My husband, Matthew Glover, fabricates a scandal to help his childhood sweetheart, reporter Melanie Reed, boost her numbers.

"Mrs. Glover Sleeps Around—Multiple Affairs Lead to Repeated Miscarriages."

He uses it as a gimmick to grab attention. Next thing I know, my name's in the mud and the internet's tearing me to pieces.

When I bring up divorce, Matthew says I'm blowing things out of proportion.

"Melanie just started at the TV station. If she doesn't deliver, her coworkers will laugh at her. You're just doing her a favor. It's not like you're actually losing anything."

I don't even bother arguing with him. I simply push the divorce agreement toward him.

"If you want to help her, go ahead. But we're getting divorced!"

To help Melanie boost her numbers, Matthew spread rumors that I'd slept with multiple men and had seven miscarriages.

The endless online abuse that followed drove me into depression. When I couldn't take it anymore, I told Matthew I wanted a divorce.

He chucked the divorce agreement on the floor, leaned back in his chair, and frowned.

"It's just news. Once the scandal dies down, who's even going to remember you? Besides, you're still Mrs. Glover. No one's going to mess with you."

Every time I tried to confront him about it, he'd brush me off with the same dismissive excuse.

I scoffed. "That's exactly what you said at the last banquet, when Melanie showed up in jeans and a t-shirt, and you made me give her my gown."

Right there in front of everyone, Matthew made me strip down, turning me into the butt of every joke at the banquet.

The media pounced on it, twisting the story into something even nastier. A wave of cruel headlines followed, and the nonstop online abuse sent me spiraling into depression.

Back then, Matthew had brushed it off with the same old line.

"Can you imagine how bad it'd look if people started shaming a young lady like Mel in public for not dressing up? That kind of gossip could ruin her reputation.

"Who's gonna want to marry her after that? You're already married. You don't have to worry about stuff like that anymore."

"Oh?" I looked at him calmly. "So because I'm married, I'm supposed to sit back and get torn apart by strangers who don't even know the whole story?"

Matthew shook his head, exasperated, like I was the one being unreasonable. He tossed a card at me like it meant nothing.

"If you're after money, just say it. Pulling the divorce card? That's really mature."

I drew in a deep breath, ready to throw it right back at his face, when suddenly, the fingerprint lock on the front door clicked open.

Melanie poked her head through the doorway. "Matt, mind if I come in?"

Without waiting for an answer, she strolled in with a bright smile, a tote bag dangling off her arm. But the moment she saw me, her expression stiffened with awkward surprise.

"Oh, Aurelia! I didn't know you were here either. I hope I'm not intruding."

I rolled my eyes at her. "I live here. Why wouldn't I be here?"

Matthew shot me a hard look. "Aurelia, watch what you say. You're freaking Melanie out."

Melanie panicked right away. "Did I say something wrong? I'm so sorry. I just came to drop off Matt's laundry."

She started unpacking the clothes from her bag, laying them out right in front of us, even his underwear, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"I know you hate using the washing machine, Matt, so I hand-washed every single piece."

Melanie was just going on and on until she suddenly seemed to remember something. She turned to me, flustered.

"Please don't get the wrong idea, Aurelia. I was totally drunk that night, and Matt was just being nice. He took me home, but I ended up puking all over him. That's the only reason I did his laundry.

"I swear, there's nothing between us."

I didn't even react to that lame excuse.

Did she puke her guts out or something? How else could it have gotten to his underwear? And why was her fingerprint saved in my door lock?

I wasn't about to dig further. None of it mattered anymore since I'd already decided to divorce Matthew.

Melanie seemed startled by my silence. She stood there, quietly sniffling.

"I'm sorry, Aurelia. I'll watch myself from now on. After dropping off these clothes, I won't show up in front of Matt again," she said.

I had no idea why just seeing me turned on her waterworks like that. I hadn't said a thing, and yet I was the one who looked like the bad guy.

"You don't have to leave," Matthew said.

He gave me a look, clearly pissed, then got up and wiped Melanie's tears.

"She's only here because I told her to come. If you've got a problem, take it out on me, not her. She's just a young lady."

Out of Matthew's line of sight, that so-called "young lady" shot me a smug look.

We were only two months apart, but somehow, in his eyes, Melanie was the sweet, innocent lady, while I was just the washed-up woman whose reputation meant nothing to him.

Keeping my distance from the two of them, I turned slightly to Matthew. "So you're only looking out for Melanie because she's like a sister to you, right?"

He paused for a beat before nodding.

I pressed my lips together and finally asked the question that had been weighing on my mind for far too long. "Who's more important—your sister or your wife?"

Matthew blew up. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I scoffed. "On our first anniversary, I made a wish over the candles with my eyes closed. And when I opened them, you were gone. All because she was scared to be alone during a blackout.

"She texted you, and you just dropped everything and left me alone. I didn't realize a 'sister' could outrank a wife. Maybe I should go get myself a 'brother' too—"

"Aurelia!"

Matthew cut me off mid-sentence, his expression downright stormy.

He soothed Melanie, who was sobbing like her world had ended, then turned to me and shouted, "If you can't talk like a decent person, then get out! Does she have to die just to prove she's innocent? You're wicked!"

"I get it now," I said.

I didn't even look back as I slammed the door shut, more sure than ever that this marriage needed to end.

Word got out that I was asking for a divorce, and Matthew's mother called me just to chew me out.

"Matthew's busting his ass running that giant company by himself. He barely has time to grab a bite. The least you could do as his wife is have a little sympathy. But instead, you're making things harder for him.

"Men fool around. It doesn't mean anything. Your spot isn't going anywhere, so what are you so worked up about?"

My fingers curled into fists, nails biting deep as that cold, hollow feeling spread through my chest.

Back then, to make Melanie's news story stick, Matthew snuck seven or eight guys into my room while I was fast asleep.

Then he showed up with his whole crew—family, friends, and a bunch of reporters—to stage this big dramatic scene, like he'd just caught me red-handed.

"Just take the heat for Melanie, alright? I'll fix it later," he'd said.

But after waiting a month, all I got was a flood of hate comments and an army of paid trolls tearing me apart online.

I hurled my phone at the wall and collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent.

I remembered the days right after Matthew and I graduated. We had nothing then, nothing but each other.

We were so broke we could barely afford food, and he told me he wanted to start his own business. Of course, I backed him all the way.

I juggled three jobs to help him get it off the ground. I tagged along on out-of-town trips to help close deals. I'd wine and dine clients until late, drinking so much I ended up puking blood, and he was always there with me.

He swore he'd make something of himself. And once he did, he'd marry me. And I believed him. That promise kept me by his side year after year, through every season.

Eventually, he made it. The company took off, and he popped the question. I said yes, totally over the moon.

At first, our marriage was sweet and stable. But then everything went sideways when Matthew brought Melanie, his childhood sweetheart, from their hometown and set her up close to us.

Even when I landed in the hospital, he ditched me to stay with her, just because she had her period.

We fought over it. And after that, something shifted. Since then, there was this wall between us that never came down.

I stirred awake, still groggy and heavy with sleep. My pillow was soaked. I must've been crying in my sleep.

At some point, Matthew had slipped back in without me noticing. The second he saw me packing my suitcase by the door, his face tightened with frustration.

"Aurelia, how much longer are you going to drag this out?"

I turned away, splashed some cold water on my face, and scrubbed away the dried tears. Then I put the divorce agreement in front of him again.

"I'm moving out for a few days. When are you going to sign this?"

"Seriously? You want to divorce me?" Matthew's face dropped, his stare cold as ice. "Just because of some made-up news story? I know it's fake, and I wouldn't even judge you, so what's with the whole divorce thing?"

I just stared at him in silence.

What a joke. As if his opinion meant anything to me.

After a while, he asked, "Did my mom call you and say something? Just hold on a little longer, alright? Mel's up for a performance bonus at work.

"Once she gets it, I'll have her take you out for dinner and we'll talk through how to handle this properly."

"Forget it. Who cares about some dinner with her?" I retorted.

I picked up my suitcase, ready to walk out.

I knew exactly how Matthew would go about this. When the time came, he'd just shrug and say, "Well, if that's what everyone thinks, then so be it. It's not like you're actually losing anything."

"Wait," he called out from behind, tossing a tote bag into my arms. "Mel picked this out for you. She's got way more sense than you will ever have."

I looked inside to find a crumpled dress, stuffed in like trash. I let out a sharp laugh and tossed the bag right back at his feet.

Matthew blew up, calling me ungrateful. The whole thing was just even more of a joke to me.

"This dress looks familiar, doesn't it?" I remarked.

If I remembered right, it was the same one Melanie wore on that little vacation with Matthew. She'd even posted about it on Twitter. It was a photo of Matthew on one knee, holding a bouquet of roses.

The caption read, "I told him I wanted to see the ocean, and he dropped everything to book the trip. How lucky am I to be loved like this?"

Matthew looked away, guilt flickering across his face.

I didn't bother saying more. As I turned to leave, I just said, "Sign the papers already. No point dragging this out."

After I moved out, Matthew didn't bother reaching out. However, he started throwing shade on Twitter.

He posted stuff that read, "What does a decent guy have to do to be appreciated?" and "Some women throw fits when things don't go their way, acting like their husbands aren't out here busting their ass for the family."

He never said my name, but it was obvious the posts were directed at me.

I locked my phone and didn't give it another thought.