"Baby… why would you throw that away?" Johansen asked, staring at my bare hand like it was a crime scene. "That was our wedding ring."

A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. Our wedding ring? The one tied to a fake ceremony? To a forged certificate? To a life that never truly existed?

"I don’t want it anymore," I said simply.

Johansen blinked, recovering quickly. “Oh, that’s all? You should’ve told me. Don’t worry—I’ll buy you a new one at the next auction. Bigger, better.”

He leaned in and kissed my cheek, brushing my hair back like he hadn’t just spent the night with another woman. "How about you get dressed now, hmm? Let’s go on a date. Just you and me. Something special.”

He left the room humming under his breath. But as I moved toward the closet to change, I paused in the hallway—just long enough to hear his voice murmuring in the next room.

“She bought it,” he was saying. “I told you she threw the ring out, but I kissed her, promised her a new one. She won’t suspect anything. Just keep pretending you’re weak. Soon, we could dispose of her since my father and her family had been thinking of handing their business to me.”

Maureen’s voice followed, soft but sharp. “You really think she’ll leave on her own?”

“She’s already unraveling,” he chuckled. “A little longer, and we won’t need to do anything. She’ll walk out on her own. Or break. Or stay? Whatever! You’re the one I want now.”

I forced myself to keep walking, not let my pace falter. I’d heard enough. More than enough.

But tonight, I’d play the role he expected. It was supposed to be our third wedding anniversary. Or what I used to think was real.

I dressed in a soft cream dress, paired with the bracelet he had gifted me the night before. My expression in the mirror was neutral, unreadable. Just like I wanted it. It was easier now—putting on masks. Smiling with dead eyes. Pretending this wasn’t all built on lies.

Johansen took me to a five-star restaurant downtown. Everything was extravagant—the view, the wine, the lighting that softened the angles of his face. He was all smiles and charm, like the man I once knew. The man who had whispered vows I now knew were empty.

But my heart still remembered.

“Do you remember our first date here?” he asked, sliding his chair closer. “You wore that pale blue dress. I couldn’t stop staring.”

I did remember.

I had worn my hair loose, nervous out of my mind, but he was so steady. He pulled the chair out for me, ordered my favorite wine before I even asked, and later confessed he had memorized my food preferences from our college lunch breaks. He gave me tulips that night, and I laughed because I’d once told him tulips were my favorite in passing—he remembered.

Back then, I thought that kind of attention meant forever.

He reached across the table and held my hand now, like he always used to. “To us,” he said, lifting his glass. “Three years of love.”

I forced a smile and clinked my glass against his.

Three years of what I thought was love.

He slid a small red box across the table with that familiar grin. “I wanted to make up for the lost ring,” he said sweetly.

Inside was a glittering band, probably worth more than my tuition back in fashion school. The diamonds caught the candlelight. I nodded and slipped it on, letting him believe he had me back.

Letting him believe I was still the fool.

But my mind drifted again—against my will—to the memory of us. We had gone to prom together. Had matching bracelets in college with our initials. We used to write notes on each other's books, silly doodles and love poems. Everyone said we were the couple that would never break, the couple that made others jealous. I used to believe that if love had a shape, it looked like Johansen.

I used to be so sure.

But now, even as I stared into his eyes, all I could think of was the way he kissed Maureen when he thought I wasn’t looking. The way he laughed about our fake marriage like it was a joke at a party.

“I missed you,” he said now, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “I don’t ever want to lose what we have.”

Neither did I. But what we had no longer existed.

I nodded, smile in place, and leaned in like I used to.

But this time, I felt nothing. Except the quiet, hollow ache of someone finally waking up.

The evening dragged on with false laughter, hollow memories, and endless wine. I thought the performance was going smoothly—until his phone rang.

Johansen frowned at the screen, stood up, and excused himself with a finger raised. I watched him walk outside, phone pressed to his ear. The glass window gave me a perfect view of his expression shifting from mild annoyance to wide-eyed worry.

Then he broke into a sprint.

I followed, confused—until I saw his phone fall from his ear as he rushed to the car.

“What happened?” I called.

He didn’t even turn around. “Maureen… she fell down the stairs.”

That was all he said before the engine roared and he drove off.

No goodbye. No checking if I had a way home. No concern. Just… gone.

I stood there alone on the sidewalk, the wind biting at my skin. I clutched the ring box and exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

This time, I didn’t cry.

I hailed a taxi, not wanting to sit around feeling abandoned again.

But halfway through the ride, on a quiet, dimly lit street, the taxi slowed.

“Hey,” I said to the driver, “what’s going on?”

But it wasn’t him. Two men appeared from the side of the road, yanking the back door open before I could react.

“Give us your bag!” one shouted, grabbing at me.

I screamed, tried to fight, but one of them was already pulling at my purse, and the other lunged forward with something shiny in his hand.

Pain burst through my side.

It was quick. Burning. A stab so deep I couldn’t scream anymore.

They ran off with my things, but not before kicking my phone from my lap.

Luckily, it had fallen under my leg instead of out the door.

Shaking, bleeding, I pulled it out with trembling hands and called the only person whose number I could dial without thinking.

“Johansen…” I gasped.

His voice was muffled, distracted. “What is it?”

“S-Something happened… I was attacked—stabbed—I need you—”

My voice trembled, barely holding together as I pressed the phone to my ear, blood seeping through my clothes, the pain blurring my vision.

There was a pause. A long, cold silence.

Then Johansen's voice came through, flat and irritated.

“Can’t you call someone else? I’m kinda busy right now.”

My breath caught. “What…?” I croaked.

In the background, I heard a light laugh. Maureen.

Then Johansen spoke again, sharper this time. “You know Maureen just got hurt, right? She’s in pain and she needs me. Don’t pull this kind of drama just to get my attention, Cassandra. Not tonight.”

My heart cracked open. I could barely believe what I was hearing. “I’m not—” I tried to explain, but he cut me off.

“God, Cassandra, not everything is about you. I’m dealing with something real here. Please don’t add to it.”

I didn’t even realize I’d dropped the phone until it hit the pavement with a hollow clatter. My fingers went numb. My chest felt hollow. The pain in my side surged again, hot and unbearable.

Then the world went dark.

The scent of antiseptic hit me before the pain did.

My eyes fluttered open slowly, each blink heavy and blurred. The ceiling lights above were too bright, the walls too white.

My body screamed in protest as I tried to shift—sharp, pulsing pain flared through my lower abdomen. I gasped and sank back into the pillows, my breath catching.

A soft voice broke the silence.

“You’re awake,” the nurse said gently. She looked kind, with worry in her eyes. “Don’t move too much, sweetheart. You’ve been through a lot.”

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “What… what happened?”

“You were stabbed in the stomach. It was serious. But we were able to stop the bleeding and stitch the wound.” Her voice softened. “There’s something else you should know.”

I turned my head slightly, confused. “What is it?”

The nurse hesitated. “We didn’t realize until surgery… but you were pregnant.”

She gave me a moment. “I’m so sorry. The trauma from the injury… we couldn’t save the baby.”

My mind went blank. Pregnant? A baby?

I hadn’t even known. I hadn’t… A dull roar filled my ears, and a strange stillness settled in my chest, like the silence after a scream that never came.

The nurse reached for my hand. “Do you want me to call your family?”

I didn’t answer her. I just reached for my phone with trembling fingers.

I dialed Johansen’s number. One ring. Two. Then someone picked up.

But it wasn’t his voice. It was Maureen.

“Well, well,” she said mockingly. “What do you need?”

My breath hitched. “Where’s Johansen?”

She laughed, the sound as cold as her words. “Still calling him like he’s yours? Sweetheart… when are you going to stop pretending?”

I said nothing, frozen.

“He’s here. With me. Like always,” Maureen went on. “Even when you’re hurting, even when you’re bleeding—he still runs to me. You know that, right? So why keep acting like you matter?”

“Maureen—”

“No. You listen to me. He’s mine. He always comes back to me. So how about you finally do what everyone’s been waiting for… and leave?”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Oh,” she added, her voice sickeningly sweet, “and just so you know—”

A pause.

“You’re not the wife.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the screen, her words echoing in the sterile silence of the hospital room. And for the first time, there were no tears. Just a hollow, endless silence.

Just then, my phone buzzed weakly on the bedside table. I reached for it with trembling fingers and saw a message from my mother: Everything’s ready now. I’ll pick you up anytime you’re ready to go.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

This was it. I buzzed the nurse. “I want to discharge myself. Now.”

“But—”

“I’m stable. I’ll sign whatever I need to. Please.”

Reluctantly, they handed me the forms. I changed into a simple outfit, covering the bandage over my stitches, then stepped into the hallway. I moved slowly, carefully, every step a reminder of the pain I’d survived.

And that’s when I saw them.

Johansen and Maureen. Standing just outside the OB-GYN department. Their backs were turned, but I didn’t need to see their faces to know it was them.

Maureen’s voice carried across the corridor. “Are you sure you should be with me? You heard she was robbed and stabbed…”

“I know,” Johansen replied, sighing. “But she’ll be fine. I’ll see her later in her room. For now… this is about you. We’re husband and wife. It’s only natural we hear what the doctor says about our baby—together.”

I stopped breathing.

It felt like my last thread of illusion snapped. He had lied to me so thoroughly, so deliberately… I didn’t even exist in that moment—not to him. Not as his wife. Not as the woman who had believed in their fairy-tale.

I turned, refusing to let them see me cry. I walked out of that hospital like a ghost, each step faster than the last.

I didn’t remember the drive home.

All I knew was that the second I stepped inside the house, something inside me shattered for good.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just moved. Numb and focused.

I pulled out a suitcase—then another. Opened every drawer. Grabbed every shirt of Johansen’s I’d once folded with love. His jackets. His shoes. The cologne I used to love on him. Gone. Into the trash bags. Gone.

I tore the framed photo of our wedding from the wall and smashed it against the corner of the table. Shards scattered across the tiles. The glass sliced my finger, but I didn’t care. It felt fitting.

Then came the dress. My wedding dress. The symbol of every lie he ever told. I dragged it outside into the backyard, dumped it into the firepit, and threw in lighter fluid. The spark caught quickly. The silk twisted and burned like it had been waiting years to fall apart.

As the flames grew higher, I added more—his letters, the old tulips he once dried for me, the love notes I had stupidly tucked in drawers.

That was when Johansen arrived.

His car door slammed, footsteps crunching on the gravel.

“Cassandra? What the hell are you doing?”

I didn’t even flinch. “Decluttering.”

He looked between me and the fire. “You’re burning my things.”

“I’m making space. I thought I’d donate what’s left. Don’t worry,” I said, my voice cool and even. “It’s just old memories.”

He stared, uneasy, but didn’t press further. Typical. He never asked questions he didn’t want the answers to.

“Right,” he said after a pause, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Listen, while you’re out—Maureen’s craving something sweet. Pick up some fruits, will you?”

I turned slowly. “Why me?”

He blinked. “You’re good at it, babe. Come on.”

My jaw tightened. “Really? That’s what you’re going to say to me right now? Not even ask if I’m okay? Not even mention that I almost died yesterday?”

He scoffed. “But you are okay, right? You’re standing here. Breathing. I mean, nothing happened. You’ll heal.”

I stared at him. Cold. Speechless.

“But with Maureen…” he went on, “She’s sensitive now. She needs things to be just right. So just do it. No questions asked.”

Then he turned and walked inside, calling out to her. I could hear her giggling, then his voice lowered—kissing sounds and soft murmurs. Like they had already built a new world without me.

I looked down. Blood had soaked through my shirt again, the bandages not holding well. But he hadn’t noticed. Or cared.

He didn’t even know I had lost our baby.

And now… I had lost everything. I didn’t cry.

Instead, I wiped my hands, walked back inside, and pretended to follow his orders. I grabbed a tote bag, pretended to go to the store, even bought some apples and strawberries. I returned, even cooked dinner. Set it on the table like I was the maid.

But what they didn’t know was that I put something in the meal to scare them. Because if I suffer due to my unborn baby I didn’t even know existed, then they should too.

I left while they’re both busy laughing and kissing. They didn’t even notice me.

I was already in the airport check-in line when my phone began to buzz again and again.

Johansen. First a call. Then a barrage of messages.

Johansen: What did you put in the food?? Maureen is vomiting everywhere! She’s sick! If something happens to our her, I swear—I’ll kill you. Where are you? Come back now!

I typed slowly: I lost our baby today. From the stabbing. But I guess you don’t care. I’m not your legal wife, right? Goodbye, Johansen. I don’t want to ever see you again.

I attached the photo I had taken—of his and Maureen’s real marriage certificate.

I hit send.

Then, calmly, I blocked his number. Slid the SIM card out of my phone. Snapped it in two. And dropped it into the nearest trash bin.

The plane began boarding. And for the first time in years, I exhaled without his name sitting on my chest like a weight I could never shake off.