didn’t reach out to take it. “I’m not eating that. Just leave it on the table.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, his face darkened, and he slammed the container onto the table.

“Sarah, this is ridiculous. Stop throwing tantrums. It’s exhausting. I’ve had a long day, and now I come home to your attitude?”

“Why can’t you learn from Bev? When I’m tired, she always knows how to comfort me. She even gives me massages.”

At the mention of Beverly, his expression lit up, and a small smile tugged at his lips. It was like he was savoring some fond memory.

I had told Charles countless times that I was allergic to chicken.

Time after time, he’d bring it home and insist I prepare dishes for him. If he ever paid attention, he’d notice I never touched them.

When I didn’t respond, Charles moved closer.

“Okay, I get it. You’re mad because I haven’t made your identity public.

“Fine. Once we wrap up this international fashion show, I’ll announce it. Happy now?”

I gave him a bitter smile and shook my head. I didn’t need that anymore.

Just as I was about to tell him how I really felt, his phone rang.

“Charles, I can’t sleep. Can you come over and keep me company?”

Charles chuckled, his mood instantly lifting.

“You silly girl. I told you not to drink so much coffee today, didn’t I? Now you can’t sleep.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there.”

He hung up and glanced at me, looking a bit awkward. In no time, he regained his composure.

“Uh, a client wants to discuss something urgent. I need to head out.”

I didn’t even look at him. I just nodded indifferently.

After he left, I took a long, hot shower. As I scrolled through my Instagram feed, a new post from Beverly popped up.

It was a video of her lying in a man’s arms.

In the background, a man’s voice could be heard singing a lullaby.

Her caption read: [Haha, Charles still treats me like a little kid. Even though I’m already twenty, he sings me to sleep.]

It was obvious at a glance that her caption was designed to show off.

I quietly liked the post, then clicked on Beverly’s profile picture. It was a cartoon character.

Charles’ profile picture, on the other hand, was a matching couple’s avatar of the same cartoon.

I had once suggested to Charles that we use matching profile pictures, too. However, he’d laughed at the idea.

“Sarah, can you not be so childish? I have zero interest in stuff like that.

“And besides, if I did something that dumb, what would my employees think?”

Now, for his assistant Beverly, he was doing all the things he once dismissed as “childish.”

I was so tired.

After thinking it over for a long time, I finally dialed Sullivan Group, which had always wanted to poach me to them.

“Mr. Sullivan, I’ve made up my mind. I’m ready to join your company.”

Garrett Sullivan, on the other end, was surprised to hear my voice.

“Miss Keenan! Are you saying you’re ready to come on board as our Chief Designer?”

I responded with a wry smile.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I just hope you don’t think I’m a burden.”

“Not at all! Our company has always admired your talent.”

Charles didn’t come home until the next morning.

When he finally showed up, he surprised me with an unusual suggestion: to take me to a long-anticipated exhibition.

“Hey, I got the tickets. Let’s go.”

In the past, I would’ve been ecstatic. Now, though, I couldn’t muster much interest.

Still, I didn’t want to waste the opportunity to learn something new, so I forced myself to agree.

When we got to Charles’ car, I instinctively reached for the front passenger door, only to be stopped by him.

“Sarah, get in the backseat. Bev doesn’t like it when someone else sits up front.”

So, I climbed into the backseat.

The front passenger seat was covered in pink cushions and adorned with a cartoon nameplate.

“Princess Bev’s Special Seat,” it wrote.

I hadn’t eaten anything before we left, and my stomach was already unsettled. To make things worse, the car reeked of Beverly’s favorite rose-scented air freshener—a smell I couldn’t stand.

I tried to ignore it, but eventually, I couldn’t help gagging.

I asked Charles to drive slower, but it only seemed to egg him on. He pressed the gas pedal harder.

Gritting my teeth and fighting the nausea, I grabbed a trash bag from the car and quietly retched into it.

When I looked up, Charles was glaring at me with an expression of pure disgust.

“Sarah, you know Bev has to get in this car later. Now you’ve made it smell disgusting. Are you trying to ruin her day on purpose?”

I clutched the edge of my shirt tightly.

“I can’t stand the scent of that air freshener.”

His face darkened even further.

“That air freshener is Bev’s favorite. So, tell me, is it really the smell you can’t stand? Or is it Bev?

“If you’re trying to pull another one of your sympathy stunts, don’t bother. It won’t work on me. You’re only making me hate you more.

“Get out. I don’t want Bev getting in and complaining about the smell. You can catch a cab. I’ll text you the location.”

Without another word, I climbed out of the car.

The moment I shut the door, he hit the gas and sped off, leaving me alone on the empty roadside.

I checked the location he sent me. Thankfully, it wasn’t far.

However, it still took me over an hour of walking. I was alone, exhausted, and nearly collapsing from fatigue before I finally arrived at the hotel where the exhibition was being held.