“Ma’am, there’s no marriage record between you and Mr. Mark Henderson in the system.”

My fingers tightened around the pregnancy report as my legs nearly gave out beneath me.

Five years ago, Mark was recruited by a top law firm abroad with a high-paying offer. Without hesitation, I followed him across the ocean.

He had told me, “Once I’m settled, I’ll take care of your status.”

However, five years had passed, and my lawful permanent residence was still “in process.” Meanwhile, his assistant, Tonya Irving, who followed him abroad, had secured hers under his sponsorship.

Back then, I made a scene, insisting on a divorce so I could return home. For the first time, the ever-composed Mark, an attorney, lost his calm.

He grabbed my hand and said, “Tonya’s all alone out here, and it hasn’t been easy for her. Helping her is just the right thing to do. You’re my wife. Your status is only a matter of time. My work is sensitive right now, and I need to avoid any complications. You understand, don’t you?”

But I had understood him for five whole years.

My phone suddenly rang.

Mark’s voice came through, light with laughter. “Tonya’s permanent residence was approved today. We’re celebrating tonight. I need you to get home early and cook up a feast.”

I stared at the marriage license in my hand—now nothing more than a worthless piece of paper. A cold chill spread down my spine. As it turned out, I was never his legal wife. I had no legal status and no protection, much less rights secured for the child I was carrying.

After hanging up, I scheduled an abortion and booked the earliest flight home. This time, I wouldn’t look back.

I pushed the door open, and the apartment was already buzzing with noise. Mark Henderson’s colleagues had packed the living room. Someone was popping champagne, and the sharp bursts of laughter grated against my ears.

Tonya Irving stood in the center of it all, cheeks slightly flushed, smiling as she spoke. Mark stood right beside her, a faint smile resting on his lips.

“Kaia’s back! Perfect, we’ve been waiting for you! Mr. Henderson said we have to try your cooking tonight.” Tonya Irving spotted me first and called out brightly, her smile flawless.

Every head turned toward me. Mark glanced over, his brows knitting together almost imperceptibly. He walked over and lowered his voice.

“What took you so long? Go and get started with cooking. Tonya officially became a citizen here today, and everyone’s here to celebrate her.”

I said nothing. I took off my coat and walked into the open kitchen.

The noise from the living room filtered through the glass door. They talked about recent mergers and acquisitions, about new immigration policy trends, and about making partner next year.

Every word felt distant from me. For the past five years, my entire world had been carefully confined to this small space.

As I chopped the vegetables, a wave of cheering suddenly erupted from the living room.

“Mr. Henderson, your turn! Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” His voice was as calm and steady as ever.

Someone deliberately dragged out the question. “Out of everyone here, who would you say is your best partner?”

The knife in my hand paused mid-air.

He didn’t hesitate to say, “Of course it’s Tonya. Over the years, we’ve handled the toughest cases and the most difficult clients together.”

The room burst into cheers.

“I knew it! You two have worked together for so long. No one can match that kind of chemistry!”

“Seriously, the two of you together are perfectly matched. You’re both talented and good-looking!”

“What a shame Mr. Henderson got married so young. Otherwise, you and Tonya would be perfect…”

Someone lowered their voice, but I could still hear it clearly.

“Honestly, I never understood what he sees in his wife. I heard she’s just a photographer? She doesn’t even work here. She just stays at home all day. Compared to Tonya, she’s–”

“So how did she even get him? It can’t just be her cooking, right?”

The steam from the pot stung my eyes.

Talented and beautiful, a perfect match, the best partner… Every word pierced my chest, twisting deeper each time. What made it even more ridiculous was that they all believed I was Mark’s wife. However, our marriage license was fake.

“Clang!”

The bowl slipped from my hands and shattered across the floor. The kitchen door swung open. Mark walked in, his frown deep enough to cut.

“What is up with you?”

I crouched down to pick up the shards. A piece sliced my fingertip, and blood seeped out.

“It slipped.”

He glanced at my hand, his voice laced with impatience. “Can’t you be more careful? You’re so clumsy. Don’t make a fool of me in front of my colleagues.”

I looked up at him.

He looked at me without a trace of concern, only irritation.

“Clean this up, and hurry with the food. Everyone’s hungry.”

The door shut behind him.

What he didn’t know was that there was a seven-week-old child in my womb. What he also didn’t know was that I had just discovered, at the hospital, that my marriage was nothing but a lie—a joke.

My life, ever since the moment I fell in love with him, had been one cruel joke.

…

The next day was the weekend. Early in the morning, Mark left the apartment, saying he had an urgent client to meet. Of course, Tonya went with him.

The apartment fell into a dead silence. Then suddenly, my phone screen lit up with a notification. The profile picture looked familiar. It was a candid shot of a man’s back, but I recognized that watch instantly. It was the one Mark always wore.

I tapped into the account. There weren’t many posts, but every single one sent a chill straight through me. The earliest post dated back five years, shortly after I had “married” Mark. It was a photo of two hands wearing matching wedding bands, resting on a marriage certificate.

The caption read, “Even if we can’t make it public yet, what’s legally recognized is forever. Thank you, Mr. Henderson.”

Three months ago, the caption read, “He said he’s filing for my lawful permanent residence. All the documents are submitted. Once it’s approved, I’ll finally be a real citizen here.”

Two months ago, the caption read, “Someone secretly upgraded me to the new phone again, said I deserve the best. I told him not to, but he insisted.”

There was a comment underneath that said, “Is that woman who’s always clinging to your husband still bothering him?”

She replied, “Of course. She’s like gum stuck to his shoe. She’s been pursuing him since their university days. She used to wait outside his dorm. Now, she’s followed him overseas. Doesn’t she ever look in the mirror? Does she really think she’s worthy of him?”

I stood in the middle of the living room, gripping my phone. March sunlight streamed through the windows, but I felt cold all over.

She wasn’t wrong. I was the one who pursued Mark. On the first day of freshman year, I was walking around campus with my camera when someone with a white shirt, backlit by the sun, stepped into my frame. The moment I pressed the shutter, my heart skipped. From then on, I pursued him all across campus.

He was the untouchable star of the law school, while I was just the ‘stalker’ from the arts school, always carrying a camera with me. Everyone said I wasn’t good enough for him. However, with nothing but stubborn courage and blind devotion, I forced my way into becoming his girlfriend.

The year we graduated, my photography career had just started to take off. I had won two awards, and several magazines reached out to commission my work. Yet, when he said he was going abroad, I packed my bags and went with him without a second thought.

He held my hand, his eyes red, and said, “Kaia, I’ll treat you well for the rest of my life. Marriage procedures overseas are complicated, so let’s get married back home first.”

After arriving in the foreign country, I wanted to continue photography. However, because of the language barrier, I kept running into walls. Once, I took on a small job, couldn’t fully understand the client’s requirements, and completely messed it up.

When I came home crying, he frowned and said, “You don't even understand what they say. Why are you pushing yourself? Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

From then on, he transferred two thousand dollars into my account every month. It was just enough to get by.

When I wanted to go home to visit family, he would always frown and say, “I’m tied up with an important case right now. I can’t leave.”

Then, when I said I could go alone, he replied, “What’s the point of going back by yourself? Once I’m free, we’ll go together.”

That wait lasted five years. As it turns out, all those excuses of being busy, the timing being inconvenient, and it being career-sensitive were never the real reason. The truth was simple: he had never treated me as his wife.

My phone buzzed. It was a reminder from the hospital about my confirmed scheduled procedure three days later.

…

What Mark didn’t know was that, over the last five years, I had never truly given up on myself. I never stopped working on the foreign language. I could now hold a three-hour conversation with a native speaker without stumbling. Sometimes, I even secretly took on small photography gigs online. He never once asked what I did during the day anyway.

The day before my procedure, I received a call from an editor at the magazine I had worked with before. They were preparing a feature on outstanding elites in foreign countries, and this time’s interview subject… was Mark.

The editor knew I lived abroad and had produced strong work before. She asked if I’d be willing to take on the photography for the feature. The pay, she said, would be generous.

As if guided by something I couldn’t explain, I agreed. I wanted to see for myself what it would be like in his world, in front of his colleagues, if I showed up not as “Mrs. Henderson,” but as just a photographer.

On the day of the shoot, I arrived at the law firm early. The receptionist asked about my purpose of visit. Just as I took out my work ID, a familiar voice cut in, sharp and unwelcome.

“Kaia? What are you doing here?”

Tonya came striding over in high heels, her gaze sweeping over me like I was something dirty.

Her tone carried an undisguised contempt. “This is a workplace. Unauthorized people aren’t allowed in.”

“I’m here for work.”

Her smile froze. She looked me up and down, then smirked in amusement.

“What kind of work are you here for? Food delivery?” She let out a laugh. “Kaia, quit joking around. This is a law firm, not your kitchen. Unauthorized people aren’t allowed in.”

I took out my credentials and held them up.

“I have an appointment with the magazine. I’m here for the three o’clock appointment this afternoon to photograph Mr. Henderson for an interview.”

She raised a brow, questioning me. “What kind of magazine would hire you? You couldn’t even understand the language.”

I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone, dialing Mark’s number.

He picked up, sounding impatient. “What is it? I’m busy.”

“I’m at your firm.”

There was a two-second pause on the other end, followed by the sound of footsteps. He came out, and the moment he saw me, his brows furrowed.

“What are you doing here? Go home. We’ve got plans tonight.”

“I’m here for work,” I said, handing him the appointment letter again.

He glanced at it but didn’t take it, his expression almost mocking. “What work could you possibly have here?”

“Photography.”

He looked at me with that familiar trace of disdain in his eyes.

“You haven’t touched a camera in five years. What do you think you can shoot? Don’t embarrass yourself. Just go home.”

Before he could finish, the elevator doors opened. The magazine’s editor-in-chief had arrived with the team.

“Mr. Henderson! I’ve heard so much about you! Oh, Ms. Paul, you’re here!” The editor then turned to me. “Ms. Paul, we can start anytime. Would you like to check the lighting first?”

Mark’s expression froze, while Tonya stood there, stunned.

The interview went smoothly. After it ended, we moved into the photography session. I raised my camera and looked at Mark through the viewfinder. This was the man I had once loved with all my heart, someone I had admired with my entire youth. Yet now, through my lens, all that remained was a handsome and unfamiliar face.

I took three sets of photos, all of which the editor nodded repeatedly in approval. When we wrapped up, I crouched on the floor to switch lenses. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tonya walking toward me.

“Ms. Paul, that was a misunderstanding earlier. I’m sorry,” she said with a smile.

Then suddenly, she stumbled, and her whole body lurched forward. As she crashed straight into me, the camera flew out of my hands and slammed into the metal trash can in the corner. With a crack, the lens shattered, and a fracture split across the camera body.

My mind went blank. That camera… was my father’s. The day he passed, I had clutched it in my arms and cried the entire night.

Tonya kept apologizing, her tone flustered, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I was so careless. Kaia, please don’t be mad…”

Rage overcame me. I stood up, eyes red, and raised my hand toward her face.

“Kaia! Have you lost your mind?” Mark interrupted.

He grabbed my wrist hard and yanked me back, pulling me behind him as he shielded Tonya. He glared at me.

“Tonya didn’t do it on purpose! It’s just a stupid camera. Do you really need to make such a big deal out of it? Look at yourself right now! You’re acting like a shrew!”

I stared at his face, suddenly at a loss for words that he was protecting her, and my blood turned cold.

The magazine staff exchanged awkward glances. The editor-in-chief stepped in to smooth things over, saying they’d reschedule, and then quickly led the team away.

I crouched down and picked up the broken camera. At the same time, Mark walked over and held out a few bills to me.

“Take it and get it fixed. That’s enough. Stop making a scene.”

I didn’t take the money, allowing the bills to drift to the floor. I stood up, looked at him, then glanced at Tonya behind him, who was biting her lip and wearing a pitiful expression. Saying nothing, I turned and walked away.

I went to the hospital. As I lay on the operating table, the cold touch of the instruments made my entire body tremble.

I’m sorry… my child, whom I never got to meet.