My husband, Damari, has fallen for someone else.

He maintains not only our home but another one outside of it. He carries her bags, holds her close when she's upset, and introduces her to his friends and parents. I, once cherished, have become the target of his disdain. After my miscarriage, he comforted me by saying I was unworthy. I leaned back, blinking away the pain, pretending indifference. He simply said, "Harlee, you deserve this."

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It’s the fourth year of my marriage to Damari, and everyone knows it's just a hollow shell of what it once was. They also know about his other life, the one he shares with someone else. Damari brings her to social gatherings I once attended but from which I am now excluded. His friends call Nora "sister-in-law." I've heard she's won over Tru and Alaia, his parents. When she first visited, they gifted her a family heirloom—an emerald bracelet handed down through generations. Meanwhile, I remain Damari's wife in name only—a marriage devoid of love, without children. Each day is just another tread in a monotonous march, year after year, holding the title of Mrs. Ross without purpose or change.

As the clock struck midnight, I gently blew out the candles on the long marble dining table and softly said, "Happy anniversary, Damari."

Then, I jumped from the thirtieth floor of the luxurious penthouse in Oceanview Heights.

In that freefall moment, I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by an inexplicable sense of freedom. The wind roared past my ears, followed by a bone-shattering impact when I hit the ground.

I bounced before collapsing back down.

Bright red blood pooled around me as pain tore through my body, as if I were being crushed under a freight train. I lay there, unable to move, with only a raspy noise escaping my throat as I exhaled.

Life was slipping away in the blink of an eye, yet I couldn't help but wonder if Damari would feel any remorse for his actions once he found me lifeless.

Would he still find solace in being with Nora?

Damari Ross dashed back a little after five in the afternoon. His hair was tousled, as if a gale had ripped through it, leaving it in wild disarray. The cold evening air clung to his shoulders like a shroud. Almost instinctively, he reached for a pack of cigarettes, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

My phone kept buzzing relentlessly on the marble table, vibrating with an insistent hum before going silent again. This happened multiple times, wearing thin his already frayed patience. Downstairs, Damari ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, his slender fingers restlessly swiping across the screen.

"Harlee, what kind of game are you playing? Be down here in five minutes."

The phone screen flashed on and then went dark again, lying still on the tabletop. I won't respond.

"If you don't come down, then don’t bother coming back at all."

I'll never come back. Damari stood there, eyes lowered, his fingers curling unconsciously. He was still waiting for me to come down.

But I would never go down.

Aileen Richards, the elderly neighbor, called out to him: "Damari, you're back."

Her voice crackled like an old radio, drawing out her words: "Quickly, you should go take a look, yeah~"

An indescribable regret lingered on her face.

In an instant, Damari's hand, which held the phone, dropped to his side.