I threw the door wide open, my face set in a grim resolve.

Jane stared back, clearly stunned.

For once, I didn't blow up about Winston or dissolve into desperate pleas for her forgiveness mid-fight.

That's been our pattern for the past five years, every damn time.

She'd even force me to record videos apologizing, just to play them back to me as a reminder of my supposed shame, proving her eternal rightness.

But I'm over it now. Done.

Maybe I was seeing things, but I swear I caught a glimmer of panic in Jane's eyes.

Breaking character, her voice softened, "Look, I got held up that day. I'll swing by and check on Emily soon, okay? Let's drop it."

I snorted.

If she'd bothered to even check in on Emily once or cared to ask how she was, she wouldn't be spouting such nonsense.

It's been nearly ten months since she last saw Emily, on New Year's Eve I begged her to come home.

"Drop it?" I sneered, "Who's holding it here? Take another step and I'm calling security."

Jane seemed knocked off her script by my sharp tone, standing there gaping.

A moment later, she went white as a sheet and slapped me, "Mike, how can you treat me this way!"

Really, how had I treated her?

We grew up together, our families intertwined, close as can be—yet somehow that wasn't enough.

Tasked with carrying our families' hopes, I went abroad for college.

With Jane constantly on my mind, I compressed a two-year exchange program into an intense eighteen months. Even when I fell ill and ended up in the hospital, I pushed through my coursework, nearly giving myself pneumonia from the stress.

During that time, I made sure to fly back every three months to spend time with Jane, worried that any longer apart might lead her to drift away from me.

Little did I know that Winston's sudden appearance would throw everything off course.

She accused me of harboring too much ambition, suggesting that one departure for education meant I'd easily leave again.

But I never truly left her; I even ran her family business meticulously and kept it still as she had no interest in it.

My love was steadfast; I proved it at every turn.

I tolerated her running back to Winston time and again, our marriage, unlicensed and hollow, merely a façade for her indiscretions...

Yet even my tolerance wasn't enough to fulfill Emily's final wish.

When Emily passed, it felt like my heart went with her, and all my former vitality extinguished.

I sighed deeply, my expression solemn, "You know full well how I've treated you."

"We didn't bother with a marriage license, there's no property to fight over, and I'll make sure my assistant hands over your parents' business to you."

"Just go, Jane. And let's not go through this again."

She froze, the gravity of my words sinking in.

She hadn't expected the man who once clung to her side to now push her away so decisively.

It dawned on her that walking out this time might mean never coming back.

A trace of desperation flickered in Jane's eyes, her instincts battling her pride, yet her words still rang with condescension.

"Mike, I've told you time and again, that Winston and I are just friends. I'm looking after him because he's sick."

"Really? Getting jealous over nothing? Why do you always think the worst of me, never trust me?"

Normally, such blatant gaslighting would've set me off.

But this time, I felt absolutely nothing.

She was still lying, even now.

I closed my eyes, suddenly unsure why I'd ever fallen for her.

This love lasted thirty years.

Thirty years is a lifetime of fidelity on my part, managing our businesses, and playing the fool whenever she stepped out.

I never demanded much, just some semblance of respect, to be seen as a man rather than a fool.

But even that was asking too much from her.

I played the recording from that night, their voices filling the room with uncomfortable truths.

Jane froze, her complexion turning ghostly, then in a fit of rage, she grabbed my phone and hurled it to the ground.

"You recorded that..." she gasped, "How could you do this to me!"

She swung at me again.

But this time, I blocked her.

Once, I would've endured endless indignities for her love.

Not anymore.

"Jane, the security's on their way. Try to keep some dignity."

I was firm, asking her to leave once more.

Winston, eager to avoid a bigger scene, tugged at her arm.

"Let's head out, Jane. I get that Emily was faking her illness, but competing with her over you was wrong. It's just led to more trouble."

Faking her illness?

My brain stalled, struggling to process.

Before I knew it, my fist had met Winston's stupid face.

Jane, momentarily lost in guilt, snapped back to full alertness.

She shielded Winston, fussing over his face in front of me.

"Mike, what's gotten into you today?!"

My gaze fixed on Winston, "You better run back to your mess of a business."

Winston, feeling the threat, flushed but tried to play it cool, "Jane, cool it with the anger. Don't let me mess up what you two have. If Mike can't see the truth about Emily, I'll act like I don't know either."

I turned to Jane, "You believe she was faking too?"

Jane stayed silent, but her look told me everything I needed to know.

I burst out laughing, though it was more bitter than amused.

"Jane, you're not cut out to be a mom."

I spread Emily's medical records across the table, notices of her critical condition stamped all over.

Jane glanced over them dismissively, "Seen all this before. Got anything new?"

Emily was battling acute gastric cancer, her condition fluctuating dangerously. Every critical update from the hospital was communicated to Jane, pleading with her to visit her daughter one last time.

To Jane, though, it was just another boy crying wolf.

And I was that boy, supposedly lying through his teeth.

I remembered Emily's face when she got the news, her weak smile breaking through, "Dad, let's do the mock funeral. It's okay if it's just Mom and you."

My heart broke for Emily. I spent that night on my knees in front of Jane, replaying those apology videos, until she finally agreed—on the condition she'd finally give herself completely to Winston.

They went through the motions like a real couple, but Jane always stopped short of finality.

She prided herself on being a wife already, not wanting to cross a line.

That thought always brought to mind the old saying about a saint on the street but a sinner behind closed doors.

That was the real betrayal.

I had accepted my role, wearing the cuckold's horns, but she didn't even show up for the actual funeral.

I thought about gathering more evidence, confirming her death with the hospital, taking Jane to Emily's grave...

But then I stopped myself. Why bother?

Jane's bias was too deep, too ingrained to ever change. Let it go.

Seeing my defeated look, Jane thought she had the upper hand, smugly demanding, "Apologize to Winston, or I'm never attending that mock funeral."

I was speechless, utterly dumbfounded.

Doubting her sanity, I responded flatly, "Emily doesn't need it anymore. Just leave."

My patience had worn thin, civility long gone.

Jane frowned, incredulous, "Mike, don't push your luck. I've backed down as much as I'm going to. What more do you want?"

"After all the drama, satisfied yet? Apologize to Winston, and maybe I'll consider making our marriage official."

"Forget it, you disgust me."

I said it straight, no sugarcoating left.

Jane's mask finally slipped, her rage uncontainable, "Mike, are you out of your mind?!"

"If you don't apologize to Winston today, I'm calling the hospital to halt all her treatments!"

I never fought for Emily's custody; it was always in Jane's grip.

Initially, she didn't even want the child, but now using her as a pawn repeatedly.

If Emily were still alive, had I not been so fed up, no longer willing to endure endless humiliation like some spineless mutt, would Jane really have made that call?

She would have.

Surgery delays waiting for family consent, so I kneeled before them and slapped myself over and over until Jane was satisfied to sign.

Now, even with Emily gone, Jane still wielded her life as a threat without a second thought.

I was enraged.

"Earlier you said Emily was faking her illness, now you're threatening to stop all treatments, what the hell do you see her as?!"

"Jane, you are truly despicable, rotten to the core!"

I stared at Jane in despair, once thought of as sweet, now just vile and nauseating.

She had never faced such humiliation, especially not from someone she viewed as less than her.

She furiously pulled out her phone, a twisted smile on her face, "Mike, I'm giving you one last chance—apologize or not."

"Not happening."

There's no logic in victims apologizing to their abusers.

Jane dialed the number, a smug look as if to say, "Just watch what I do next."

"Dr. Fogg, halt all medical interventions for Emily immediately."

Silence stretched on the other end, and then Dr. Fogg hesitated, "You are Emily Lapord's parent, correct?"

"Absolutely."

Jane smirked, flaunting that the child was hers to control.

But the next words hit her like a thunderbolt.

"Unfortunately, we can't comply with that request because Emily has passed away—she died the day of the mock funeral, and as her parent, you weren't there."