The next afternoon, I headed over to drop off Zaiden's lunch like I always did. Making his meals was a routine I'd held onto, even through my illness. While I cooked, I'd catch myself thinking that maybe spending whatever time I had left like this wouldn't be so bad. Keeping the peace, pretending I didn't notice—that felt like the safest bet. After all, that's how it'd always been. So why go stirring things up now, at the very end?

Unfortunately, not everyone wanted the same quiet lie.

When I got to the office, I caught whispers drifting from a corner nearby.

"Mila is gorgeous—effortlessly stunning, you know?"

The second they spotted me, they clammed up—though their eyes stayed glued to me, full of curiosity. So Mila was here.

I pressed my lips together, took a shaky breath, and pushed open the office door. And then I just… froze.

Zaiden and Mila were sitting together, sharing the lunch she'd brought in a heart-shaped container. Sunlight streamed through the window, catching them in a soft frame that made them look as if they had always belonged together. Zaiden hung on her every word, his voice soft when he answered, and she smiled. Mila let her fingers graze his arm, easy and intimate—the kind of closeness we'd never had.

The breath I'd been holding snagged in my throat, sharp and painful. I wanted to cough it out, to make a sound, anything—but I stayed silent.

I stood there, completely lost, when Zaiden turned and locked eyes with me. The warmth of their little moment shattered the second I walked in, and just like that, his expression went ice-cold.

"My mom asked Mila to bring me lunch. I couldn't exactly say no," he said, his voice flat. Like it was nothing.

I lifted the insulated lunch bag in my hand. "What about this? I took the time to make it…"

Zaiden cut me off, waving a hand. "Just take it home. Didn't Mom tell you already? You don't need to come by anymore. Mila's working here now—she'll take care of my meals."

I stood there, stunned, trying to process the words coming out of his mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mila smirking at me, her smile dripping with mockery and disdain.

"You should head back. You're not an employee here, so hanging around isn't really appropriate," Zaiden added.

I nodded weakly, feeling like the floor had just been ripped out from under me. Once, back when I'd offered to help out at the company, Zaiden had shut me down with almost the exact same words.

"I'm the boss here. I have to set an example—no favoritism."

But Mila? She'd studied design abroad, a field that had absolutely nothing to do with Zaiden's trading business. So how did she get to waltz in here and set up shop so easily?

In the end, I guess it all boils down to one thing: who the person is.

Zaiden stumbled through the door in the early hours, his clothes drenched in that heavy perfume. Mila's scent. I'd know it anywhere. In my weakened state, the cloying sweetness made my stomach churn, but I choked down the bile rising in my throat.

He made a move to wrap his arms around me, but I placed a hand on his chest, nudging him back. "Why don't you shower first?" I whispered. He paused, his mind catching up, then nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.

His phone was on the coffee table, right next to my medical report. If he gave half a damn, he'd have seen the diagnosis. But he didn't. His eyes stayed glued to that glowing screen, soft and intent. What was he staring at?

The sound of running water filled the apartment. My gaze flicked from the bathroom door to the table. Balling my fists, I reached for Zaiden's phone.

Just this once, I told myself. After all, it'll be the last.

The screen lit up with Mila's selfie. It looked like a photo from her time studying abroad – standing under a maple tree, her smile bright and carefree. That innocent face, so naive.

That's when I realized they'd been in touch way longer than I thought. Or maybe they never really stopped.

A notification popped up: "Thanks for your help at work today," followed by one of Mila's flirty winking emojis.

My thumb brushed the waving bunny emoji. For a second it almost looked like pity—a small, useless gesture aimed at the wife no one saw. But that tap accidentally scrolled up, revealing thousands of messages stretching back who knows how long.

Zaiden stepped out of the bathroom, his face turning icy the moment he saw his phone in my hands. He snatched it away, and I asked, "Why are you still talking to her?"

"We grew up together," he shot back. "It's normal to keep in touch. My mom worries, so I'm checking in."

He took a step closer, and for a stupid second, I thought he might hold me. But it was only to grab his clothes off the coffee table. He headed for the door.

"Shit, I just remembered something for work. Gotta go," he said.

At this hour?

I stopped him, my voice breaking. "Please, you don't have to leave. Just… wait a few months."

"What?" Zaiden snapped, his patience gone. "You're overreacting. Stop jumping to conclusions and making idle threats."

My voice dropped to a whisper. "Just a few months. That's all I'm asking."

But he wasn't listening. The door slammed behind him, and I was swallowed by the silence.

A few days later, Margaret had Mila over for dinner.

The moment she walked through the door, Mila made a beeline for the kitchen, glancing back at my mother-in-law. "Margaret, let me cook for you and Zaiden tonight. It's the least I can do after how wonderful you've been to me."

Margaret beamed. "Alright, alright, whatever you like, dear."

Then she turned to Zaiden. "Zaiden, go help Mila in the kitchen. Don't let her wear herself out."

Zaiden smiled and nodded, and just like that, everyone fell into their roles, moving together like a well-oiled machine. I stood off to the side like some forgotten relic, silently watching this picture-perfect family scene play out.

This was supposed to be my home. But right now, they looked more like a family than I ever was, and I felt like the outsider.

Mila whipped up an Italian feast. Lobster, shrimp, sea bass—every dish golden and mouthwatering, the kind that made your stomach rumble just looking at it. But I'd been allergic to seafood since I was a kid. Even a tiny bite could break me out in hives, or worse, send me into anaphylactic shock.

Zaiden knew that. But he hadn't made a single damn thing I could eat. Staring at the spread in front of me, I set my fork down and forced a smile.

Catching my hesitation, Mila shot me a playful grin. "What's the matter? Don't you like it, Kataleya?"

Margaret's face immediately pinched with disapproval. "Mila came all the way here. Are you trying to upset her on purpose? Just eat it. Show a little gratitude for all the effort she put in. Honestly, sometimes you're so inconsiderate."

Desperate, I shot Zaiden a pleading look, but all I got was an icy stare. "Kataleya, you heard my mom. Or did you just tune her out? Mila worked hard on this. Quit acting like you're above it."

And just like that, it all clicked.

Under their watchful gazes, I started forcing down the seafood, bite by bitter bite. Every swallow scraped down my throat like shards of glass. But even as I choked it down, I held onto the tiniest shred of dignity.