On our anniversary, Lenard Donovan tricked me into bringing my self-designed wedding dress, claiming it was for a commemorative photoshoot.

However, when we arrived at the destination, I realized it was a wedding venue.

Everyone I knew—friends from school and childhood—were there, their eyes gleaming with curiosity and mockery.

“Faye actually brought her wedding dress. I told you, if we just mentioned a photoshoot, she’d fall for it.”

“She’s so eager to replace Arlene’s place, but it seems like she only made a fool of herself.”

“Faye,” she began tearfully, “my mom is in the late stages of cancer. Her last wish is to see me get married. Lenard only did this because he felt sorry for me. Please, help me this once.”

Lenard immediately reached out to pull Arlene to her feet, his expression filled with guilt as he looked at her. Then his gaze shifted to me, cold and accusing.

“Is it really necessary to make her kneel? If you think my decision to help her is an attack on your ego, then maybe we should just break up right now. So, you can go be with any man you want.”

I nodded, accepting his proposal without hesitation. If that’s how little I meant to him, then so be it. I turned around, found a new partner and married someone else. A month after receiving my marriage certificate, he called me.

“Isn’t a month enough for you to self-reflect?” he asked, his tone full of mockery. “Cut out the drama. I’ll take you to the registry office, get our married certificate and throw you the best wedding ever as soon I get back.”

But before I could respond, another voice chimed in, this one amused yet firm:

“I’m afraid you’ve missed your chance, Lenard. You won’t be getting a marriage certificate with her anymore. Because she’s already your aunt now.”

***

It all started on our anniversary. For the first time, Lenard called me, his voice unusually gentle. “Let’s take a commemorative photo for our anniversary. Don’t forget to bring the wedding dress you designed. It suits the occasion.”

“Sure,” I replied, barely able to hide the excitement in my voice.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. After three years together, our relationship had always felt like it was living in the shadow of Lenard’s past. Most of the time, I listened to stories about him and his ex. His friends never hesitated to remind me of how important she had been in his life. He’d quit smoking and drinking for her. He kept entire photo albums of their time together, cherishing every moment. Even years later, he still celebrated their anniversary, revisiting those memories as though nothing had changed.

I always envied their connection. I longed for something of our own, something special. So, one day, during a group gathering, I finally asked, “Can we create a photo album for our anniversary too?”

His response was swift, cutting through my hopes like a blade.

“I’ll never take pictures like that with anyone but her,” he declared loudly, making sure everyone heard.

“You’re not Arlene. Stop trying to be like her. You’re not even a hair’s breadth better than her.”

His friends laughed and the sting of their mockery didn’t stop there. From that moment, the teasing grew relentless.

“She’s nothing compared to Arlene.”

“Arlene’s back. It’s just a matter of time before she gets dumped.”

“Just because she’s been with Lenard a little longer doesn’t mean she’s on Arlene’s level.”

“I can’t wait to see her humiliated.”

Lenard overheard these comments more than once, but his response was always the same: a half-hearted mutter, “Don’t go too far.” He never actually defended me. Every time I confronted him about it, he turned away, as if my pain didn’t matter to him.

I thought our relationship had reached its breaking point, but then he changed.

He started calling me first. He suggested we celebrate our anniversary properly. He wanted to take a commemorative photoshoot, something I’d always wanted.

I was overjoyed. I spent hours getting ready, trying on several different makeup looks, wanting to present my best self for this special moment.

But when I arrived at the location, I froze. The so-called photoshoot venue wasn’t what I’d imagined at all. It wasn’t just a place for portraits—it was a full-on wedding scene.

A knot of unease twisted in my stomach.

All around me, familiar faces—former classmates and old acquaintances—watched me with mocking expressions.

“Faye actually brought her wedding dress. I told you, just mention a photoshoot and she’d fall for it.”

“So desperate to replace Arlene, but she only made a fool of herself.”

“Oh, poor, Faye. Her boyfriend’s getting married, but she’s not the bride. Hahaha…”

I clutched the wedding dress in my hands, my palms damp with unease. “W-what are you talking about? Who’s getting married? What do you mean it’s not me?”

Some of Lenard’s admirers, who had always made it their mission to make my life miserable, were among the crowd. Back when they found out we were dating, they pulled every trick in the book to undermine me—sabotaging group projects, stirring up trouble at school, you name it. It only stopped when we graduated and went our separate ways.

But now, with a chance to humiliate me again, they didn’t hold back. My discomfort only fueled their excitement. One woman, especially gleeful, snatched the gown right out of my hands.

“Wedding dresses are for real brides, honey. A squatter like you should know your place. Go back to where you came from!”

She looked like she wanted to keep going, but her words were cut short when Lonard appeared, walking side by side with Arlene.

The two of them looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine—beautiful, perfectly in sync and utterly captivating even in their casual clothes.

Lenard’s gaze landed on me, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. Just as he opened his mouth to explain, Arlene stepped forward dramatically and fell to her knees.

“Faye, my mom is in the late stages of cancer. She wants to see me get married before she goes. Lenard agree to help only felt sorry for me. Please, just help me this one time!”

She glanced up at me with wide, teary eyes and continued, “I know you and Lenard have been together for years. I don’t want to ruin that—I swear. But this is an emergency. I hope you and Lenard won’t break up over this. Please, don’t blame him—he’s done nothing wrong."

Whatever trace of regret had been on Lenard’s face vanished the moment he saw Arlene kneeling. He rushed to help her up, glaring at me as he did.

“Is it really necessary to make her kneel? If you think my decision to help her is an attack on your ego, then maybe we should just break up right now. That way, you can go be with any man you want.”

There it was again—his go-to move. Breaking up was his solution to every problem. It didn’t matter that he was in the wrong. It didn’t matter that they’d tricked me. In his eyes, the only and one issue was me. Always about me and my ego. 

This wasn’t the first time. His friends’ mockery, the broken picture frame, all those subtle jabs—I’d seen it all before. Lenard never tried to fix the real issues. He just tried to “fix” me.

Fine, then. Let’s make this the final fix.

I blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, straightened my shoulders and gave him a tight smile. “Okay. Let’s break up.”

Without waiting to see the stunned faces around me, I turned and walked away. The moment I was out of sight, I pulled out my phone and posted on my social media:

[Single and ready to mingle. Open to anyone suitable.]

Lenard’s friends wasted no time leaving snide comments on my post.

[Looking to get married? I know some single guys in their 30s—perfect match for you!]

[My uncle just got out of prison. He loves the innocent type. Want me to introduce you?]

[Desperate much? If you’re this hungry for touch, I could step in]

Amidst all the obnoxious remarks, one reply win my attention.

[26, stable income, no bad habits. Let’s meet Friday afternoon at the Lucient’s restaurant.]

It wasn’t the comment itself that caught my eye, but the sender’s name. I looked into my contacts and it sword up as Rafael Donovan—Lenard’s uncle.

That night, Lenard didn’t come home, but I didn’t bother calling him. Instead, I packed my things, ready to erase every trace of myself from his apartment.

Just as I zipped up my suitcase, the door burst open.

Arlene stormed in with her entourage of bridesmaids and without a word, they started tearing through the apartment.

“You’ve got some nerve!” One of Arlene’s bridesmaids sneered, glaring at me. “Lenard and Arlene are married now and you’re still living in here? How could you be so thick-skinned?!”

“So what if you’re his girlfriend? In a relationship, if you’re not the one loved but still clinging on, then you’re just the mistress.”

“Get out of this place. Go back to wherever you came from!”

One of Arlene’s friends, a particularly burly woman, stepped forward and shoved me hard. My head slammed against a protruding decoration on the wall, the sharp pain making me suck in a cold breath. I instinctively reached back to touch the spot and when I pulled my hand away, my palm was slick with sticky liquid. Blood.

The room spun and my vision blurred. I tried to steady myself, reaching out for support, but Arlene’s group only pushed me farther away with looks of disdain.

Arlene’s gaze flickered briefly when she noticed the blood on my hand, but the next moment, her expression shifted dramatically. She burst into tears.

“You already said you’d give Lenard to me. Now that we’re married, it’s only fair that I take charge of this place, wouldn’t you agree? Are you trying to make me look bad in front of my friends?” she said between sobs. “I know it must be hard for you. You have a lot to process. That’s why I’ll give you time. You have one day to move your things.”

Her words stirred a chorus of sympathy from her friends.

“Bless your heart, Arlene. You’re sacrificing so much for this ungrateful mistress,” one said, patting her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Arlene. If she doesn’t leave in two days, we’ll help you move her,” another chimed in, throwing a hateful glance my way.

Arlene nodded solemnly, her face full of sorrow, as though she were the one being wronged.

I stood there, unable to speak, as they sauntered out of the apartment, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence. My legs gave out and the world around me faded into darkness.

When I woke up, the afternoon sunlight was already streaming through the windows. I gingerly touched the back of my head. The wound had scabbed over, but the pain was still sharp—a constant reminder of the humiliation I’d endured.

I’ve always been afraid of pain—always. Even the smallest injury could bring me to tears and this was no exception. My chest heaved as silent tears streamed down my face.

Lenard said he had only two sets of keys to this apartment—one with me and one with him. He must have already given his set to Arlene. He didn’t hesitate, did he? So decisive, so ruthless.

I moved into this apartment when Lenard and I officially started dating. At first, it was nothing more than a barren, lifeless space.

***

Flashback on:

“It’s just a place to sleep,” Lenard had said casually when I asked about the lack of furniture or decoration. “No need to fill it with unnecessary furniture.”

But when he saw the disapproval on my face, he waved me off dismissively. “Do whatever you want with it.”

That was all I needed. With one word of approval from him, I threw myself into transforming the place, pouring in time and effort. From repainting the walls to replacing the furniture, even down to the smallest decorations, I worked tirelessly during evenings and weekends. It took six months for me to turn the cold, empty apartment into a warm, cozy and inviting home.

Lenard didn’t say anything, but I could tell he appreciated it in his own way. On quiet evenings, he’d sit in the rocking chair I’d picked out for him, reading under the soft, amber glow of the lamp. The light softened his sharp features, making him look almost gentle.

I’d sit on the couch, curled up with a cup of milk tea, watching him quietly. My heart would swell with pride and hope.

“See? Even the hardest stone can be softened under warm light,” I told myself.

I clung to the belief that, given enough time, I could thaw his icy demeanor completely.

But reality always found a way to shatter my illusions. Every time I thought I was making progress, Lenard would crush my hopes.

Like the time I discovered he enjoyed the dry-aged steak I made him for dinner. I was over the moon to finally make him something he liked. But the next week, when I made him the steak again, he threw it straight into the trash.

“I don’t allow myself to grow attached to things I like,” he said coldly when I asked why.

The same thing happened with clothes. I bought him clothes I thought he’d like and he discarded them without a second glance.

“I only wear what she picks for me. Don’t bother doing these useless things again,” he’d said, his tone as cold as ice.

I didn’t understand. Why is it always her? Why could he never see me? Why did I always matter less than her?

Each time he rejected me, I found myself questioning my own worth. Over and over, my confidence began to crumble and slowly, I started forgetting my dreams. Day by day, I grew more despondent, so much so that I hardly noticed the seasons changing around me.

After work, I glanced up at the sky. It looked ominous—a storm’s coming, I thought. Determined to make it home, I pushed forward and sure enough, the rain began to pour mercilessly. By the time I reached my apartment, I was soaked to the bone.

That night, a high fever took hold of me. I felt dizzy and barely conscious, lost in a haze. Faintly aware of my surroundings, I noticed someone touching my forehead, as if checking my temperature. In the middle of my fevered dream, I could hear a soft, gentle voice murmuring nearby, the words blending into the haze of my thoughts.

“You really don’t know how to take care of yourself, do you?” a soft voice murmured.

“You’ve got a fever. You need to take the medicine.”