“Yes, email the divorce papers.”

I spoke quietly into the phone, my back to the door, watching the city skyline from our bedroom window. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I hung up and turned around.

Brandon was standing right there.

I nearly dropped the phone. He was leaning against the doorframe, still in his suit from work, his face pale, eyes wide with a panic I had never seen before. He had heard me.

“Divorce?” he choked out. The word hung in the air, heavy and dangerous. He took a step toward me, his hands shaking. “Maureen, what… what do you mean, divorce?”

My blood ran cold. If he knew, if he realized I was leaving, the game was over. He would lock me down. He would drug me again.

I forced a laugh. It bubbled up, light and airy, masking the terror gripping my throat.

“Oh, Brandon! You scared me.” I walked over to him, sliding my phone into my pocket with a casual grace. “No, silly. It’s Jessica. You remember her? My friend from college?”

He blinked, the panic not quite leaving his eyes. “Jessica?”

“Yes. She called me in tears. She caught her husband cheating on her.” I shook my head, feigning disgust. “Can you believe it? After everything she did for him. So I told her to get a divorce immediately. I told her I’d help her since I know Mark, right? He’s the best lawyer in the city.”

The tension drained out of him instantly. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, shaky breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, God,” he whispered. He pulled me into a crushing hug, burying his face in my neck. “I thought… I thought you were talking about us. I thought you were going to divorce me.”

His grip was tight. Possessive.

“You scared me to death, Maureen,” he mumbled against my skin. “Don’t ever say that word in this house again.”

I stood stiffly in his arms for a second before forcing myself to relax, to pat his back.

“Why would I divorce you, Brandon?” I pulled back slightly, looking him dead in the eye. “Did you cheat on me?”

He froze. Just for a microsecond. A flicker of something dark passed behind his eyes before the mask slammed back into place.

“Of course not!” He looked offended, hurt even. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. “I would never do that to you. You’re my life, Maureen. I worship the ground you walk on. How could you even ask that?”

“Good,” I said softly, my voice laced with a hidden warning. “Because I would never forgive you if you cheated on me. That’s the one thing I can’t survive.”

“You’ll never have to worry about that,” he promised, kissing my forehead. The lie tasted bitter on my skin. “I’d never hurt you.”

He pulled back, smiling that dazzling, boyish smile that used to make my knees weak.

“How about we forget this gloom? It’s our anniversary tomorrow. Let’s go out tonight. There’s a charity auction at the gallery. I’ll get you something beautiful. Anything you want.”

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The auction was a sea of black ties and designer gowns. Champagne flowed, diamonds sparkled under the chandeliers, and everyone was watching us. The Golden Couple.

Brandon held my hand the entire time, parading me around like a trophy.

“Look at that,” I said, pointing to the catalog. Item 45. A rare, vintage sapphire necklace. It was breathtaking, deep blue like the ocean. “It’s beautiful.”

“You want it?” Brandon asked, squeezing my hand. “It’s yours.”

But when the bidding started, it went wild. The price climbed higher and higher. Brandon bid a few times, but then an anonymous phone bidder jumped in, driving the price to an astronomical figure.

“Going once, going twice… sold to the bidder on the phone!”

I felt a pang of disappointment, though I tried to hide it. “It’s okay,” I murmured. “It was too much anyway.”

Brandon suddenly stood up. He walked to the stage, grabbing the microphone. The room went silent.

“I may have lost the necklace,” he announced, his voice booming with charisma, “but I won’t let my wife go home empty-handed. I’m buying every remaining piece in this lot for her. Because nothing is too good for Maureen.”

The crowd gasped. Applause erupted. Women looked at me with envy, men with respect.

“You are so lucky,” a woman next to me whispered. “He adores you.”

I smiled, waving at the crowd.

That night, the house was quiet again. Or so I thought.

I was heading to the kitchen for water from a sealed bottle I kept hidden—when I heard voices from the study.

“You didn’t bring me,” Denise’s voice hissed, sharp and petulant. “I had to watch the livestream like a peasant. I want jewelry too, Brandon! And what was that show? ‘Nothing is too good for Maureen’? Please.”

I crept closer, pressing my ear to the wood.

“Come on, you’ve become quite the doting husband,” she sneered. “I’m jealous. Everyone is speaking of it online. ‘Husband of the year.’”

“Calm down, baby,” Brandon’s voice was soothing, low. “It’s all part of the act. You know that. I have to keep her happy. I have to keep her unsuspecting.”

“Well, I’m not happy,” she snapped.

“I have something for you,” he said.

There was a rustle of fabric, the snap of a velvet box opening.

“Oh my God,” Denise gasped. “The sapphire necklace! You… you were the anonymous bidder?”

“Of course,” Brandon chuckled. “She wanted it, but I bought it for you. It looks better on you anyway. Blue brings out your eyes.”

My stomach churned. He had outbid himself, humiliated me in secret, just to give my desire to his mistress.

“Oh, Brandon!” The sound of kissing followed. “Do you love me?”

“Yes. You know I do.”

“Then why not divorce her?” Denise whined. “Please. Let’s get married. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of being the other woman.”

“I can’t. Not yet,” Brandon said, his voice dropping to a serious whisper. “I’ll divorce her soon. Once I get my inheritance from my grandpa. The clause says I have to be married, never divorced my wife, to receive the trust fund. It will be released next month.”

“Next month?”

“Yes. Just hang on. Besides,” he added, a nervous edge entering his tone, “you know how your brother would react if he learned about us, right? Kyle would kill me. He never like me dating you, let alone cheating on my wife.”

I stepped back, the floorboards creaking under my weight. I froze.

But they were too busy.

“Just a little longer,” Denise murmured.

“Yes, just a little longer,” I also whispered to myself. “You’ll never see me again.”

I stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing down the silk of my emerald dress. It was modest, elegant, the kind of dress a wife wears to celebrate four years of marriage. But my reflection looked hollow. The woman staring back at me wasn't excited; she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I walked out to the living room just as Denise emerged from the guest room.

She was wearing a scrap of red fabric that barely qualified as a dress. It clung to every curve, the neckline plunging dangerously low, the hem riding high on her thighs.

Brandon, who was checking his watch by the door, looked up. His eyes widened, then darkened instantly.

“No,” he said, his voice sharp. “Where are you going wearing that?”

Denise smirked, adjusting a strap that didn't need adjusting. “I’m going out. I’m going to have some fun. It’s boring here with you two lovebirds cooing at each other.”

“No, you won’t,” Brandon snapped, stepping toward her. “That is too revealing. You look like a… you look cheap, Denise. Go change.”

“Why?” she challenged, crossing her arms.

“Because I’m concerned,” Brandon said, his jaw tight. “Your brother wouldn't like it. Kyle would lose his mind if he saw you going out like that.”

I watched them from the hallway. To anyone else, it might have sounded like a protective friend looking out for his best friend’s little sister. But I saw the flare of his nostrils, the possessive way his eyes raked over her exposed skin. It wasn't concern. It was jealousy. Pure, green-eyed jealousy. He didn't want other men looking at what he thought belonged to him.

Denise rolled her eyes. “You’re not my boyfriend, Brandon. And you’re not my brother. I’m just living here because Kyle wants me to, so no. You don't get to tell me what to do.”

She grabbed her purse and strutted past him, the heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floor. The door slammed shut behind her.

Brandon stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, staring at the closed door as if he could burn a hole through it. He was seething.

I cleared my throat.

He jumped, turning to me. For a split second, the rage was still on his face before he smoothed it over with a strained smile.

“Ready, honey?” he asked, though his voice was tight.

The car ride was suffocating. Brandon gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He kept checking his phone, glancing at the rearview mirror, his leg bouncing nervously.

“If you don’t want to go,” I said quietly, looking out the window, “we can just go back.”

He exhaled sharply. “Sorry. I’m just… I’m worried about Denise. If something happens to her, Kyle would kill me. I promised him I’d look out for her.”

“Is that the only reason?” I asked, turning to look at his profile.

He glanced at me, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Of course. What else would it be?”

I just smiled. A small, sad smile. “Okay.”

The restaurant was beautiful. Candlelight, soft violin music, the scent of expensive wine. It was the place where he had proposed to me. But Brandon wasn't there. His body was in the chair opposite me, but his mind was chasing a girl in a red dress.

He checked his phone every thirty seconds. He barely touched his appetizer. When I tried to talk about the weather, about a book I read, he gave one-word answers. “Mmhmm. Yeah. Nice.”

Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He snatched it off the table so fast he almost knocked over his water glass. He read the message, and the color drained from his face.

“I have to go,” he said, standing up abruptly.

“What?” I blinked, my fork hovering halfway to my mouth. “Brandon, we haven't even ordered the main course.”

“It’s an emergency,” he said, already putting on his coat. “Work. A server crashed. It’s a disaster. I have to go to the office right now.”

“On our anniversary?”

“I’m sorry, Maureen. I really am. I’ll make it up to you.” He dropped a stack of cash on the table, not even looking at me. “Take a taxi home. I love you.”

And then he was gone.

I sat there, the "I love you" echoing in the empty space he left behind. The waiter approached, looking awkward.

“Is… is everything alright, ma’am? Should I bring the main course?”

“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “Just the check, please.”

I took a taxi home. The house was dark when I arrived. I expected it to be empty.

But as I walked into the living room, I saw them.

Denise was sprawled on the couch, her red dress rumpled, her makeup smeared. She was laughing, a loud, slurring sound. There was a bottle of tequila on the table, half empty.

And Brandon was there. He was kneeling beside her, wiping her face with a wet cloth. He wasn't at the office. He wasn't fixing a server. He was fixing her.

“You’re such a mess,” he murmured, but his voice was tender, not angry. “I told you not to go out.”

“I just wanted to dance!” Denise giggled, reaching out to touch his face.

Brandon caught her hand and kissed her palm.

Then he saw me. He froze. He stood up quickly, putting distance between them.

“Maureen,” he stammered. “I… I got a call. She was at a bar, drunk. The bartender called me from her phone. I had to go pick her up. It was an emergency.”

So that was the emergency. Not work. Her. She called, and he ran. He left his wife alone on their anniversary because his mistress had a few too many shots.

“I see,” I said. My voice was calm. Too calm.

“I’m sorry about dinner,” he said, taking a step toward me. “I was just about to—”

I walked past him. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I didn't even look at Denise.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m tired.”

I went into the bedroom and locked the door. I leaned against the wood, listening to him whisper to her in the living room, telling her to be quiet, carrying her to the guest room.

My phone pinged.

I pulled it out. A new email notification.

From: Mark

Subject: Divorce Papers - Final Draft

Maureen, the papers are ready. Attached below.

And then, another ping.

From: Immigration Office

Subject: Visa Application Approved

I stared at the screen. The tears that had been threatening to fall all night suddenly dried up.

“It might take a little longer for your body to recover, Mrs. Miller.”

Dr. Evans’ voice was gentle, professional, but the words hung heavy in the sterile white room. I sat on the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath me.

“The miscarriage was traumatic,” she continued, glancing at my chart. “Your hormone levels are still stabilizing. Stress is a major factor. You need to give yourself time before trying again.”

I let my shoulders slump, burying my face in my hands. I forced a sob to shudder through my chest. It wasn't hard. The grief for my baby was real, a constant ache in my bones, even if the performance for my husband was calculated.

“Oh, Maureen,” Brandon cooed instantly. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head. “Don’t cry. We have time. We have all the time in the world.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll make sure she rests. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” Dr. Evans said with a warm smile.

I squeezed my eyes shut against his shirt. Lucky. That word again. If only she knew that the man holding me was the reason I was so stressed, the reason my body was rejecting the very idea of bringing another life into this house.

That evening, the performance continued at the Miller family estate.

“So,” Brandon’s mother said, cutting into her steak with surgical precision. “What did the doctor say? When can we expect an heir?”

I stared at my plate, pushing a pea around with my fork.

“Mother,” Brandon said, his voice warning.

“It’s a valid question,” his father grunted. “The terms of the trust are clear, Brandon. A stable marriage. A family. Your grandfather wants to see a great-grandchild before he passes. If there’s no baby…” He let the sentence trail off, the threat of disinheritance hanging in the air.

“We are trying,” Brandon said, reaching over to squeeze my hand on the table. His grip was tight, almost painful. “But Maureen needs time. She lost a child. We both did.”

“Time is money,” his mother sniffed. “And frankly, Maureen, you’re not getting any younger. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so careless with the first one—”

“Enough!” Brandon slammed his hand on the table. “You will not speak to her like that,” Brandon said, his voice shaking with righteous anger. He stood up, glaring at his parents. “I don’t care about the inheritance. I don’t care about the money. I care about my wife. If you pressure her one more time, we are leaving.”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a fierce, protective fire. “Are you okay, Mo?”

“Thank you,” I whispered, squeezing his hand back. “I’m okay.”

“We’re leaving,” Brandon announced. He pulled me up from the chair, wrapping his arm around my waist as he guided me out of the lion’s den.

In the car, he was still fuming. “I’m so sorry about them, Maureen. They’re vultures. I’d choose you over that money any day.”

“I know,” I said softly. “You’re wonderful, Brandon.”

Liar. We arrived home to the sound of pop music blasting from the living room.

Denise was there, lounging by the indoor pool that opened into the living area. She was wearing a neon pink bikini that left nothing to the imagination. She was wet, dripping water onto the expensive rug, sipping a cocktail.

I stopped in the doorway. The exhaustion of the day, the doctor, the dinner, the lies—it all boiled over.

“When is she leaving our house?” I asked. My voice was cold, cutting through the music.

Denise looked up, feigning surprise. “Oh! You guys are back early.”

“I asked a question,” I said, turning to Brandon. “When is she leaving? It’s been months.”

Denise’s face crumbled into a pout. “Oh, wait. You don’t want me here anymore? I’m sorry, Maureen. Did I do something wrong?”

“I just don’t want her walking around like that,” I said, gesturing to her nearly naked body. “It’s inappropriate. It seems like she’s trying to seduce you, Brandon.”

“What?” Brandon laughed, a nervous, incredulous sound. “Maureen, what are you saying? She’s like a sister to me! That’s disgusting.”

“She’s not your sister,” I snapped. “And she’s not mine. She walks around half-naked, she drinks all our wine, and she disrespects me in my own home. I’m tired of it.”

I looked him dead in the eye. “Choose, Brandon. It’s her or me. I’m not living like this anymore.”

I turned on my heel and marched to the bedroom.

Brandon followed me, slamming the door behind him.

“What was that?” he demanded. “Are you crazy? Kicking her out? She has nowhere to go!”

“She has a brother,” I said, pulling my earrings off. “She can go to Kyle.”

“You’re being unreasonable,” he paced the room. “Are you jealous? Is that what this is? You’re jealous of a twenty-two-year-old girl?”

“I’m jealous that my husband seems to care more about her comfort than his wife’s feelings!” I shouted back. It felt good to yell, even if the reason was fake. “I just lost a baby, Brandon! And I have to come home to… to that? To a frat party in my living room?”

Brandon stopped pacing. He took a deep breath, running a hand down his face. His face softened. He walked over and took my hands.

“You’re right,” he sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn't think about how it looked to you. I’m just… I’m under a lot of pressure with the family and work. I shouldn't have snapped.”

He kissed my knuckles. “But you can’t just kick her out tonight. It’s late. And you were harsh, Maureen. She’s just a kid. She looks up to you.”

“She doesn't respect me,” I muttered.

“She does,” he insisted. “She’s just immature. Look, you should apologize. Just to keep the peace. For me? Please? I’ll talk to her about the clothes. I promise. But don’t make enemies with Kyle’s sister. Kyle is my best friend, and he will be back soon.”

“Fine,” I whispered, defeated.

Later that night, Brandon fell asleep instantly, exhausted from his day of juggling lies.

I lay awake for a long time. Then, quietly, I slipped out of bed to prepare a gift for him he’d never forget.