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.

As I choked down the last bite of seafood, my body instantly revolted. A scorching pain seared through my throat, and my chest felt like a huge weight was crushing it. Around me, the laughter kept going, but the room started spinning. I stood up, swaying, my knuckles going white as I gripped the armrest to steady myself.

"I'm heading to my room," I somehow got out.

Not a soul paid me any mind. Zaiden didn't so much as glance my way. Only Mila bothered to answer, her voice dripping with mockery. "Take care of yourself, Kataleya."

I stumbled into the bathroom attached to our bedroom, desperate to vomit up that disgusting food, but nothing would come. I crouched by the toilet, letting the shower run to drown out the sound of my dry heaving. My white lace dress clung to me, soaked through, and dark bruises stained my thighs—just the sight of it made my stomach drop.

I even jammed my fingers down my throat, but all I did was draw blood. Dizzy and out of it, I somehow dragged myself to the bed and collapsed on top of it.

No one knocked. No one cared whether I lived or died.

It wasn't until evening, when Zaiden finally returned to the bedroom, that he even noticed me curled up on the bed. "Honey, what's wrong?" he asked, then it dawned on him. "Are you allergic to seafood?"

I stayed silent, my breathing the only sound filling the room. His sudden panic threw me off. He rushed to get allergy meds and tended to me all night long. Yet, not once did he mutter a single apology.

Even so, the tears still fell. I was grateful for even the tiniest scrap of care.

In my foggy state, it felt like we were tangled together once more, lost in a fleeting moment of tenderness.