Mike kept his word. He hadn't come home in a week.

It was as if he had forgotten my existence.

Meanwhile, Cathy's Instagram was constantly updated, each post a deliberate display of her life with Mike—photos scattered across the timeline, desperate to be seen.

I ignored them. Instead, I blocked her.

The only reason I had ever added her in the first place was because, three years ago, Mike had worked late one night and still wasn't home by two in the morning. His phone was off.

Panic gripped me.

I called every mutual friend we had, my fingers shaking as I dialed, my stomach twisting with dread.

Finally, someone hesitantly admitted they had seen him at the airport—his arms around his ex.

And then, they sent me Cathy's contact information.

The first message I sent her was short.

Jess: [Is Mike with you?]

Cathy: [Yes.]

The moment I read her reply, the panic inside me evaporated. In its place, a quiet, crushing ache settled deep in my heart.

I had spent years swallowing my pride, making compromises, all to keep Mike by my side.

But we had both forgotten one thing—marriage doesn't have room for three people.

Then came my birthday.

I had originally planned to sit down with him and talk things through.

Now, I no longer saw the point.

After blocking Cathy, I went to City Hall to sort out the last of my mom's affairs.

When I got home, a pair of unfamiliar high heels sat by the front door.

Cathy was here.

I stepped inside and found them curled up on the couch, sharing an ice cream.

Their faces were close—too close.

When they licked it at the same time, Cathy laughed, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

Mike leaned in to kiss her.

Rage flooded my veins, a violent, uncontainable surge.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I snapped.

Mike stiffened. Slowly, he turned to look at me.

For a moment, I saw a flicker of guilt in his expression. Then, just as quickly, he masked it with feigned composure.

"You're home," he said, like this was any other day. "Where did you go?"

Before I could answer, Cathy spoke up.

"Jess, were you out looking for Mikey?" she asked, her voice light, almost teasing. "Don't worry, we didn't do anything."

Her words shifted something in Mike's demeanor.

His gaze swept over me, laced with disdain.

"I told you to stay home," he muttered. "Why are you running around? And dressed like that? You look like a mess."

I glanced down at my outfit.

Funny.

He was the one who had picked out these clothes for me.

I could still hear his voice from that day—"Jess, this looks good on you."

Now, he found it embarrassing.

Right. Compared to the designer labels draped over Cathy, I must've been an eyesore.

I let out a short, bitter laugh.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Afraid I'm getting in the way of your little date?"

Mike sighed, rubbing his temples. "You're overthinking things. I'm just taking care of her. That's all."

Cathy suddenly started coughing, her frail body trembling with each breath.

"That's right," she gasped between coughs. "If I hadn't gotten pneumonia from being drugged, I wouldn't have troubled Mikey at all."

Mike's expression softened immediately. He poured her a glass of water, his voice gentle. "Drink slowly. I already prepared your medicine—it should help."

As Cathy took a sip, she turned her gaze to me, her eyes full of carefully crafted innocence.

"I'll be okay, Mikey," she said. "Jess seems upset. You should go comfort her."

Mike scoffed.

"Don't be ridiculous," he told her. "I already took time off work. I'll be here to take care of you."

Once he finished fussing over her, he finally turned back to me, his patience wearing thin.

"Well?" he said. "Why are you just standing there? Go clean up the guest room—Cathy will be staying here for a while."

I started shaking. My entire body trembled with fury, my fingers curling into fists.

"Are you serious?" My voice came out strangled, unable to contain the sheer rage bubbling beneath it. "Cheating on me behind my back wasn't enough? You want to do it in front of me now?"

Mike hesitated, frowning. "She's still recovering. Our place is closer to the hospital. It makes sense for her to stay here."

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

Then, I reached into my bag and pulled out a document.

"Why go through all this trouble?" I asked, holding it up. "Sign this. I'll leave. Then you and Cathy can have all the space you want."

Mike's expression darkened the moment he saw the divorce papers in my hands. "Enough, Jess. There's a limit to this nonsense. Do you really think threatening me will work?"

His voice was sharp, laced with irritation. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. "I never thought you'd be this petty—counting every little thing like some miserable wretch. You're just like your mother." His lips curled in disdain. "Not only poor, but small-minded."

I hadn't expected that. Not after five years of marriage.

His words sliced through me, cold and merciless, leaving a sharp, stinging pain in their wake. Tears welled up before I could stop them.

"You hate my mom, don't you?" My voice trembled, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. "Don't worry, Mike. You'll never have to see her again."

He frowned, glancing around. "What? Did she run away because I brought Cathy back?"

My breath caught in my throat, and when I finally spoke, it came out as a scream—raw, broken. "No! She's dead! She died because of you!"

The room went still.

Mike stood frozen. "What… what did you just say?"

He had never seen me like this before, never seen me unravel so completely. For the first time, I saw something close to panic in his eyes. "Jess, don't lie to me. Your mom was fine. She was fine."

Cathy let out a small laugh. "Mikey, she's obviously making it up. If her mom really died, where's the body? Don't let her fool you."

This time, Mike ignored her. His focus was entirely on me. "Jess, stop this. If you don't want Cathy here, I'll find another place for her in a few days, alright? Just give me some time."

I let out a hollow laugh. "No. That's never happening."

Before he could respond, Cathy suddenly slumped onto the couch.

Mike's face twisted with alarm. He touched her forehead, then turned back to me, his voice urgent. "Jess, go get some medicine! Her fever is back!"

I let out a cold laugh. "Why should I?"

His jaw tightened. "Because she's sick!"

"And that's my problem?" I took a step closer, my voice icy. "Don't forget, my mom paid for this apartment with everything she had. Who the hell do you think you are, bringing some random woman here?"

Mike's patience snapped. "Because my name is on the deed!" His voice thundered through the room. "You don't want to help? Then get out!"

The anger surged through me so violently that my body shook. I wanted to scream, to tear him apart, to erase the sight of him standing there, looking at me like I was the one being unreasonable.

My hands trembled as I grabbed the fruit plate from the table and hurled it at him.

"Mike, you're letting some other woman live in the home my mom spent her life savings on! Do you even have a conscience?"

The plate shattered at his feet, sending shards of porcelain flying.

For a moment, he didn't move. His expression darkened, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. Then, slowly, he looked up at me.

"Jess," he said, his voice eerily calm, "do you really think I won't do anything to you? If you don't stop this, I'll cut off your mom's medication."

The words hit like a physical blow. Pain spread through my heart, tightening like a vice. It was hard to breathe. Hard to think.

I never imagined he'd say something like that for Cathy.

Mike had always been my mom's primary doctor. He was the one who prescribed her medication, the one who controlled the supply. If she were still alive, maybe I would've endured this.

But she wasn't.

I lifted my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Mike," I said, my voice hollow, "sign the papers. Take your mistress and get out. Or I'm calling the police."

He laughed then. A slow, cold laugh that sent a chill down my spine.

"Fine." His expression turned cruel. "Since you refuse to listen, don't blame me for being ruthless."

He pulled out his phone and dialed the hospital line.

"Stop all medication for patient 028," he said, his tone clipped, businesslike. "Her symptoms have improved. She doesn't need it anymore."

Then he turned to me, eyes dark and filled with contempt.

"When you apologize, you'll get the medicine back."

He was waiting for me to cave. Waiting for me to beg.

But then, the voice on the other end of the line sighed.

"Dr. Tyler," the nurse said, "patient 028 passed away a week ago. Cardiac arrest. We couldn't save her. You… didn't know?"

Mike stiffened.

His fingers tightened around the phone. His breath caught, and for a second, he didn't move.

"What are you talking about? I'm asking about patient 028. Not anyone else."

The nurse hesitated. "Yes, Dr. Tyler. That's what I'm telling you. Patient 028—your mother-in-law—passed away last week. Didn't… didn't your wife tell you?"