Two months ago, she'd come home and a box of condoms had fallen out of her coat pocket.

Lemon-flavored. I'd assumed she bought them for us. I'd even felt a little shy about it.

They were for Leonard?

The humiliation hit me like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.

Leonard was still rambling, oblivious:

"I get the feeling your girlfriend doesn't really love you that much. I mean, why else would she let you live in a rental?"

"My girlfriend always says money is where the love is. That's why she gives me nothing but the best."

His tone was so guileless, so innocent. To me, every word was a knife twisting deeper.

I laughed bitterly. It wasn't that Rowena didn't understand the importance of money.

She just didn't think I was worth spending it on.

I'd never once experienced the kind of devotion she showed him. Every sentence he spoke was another cut, slow and precise, flaying me alive.

I practically fled to the bathroom.

But when I came back to the living room, Leonard was holding my phone, staring at the screen with a blank expression.

My pupils contracted.

I'd left in such a rush that I'd forgotten to lock it.

Leonard's voice came out soft, almost fragile:

"What a coincidence. Your girlfriend's name is Rowena Ashworth too?"

My hands and feet went ice-cold. Before I could say a word, there was a noise at the front door.

"Ulysses, I picked up that cake you love..."

Rowena pushed the door open and locked eyes with Leonard, who was sitting on the couch.

"You're a goddamn bastard!"

Leonard burst into tears and ran out.

Rowena panicked instantly.

She whipped around and glared at me, her face twisted with a fury I had never seen before:

"I told you I never wanted to break up with you! Why would you hurt Leonard like this?"

"You think this little stunt will drive him away? Not a chance! The more jealous you act, the harder I'll protect him!"

She shoved my hand away when I tried to explain and rushed after Leonard.

The motion was too forceful. She knocked the piggy bank off the shelf.

Ceramic shards exploded across the floor, and with them, a shower of loose change.

I ignored the cut on my ankle and stared at the coins scattered on the ground.

Those first few years after I started working, the hours were brutal and the pay was pitiful. Rowena had bought that piggy bank specifically for me, told me to toss in whatever spare change I had.

She'd joked that we'd save up enough for a penthouse someday.

She forgot about it eventually. I never did. I kept dropping coins in, one by one. Sometimes I'd even go to the farmers' market and ask vendors to break bills into change.

As if filling that jar meant Rowena and I would finally have a home of our own.

I crouched down and counted the coins slowly.

Most of them were dimes and nickels. Barely any quarters.

It wasn't much.

But it was enough to buy a plane ticket out of here.

I didn't know what Rowena said to Leonard.

That night, a post went viral, trending on every platform.

Leonard had publicly accused me by name of being a homewrecker. He claimed I'd used cooking dinner as a cover story when I was really hunting for a sugar mama, trying to seduce someone else's girlfriend.

He sobbed through the whole video, tears streaming down his face:

"We just had a little fight, my girlfriend and I. I never imagined I'd run into someone like him. If my girlfriend didn't love only me, he might've actually stolen her away!"

He let my phone number, personal details, and home address slip into the post, as if by accident.

Within minutes, my phone was overwhelmed. An endless flood of slurs, threats, and abuse poured in from every direction.

A deafening crash came from outside my door. Someone had hurled red paint across it. On the wall beside it, someone had scrawled the words "HOMEWRECKER" and "SHAMELESS."

I stood there shaking with rage, wanting to confront Rowena.

But the moment I stepped outside, a rock struck me hard.

Searing pain exploded at my temple. In the last second before everything went dark, I heard a voice dripping with contempt:

"Homewreckers who have the nerve to show their faces in public deserve to die!"

I opened my eyes in a hospital bed.

The nurse told me it was only early-stage stomach cancer. There was still hope for a cure. She urged me not to give up on treatment.

I stared blankly ahead, my hand drifting to my stomach. Only then did the recent warning signs click into place.

Along with the pain came a crushing wave of irony.

The next day, I dragged my weakened body back to my apartment, only to find my landlord standing in the doorway, red-faced and furious.

"Get the hell out! I'm not renting my place to some man-stealing piece of trash!"

He'd rather forfeit my deposit than let me stay another night.

As I wheeled my suitcase through the door, he spat on the ground behind me.

"Disgusting. You look like a decent person, but you're nothing but a shameless homewrecker!"

Rowena called. Her voice was low, measured.

"Ulysses, I never wanted us to be apart. But you hurt Leonard. There has to be some kind of consequence."

"He's already calmed down. You can come back to Ashworth Group anytime. Ulysses, I truly want to protect you."

I hung up, hard. The nausea I'd been holding back surged through my chest, and I doubled over, dry heaving on the sidewalk.

Rowena probably assumed I had nowhere left to turn. That she was my only lifeline.

What she didn't know was that I'd already planned to leave.

I flagged down a cab heading for the airport. The draft in my phone was already finished, every word polished and ready.

Leonard wasn't the only one who could post online.

Laid out on a proper timeline, it was Leonard who was the real interloper. The one everyone should have been cursing.

I hit send. Then I turned around and took one last look at the city I'd poured seven years of my life into.

Then I boarded the flight to Southport.

Meanwhile, an assistant burst into the office in a panic.

"Ms. Ashworth, Mr. Henson just posted your entire relationship timeline online!"

"He's saying Leonard was the other man!"