My boyfriend and his so-called “sister” checked into a hotel and got caught during a prostitution sting operation.

When I went to bail him out, he had hickeys all over his neck and was busy comforting her while she sobbed into her hands.

“Her apartment’s lock broke, and she was so scared, so I stayed with her,” he said.

If this had been before, I would’ve flipped out and demanded answers.

But this time, I didn’t want to play the jealous, crazy girlfriend anymore.

I calmly signed the release papers and didn’t say a word.

My friend from the operation team asked, “Family?”

I shook my head. “Just neighbors.”

Then I looked down and texted my mom.

[That arranged marriage you mentioned? Fine, I’ll do it. Give me three days, and I’ll come home.]

——

When we left the station, Gwyneth Averill, still sniffling, climbed into the passenger seat of my car.

I didn't feel like arguing, so I started the car. Just as I put my hand on the wheel, she grabbed my arm.

Except, she wasn’t looking at me. She turned to my boyfriend Gerard Morgenthal instead.

“I’m scared. I don’t like riding in someone else’s car,” she said, her eyes filled with tears, her nose red. She looked like the very definition of helpless.

I pulled her hand off me. “Then get out.”

The air in the car instantly froze until Gwyneth’s tears spilled over, and she started crying.

From the backseat, Gerard’s voice came sharp.

“Yvaine, do you always have to be so harsh? You know she’s traumatized because of her brother’s situation. Can’t you just be a little considerate?” he snapped. “Get out. I’ll drive.”

Before I could respond, he got out, yanked open my door so hard that it rattled, and let the freezing wind rush in.

I shivered but didn’t move, just sat there and stared at him.

The always-calm Gerard was suddenly rough and impatient. He actually unbuckled my seatbelt and dragged me out of the car.

I stumbled, nearly falling to my knees, but managed to catch myself.

Without looking at me, he slid into the driver’s seat and leaned over to gently touch Gwyneth’s hair. “Hush now. I’ll take you home first.”

“Oh, Gerard, you’re so good to me!” Gwyneth said, throwing me a smug little look.

Before he drove off, Gerard left me with one sentence. “You’re an adult. Figure out your own way home. I’ll be back after I drop her off.”

I stood there, frozen, as their car sped away. Before they turned the corner, I saw that bitch lean over and kiss his cheek.

Just then, my phone buzzed, and I picked it up with my fingers still stiff.

“Sweetheart, did you see Glenn’s photo?”

Glenn London—the guy my mom wanted me to marry.

Tall and good-looking.

On the other end, my mom sounded relieved.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re finally growing up. Your dad’s getting old. Over the years, he’s been furious about you running away from home. It’s good that you’re coming back.”

I looked up at the insects buzzing around the streetlight, my thoughts scattered.

I ran away all those years ago because I didn’t want this kind of life.

Then I met Gerard, and for a while, I thought I’d hit the jackpot.

Seven years. I stood by him through everything from nothing to something.

But every time I brought up the future, he’d just say, “It’s too soon.” I had quietly terminated my pregnancies because of that. More than once.

I was so naive, thinking his love alone would be enough.

But now, I can't take it anymore.

In the end, I took a cab home.

Gerard must’ve felt guilty because he came home not long after.

He walked in just as I was packing my things. Clothes were out of my wardrobe—most of them stuffed into bags already.

“Why are you packing your clothes?” he asked, looking uncertain.

“Decluttering,” I said flatly, hoping he'd just take a shower.

The cloying scent of perfume on him made me feel nauseous.

He hesitated for a moment, not sensing anything amiss, and continued talking to himself.

“Well, losing it might not be the worst thing. When we get married, we can just buy another one. Or maybe even upgrade to a bigger place. What do you think?”

Gerard sounded like he was seriously picturing our future. He kept sneaking glances at me, watching for a reaction. I noticed, of course, but I pretended I didn’t.

Normally, I’d be over the moon—probably crying happy tears. But now? I didn’t feel like shedding even a single tear for him.

My coldness killed his vibe. He could tell I was upset, but he wasn’t about to try and fix things. The fact he’d even made an effort tonight was rare enough.

When he went to shower, his phone started buzzing nonstop. The noise was driving me crazy, so I picked it up and glanced at the screen.

Gwyneth had sent him a bunch of photos—wedding photos of the two of them. Some in classic outfits, some in modern style.

My chest tightened, the pain dull but heavy.

So, this is how it was. His impatience was reserved just for me.

I thought back to the time I’d excitedly dragged him to look at wedding outfits with me. But he bailed on me every single time.

“It’s all the same. Just pick something,” he’d said.

That frown of his is still burned into my memory.

His impatience with me? That was real.

And the tenderness in those dozens of photos? That was real, too.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Suddenly, steam rolled in as Gerard stormed out of the bathroom, snatching the phone out of my hand. He yanked it so hard that I fell onto the bed.

“Do you not understand the concept of privacy?” His face was flushed from the hot shower, but his voice was ice cold, sending a chill down my spine.

I glanced down at my hand. His grip had left a scratch, and now it was bleeding.

Honestly, even if he hadn’t caught me, I wouldn’t have scrolled any further. I’d already seen it all before—the thousands of flirty messages. I’d read them all one sleepless night, from midnight to sunrise.

By the time I was done, my eyes were swollen, but I still had to fake being fine, pretending I’d just woken up.

Who would’ve guessed? Seven years of being together, and our conversations were always just me—nagging, pleading, trying to spark something. Once in a while, if he was in the mood, he’d toss me an emoji as a reply.

I was nothing but a clown.

“Sorry,” I muttered, lowering my eyes. “I won’t touch your phone again.”

He froze, caught off guard by my reaction.

“Those photos… Gwyneth said trying on wedding dresses is exhausting, so I… I just helped her try some on. That’s all,” he stammered. “You know her brother passed away. I was just doing this for him. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

I stayed quiet, letting him stumble through his pathetic excuses.

Kurt, Gwyneth’s brother, had been Gerard’s friend. Back when Gerard was struggling to get his business off the ground, Kurt rushed to deliver a flashdrive to him but ended up in a car accident.

He was rushed to the ER but didn’t make it.

Before he died, he made Gerard promise to look after his sister.

And Gerard kept that promise. He took care of her really well.

What started as a distant concern turned into him involving himself in every little detail of her life.

I sniffled. There were only a few days left before I left for good. I didn’t see the point in holding anything back anymore.

“Don’t worry about me getting the wrong idea,” I said softly. “Honestly, if you and Gwyneth got married, I think it’d be a good match…”

Before I could finish, his hand struck my face, the slap ringing out sharp and clear.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled. “Gwyneth only sees me as her brother! Do you think she’s as cheap as you?”

The sting on my cheek burned hot like fire.

Yeah, Gwyneth isn’t like me. She didn’t throw herself at him like some cheap fling.

Tears welled up in my eyes, but before they could fall, I caught the flicker of panic on his face.

His tone softened. “I… I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, I wanted to tell him everything. “Gerard, I’m getting…”

But his ringtone cut me off.

He answered, and a woman’s voice echoed through the cold quiet bedroom.

“G-Gerard! I had a nightmare! I dreamed about my brother… I’m… I’m so scared…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m on my way now.” Gerard’s voice was anxious as he threw on some clothes he could find, ready to leave.

Just as he reached the door, he paused like he’d remembered something.

“What were you about to say earlier?”

But I’d already tucked my emotions away. “Nothing. We’ll talk when you’re back.”

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed, his side untouched.

With just a few days left before I was planning to leave, I went ahead and quit my job. Most of the clothes I packed last night were meant for donation anyway. I carried the bags outside to meet the delivery guy, but the noise across the hall stopped me in my tracks.

The place was buzzing with workers hauling in brand-new furniture.

Even in the crowd, my eyes landed on Gerard instantly. He had his arm around Gwyneth’s shoulder, directing the workers as they arranged the furniture.

That attention to detail? Classic Gerard.

When we moved in together, he did the same—took time off work to oversee everything personally.

“Home should feel just right,” he’d said back then.

But now, the home we shared barely had any trace of him left.

“Miss? Hey, Miss? Your shipping code?” The delivery guy’s voice snapped me out of it.

The noise must’ve caught their attention too because before I knew it, as soon as the delivery guy left, Gwyneth came bouncing out.

“Hey,” she began. “I’ve been having too many nightmares, so Gerard bought this place for me. We’re neighbors now!”

She leaned in close, playing up the wide-eyed, innocent act. Her exaggerated blinking was almost comical.

But I couldn’t bring myself to like her, no matter how hard I tried.

I turned to leave, but before I could get far, she suddenly stumbled backward, as if some invisible force had shoved her.

She crashed into a worker moving a cabinet and hit the edge with her lower back.

“Ahhh!”

Her cry of pain was laced with tears, and Gerard came rushing out at the sound.

He immediately pulled her up, his hands gently massaging the spot where she’d hit. Concern poured out of him in waves.

“Yvaine, can you stop acting like a jealous little girl?” His disbelief stung almost as much as his words.

Gwyneth looked pale and started waving her hands weakly.

“Gerard, don’t… don’t be mad at her. This… This is my fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have moved in and caused trouble. I’m just… not supposed to be here.”

“Don’t say that,” Gerard replied. “You’re my sister!”

A headache pounded at my temples. Watching their little “family bond” unfold for the hundredth time was nauseating.

Before I could close my door, Gerard blocked it with his hand. “Yvaine, apologize to Gwyneth!”

I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Why the hell should I apologize for something I didn’t do?”

“You’ve done worse plenty of times!” he shot back.

I let out a bitter laugh. He always believed what he wanted to believe.

Gwyneth, meanwhile, shook her head like a martyr. “Please don’t fight because of me. I’m sorry—it’s my fault I didn’t stand properly…”

Gerard held her hand and glared at me like I was the villain.

“I can’t believe I never saw you for what you are,” he said. “So petty, so vicious—you can’t tolerate even the smallest things.”

His words cut deeper like a knife than I’d like to admit.

But I still didn’t apologize.

Gwyneth kept whining about the pain, so Gerard scooped her up and carried her downstairs.

Watching his back as he walked away, I suddenly remembered I had to visit the hospital myself.

My sleep had been a mess for ages. I couldn’t even pinpoint when the insomnia started.

After going through bottles of melatonin, I finally decided to get some actual help.

The hospital wasn’t too crowded today, and I got my prescription quickly.

But on my way out, I saw them again.

It wasn’t surprising, really—this was the closest hospital to our place.

Gwyneth was in Gerard’s arms, cradled like a princess, while he carried her meds in one hand. People couldn’t help but stare as they passed, envy written all over their faces.

“Look at her boyfriend,” I heard a pregnant woman say, elbowing her own man.