Susan said, "My sugar daddy was in the back seat the whole time, watching me live. And that funeral gig? It should've paid 700 dollars, but he had someone force it down to just 70."

As I took in the smug look on her face, I asked, "Doesn't it bother you that he has a girlfriend?"

Susan gave me a strange look. "His love, his money—everything he gives is mine. Anne, aside from the title of girlfriend, what does that woman even have?"

…

I didn't remember how I made it home.

The cramped, hundred-square-foot rental had once been something Eric and I built together with care. Back then, Eric had sworn it would be just the two of us forever. In that carefully woven lie, I lived happily for years, forgetting how difficult life had been.

Perhaps it was fate that I stumbled upon Susan's account.

She was in the middle of a livestream. The camera was pointed at Eric, whom I would have recognized even if I were reduced to ashes.

Eric pulled off the threadbare T-shirt he had worn for years and changed into a silk lounge set.

The comments flooded in.

"Is a gentle, wealthy, loyal man like this even real?"

"He looks so caring, and he even knows how to cook!"

"Don't you know? Sue has stomach issues, so Eric actually learned special recipes from a chef to make meals that are easy on her."

The endless stream of comments cut into me like a dagger.

For five years, I was so busy helping Eric clear his debts that I never had a proper meal.

Outside, fireworks cracked through the sky as people counted down.

I watched as Eric set the knife down and slowly stepped toward the camera.

A second later, the screen went black, and the sound of a heated kiss rang out.

Susan abruptly ended the livestream, but not before leaving a caption for her followers.

"If my sugar daddy wants it, it's his."

In the picture, Eric's strong, well-defined hand gripped Susan's waist with unmistakable dominance.

Outside, the city sparkled with light and celebration.

I found myself scrolling through Susan's posts, even though I knew I shouldn't. Amid her flaunting, the missing pieces began to come together.

On the very day Eric gave me a pair of cheap crystal hair clips, he had just spent millions of dollars on a diamond necklace for Susan. When he marked paying off half his debt with a single cup of coffee, he still made sure to send her money for the designer bag she wanted.

Whenever I needed him or worried myself sick over him, he was at the villa he gave Susan, chasing the thrill of their affair. Even the small charm I had once prayed over for his safety now dangled from his lover's bag.

My hands and feet turned ice cold as I curled up on the wooden bed.

…

Eric returned three days later. He had already changed back into his usual worn-out clothes and wrapped me in a familiar, warm embrace.

My stomach churned violently. I pushed him away and vomited until everything spun.

The happiness on his face shattered, giving way to panic.

His eyes reddened, and tears streamed down his face. "Anne, what's wrong? Don't scare me…"

There was nothing left in my stomach. Only sour bile came up in the end.

He frowned in concern. "Did you skip meals again? A coworker gave me some extra work, so I was delayed. How did you get like this?"

As I listened to his effortless lies, I felt an urge to laugh.

But as I did, even the man in front of me blurred out of focus.

I was sick, running a high fever of 102 degrees.

In my daze, my thoughts were filled with fragments of Eric. From the moment we started dating, he had done everything to make me feel safe.

His profile pictures across all his social media accounts were of me. Because I had chronic sinus issues, he had quit his ten-year habit of smoking. He remembered every little thing about me, even my period cycle.

How could someone like Eric, who instinctively protected me even during an earthquake, ever cheat?

Why would he cheat?

My body burned and then chilled, and I could feel him bustling around me. He swapped the towel on my forehead every half hour and wiped my lips with a cotton swab every 15 minutes.

When I opened my eyes, he looked just like he always did whenever I was sick. His eyes were red and full of concern.

I weakly lifted my hand and touched his cheek, realizing for the first time how distant he felt.

"Anne, you're finally awake. I was so worried about you. I made some pumpkin soup. Sit up and let me feed you a little," he said.

My eyes brimmed with tears as I struggled to get the words out.

I forced it down and smiled weakly. "It's good."

Hearing my reply, Eric smiled. His eyes shone the same way they had when I met him at 18.

As my eyes fell on the bandages on his hands, I softened again. Five years of love weren't easy to walk away from. He held me close, quietly murmuring about how terrified he had been these past three days.

I didn't comfort him this time. I only whispered, "How much debt do we still have?"

Eric blinked in confusion and answered casually, "A lot."

As the question came to me, I asked, "Eric, aren't you tired?"

He smiled as he tucked the blanket around me. "No, I've been sick and taking medicine all these years, but I've never done any hard work. It's you who barely gets any rest each day."

For a fleeting moment, I almost asked him why he spent each day living a lie, pretending to be poor despite his family's vast wealth.

However, I couldn't bring myself to say it. I realized with a jolt that I didn't even have the courage to face the unbearable truth.

"Anne, I haven't gone to work these past few days while you were sick. My boss isn't too happy about it. Tomorrow, stay home and rest. I'll be back after work."

When Eric said this, his fingers were still on the WhatsApp screen.

I gripped the blanket and anxiously asked, "Can you stay with me a few more days?"

He tilted his head and looked at me silently.

Finally, he whispered, "Okay."

Once I settled, my thoughts cleared. Everything I hadn't wanted to dwell on rushed in.

For years, I had been up before sunrise and back late at night. Eric worked overtime night after night. When I added it all up, the time we actually spent together was shockingly little.

Eric held me close, kissing from behind my ear down to my neck, but the cracks in my heart could no longer be filled. I thought frantically of the innocent, lively woman he had been caring for.

Did he hold her like this? Did he show her the same tenderness?

A wave of nausea hit me, and I threw up. Eric didn't notice anything unusual—he simply fussed over me with concern.

If he cared for me so much, why had he been intimate with another woman?

Through the fog of fever, I heard him mutter, "She's sick. Be good. I'll see you in a couple of days."

When he saw me sit up, he jumped slightly.

He instinctively hid his phone and asked, "Did I wake you? Something came up at work."

On the table sat the candle Eric and I had bought to save electricity. Its weak flame flickered as cold air slipped through the door crack.

I lowered my eyes. "Eric, let's get married."

In my memory, he had always said those words to me first. When I finally said them, his first reaction was panic.

He forced a smile. "Anne, what's going on?"

I didn't answer.

The clock hands cut through the silence like nails. Time dragged on, and his eyes held a complexity I couldn't read.

After a long moment, he let out a sigh. "Alright. Once you're better, we'll talk about marriage. Don't overthink it. I'm just afraid I can't give you the life you deserve."

Minutes later, he seemed like a completely different person. In a daze, I glimpsed the boy who had once shared his hopes for the future with me.

I nodded, but the joy I expected never came. Something dark weighed on my chest, refusing to lift.

"Eric, this is your last chance," I thought—but he still walked away.

The woman's miserable sobs echoed, and Eric flustered so badly that he forgot to lower the volume on his phone.

He pulled on his coat and stepped outside.

"Don't be afraid. Lock the door. I'll be there soon," he said gently.

The old wooden door creaked, then everything went quiet. I found myself tapping on Susan's channel labelled "Sue's Love Diary".

As I expected, there was a new post.

"You can play sick all you want, but sorry, you just ran straight into my line of fire."

Minutes later, a short video followed.

The screen was dark, but I could hear Eric's restrained voice clearly.

"Little liar, do you know how worried I was when I heard you broke your leg?"

Susan's sweet, teasing laugh followed. "Eric, are you really going to leave?"

Then came the sounds of running water from the bathroom, mixed with thuds and gasps.

I lost count of how many times I replayed that one-minute video.

By the time dawn broke, Eric finally remembered me and sent me a message.

"Anne, a coworker had an emergency. I need to help him for a few days."

I called him, and he picked up instantly.

I asked, "Are you really with your coworker?"

He let out a chuckle. "Sorry, Anne. I left in a hurry. I didn't mean to make you worry."

I asked one last time, "Where are you really?"

He repeated the same excuse.

I hung up, and he never called again.

Around the same time, Sue's Love Diary posted an update.

"My sugar daddy was relentless. He didn't stop all night, and even a ringing phone couldn't break his focus."

If this had happened before, I would have lost my mind. I would have barged in, demanded answers, thrown things, and screamed at Eric for an explanation.

But for some reason, I was completely exhausted.

As I packed my belongings, I threw away every object that held memories. I had expected five years to leave me with countless things, but not a single box was full.

I spent the last of my money on a random flight to an unknown destination. While waiting at the airport, I made my private account—where I had chronicled my life—public.

It had begun as a space for simple daily love notes, but now it was over, and nothing would ever be the same. I didn't say a single word and only tagged Sue's Love Diary in my post.

"Eric, if loving someone is this hard, then from today on, we will never see each other again."