I spent a week in the hospital. The burns on my chest and neck slowly began to heal, leaving behind angry red scars.

Ethan came to visit, sometimes.

He would promise to be there for my check-ups, to help the nurse change my dressings.

But then his phone would ring. Ilene would be crying, or screaming, or threatening to jump. And Ethan would leave. Every single time.

After he left, my own phone would light up.

A text from Ilene.

[Ethan just made me his special chicken soup. He said it’s only for me.]

Then a picture of a steaming bowl of soup.

Another text.

[He stayed with me all night. He held my hand until I fell asleep.]

Followed by a video of Ethan sleeping in a chair by her bed, his hand clutching hers.

[My lease is up soon. I wonder what a homeless patient might do. But Ethan said he’d never let me be on the street. 😉]

[He carried me home because my feet hurt.]

And then, the one that finally broke through my numbness. A picture. Ilene, her face tilted up, pressing her lips against Ethan’s. His eyes were closed.

A video followed. Her hand sliding under his shirt.

I felt my throat tighten, a sudden, fierce constriction that made it difficult to draw a breath.

I didn’t reply. I just deleted the messages, one by one.

On the day I was discharged, I handled the paperwork myself. I took a cab back to the house we once called home.

When I got there, Ilene was standing on the doorstep. Ethan was next to her, looking stressed. She had a suitcase.

“Her landlord threw her out—put all her luggage on the curb,” Ethan said before I could speak, his words a frantic rush. “She called me thirty times, screaming that if I didn’t come get her, she would lie down in the middle of the road. I… I couldn’t let her do that. Just for a few days, Rory, I swear. Just until I find her a new place.”

Ilene was trying to force her way inside. “This is Ethan’s house, which means it’s my house! You can’t stop me!”

Ethan was holding her back, his voice firm for once. “Ilene, no. This is my and Aurora’s home. You can’t stay here.”

She started to scream, a wild, cornered sound. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll run into traffic right now! I’ll do it!”

He looked helpless, trapped.

Then he saw me standing by the gate. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Rory! You’re home.”

He rushed over, his voice a low, apologetic murmur. “She’s just going to stay for a few days. Just until I find her a new place. I promise.”

I looked past him at Ilene, who was now glaring at me with triumph.

I lowered my eyes. My voice was calm, devoid of any emotion.

“Okay.”

Ethan looked shocked. “You… you don’t mind?”

I shook my head, a bitter smile touching my lips. “What is there to mind?”

I wasn’t the lady of this house anymore. I was just a temporary guest, soon to be evicted.

Ilene pushed past Ethan and marched into the house like she owned it.

“Ugh, this place is so tacky,” she declared, wrinkling her nose. “Everything needs to be changed.”

She started ordering the maids around. “This couch is hideous, get rid of it. And these curtains! Throw them out!”

Then her eyes landed on the large wedding portrait hanging in the living room. It was a picture of Ethan and me on our happiest day.

“And that,” she said, pointing a sharp finger, “is the ugliest of all. Take it down and burn it.”

The maids looked uncertainly at Ethan.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a slight, defeated nod. “Do as she says.”

I had expected it. I had expected his surrender.

I felt a ghost of a laugh in my chest. I turned without a word and went to my bedroom to pack.

If they wanted me gone, I would make it easy for them. I would erase myself from this house.

I pulled out a suitcase and began to fill it with my things. Clothes, books, my old art supplies. Things I loved.

When I came out of my room, dragging the suitcase, the living room was a disaster zone.

Our wedding photo was on the floor in a spray of shattered glass, my smiling face torn in two. My books were pulled from the shelves and thrown in a pile. The beautiful vase I had bought on our honeymoon was in pieces.

The home I had so carefully built, so lovingly maintained, was destroyed.

I stood there for a moment, just looking at the wreckage.

Ilene stood in the middle of it all, a smug, victorious smile on her face.

“All of this,” she said, gesturing around the room, “and you… you’re all in the past now.”

I ignored her. I was done with her games.

But she stepped in front of me, blocking my way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Her eyes fell on the half-open suitcase. She saw the dusty set of oil paints I had packed. Her expression twisted.

“Still pretending to be an artist? Are you trying to show off how talented you are? How much he used to love you?”

I just looked at her, my silence a wall she couldn’t break. “Let me pass, Ilene.”

I tried to move around her.

Her face contorted with rage. “You bitch!”

She grabbed a heavy porcelain vase from a side table and swung it at my head. I stumbled back, dodging the blow. The vase shattered against the wall behind me.

As I staggered, off balance, she lunged.

She put both hands on my chest and pushed. Hard.

I was standing at the top of the grand staircase.

“Go to hell, Aurora!” she screamed, her voice dripping with venom.

I felt a moment of weightlessness. Then a sharp, violent impact as my body tumbled down the stairs.

Pain exploded through me. I landed in a heap at the bottom, my head hitting the marble floor with a sickening crack.

Blood. I could feel warm blood matting my hair, pooling beneath me.

My body convulsed, a series of violent shudders.

My vision blurred.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Ethan, running through the front door, his face a perfect picture of horror.

Sound came before sight. A low male voice, muffled and indistinct, as if it were speaking to me through a great depth of water. Then light, a sudden lance of it that sent a spike of pain through my temples. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again to find a face with a surgical mask looking down at me.

“Mrs. Bruce,” the man said, his voice clearer now. “How are you feeling? Any nausea or dizziness?”

I tried to shake my head, but my neck was as stiff and unyielding as rusted iron.

“The man who brought you in is waiting outside,” he added, his tone neutral. “He asked to be notified the moment you woke up. Shall I call him in?”

A cold clarity spread through me, sharper than any fear.

Adores me.

The word was a joke. A cruel, bitter joke.

I thought of all the times I had swallowed my pain, all the years I had endured Ilene’s madness, all for him. All for our marriage.

No more.

The rage that had been a low, banked fire for so long finally erupted.

I looked at the doctor, my voice clear and steady despite the pain.

“I want to report a crime. I was pushed.”

I reached for my phone on the bedside table. “I’m calling the police.”

The door flew open and Ethan rushed in, his face pale with panic.

“Rory, what are you doing?” he demanded, seeing the phone in my hand. He strode over and snatched it away from me.

“Ilene didn’t mean to push you! It was an accident! She slipped!” he pleaded, his voice desperate. “Don’t do this, Rory. Don’t press charges.”

A pressure built behind my eyes, hot and immense.

“An accident?” I repeated, my voice shaking with fury. “Ethan, she tried to kill me.”

I glared at him, my eyes burning. “There are security cameras in the house. They will show everything.”

“Don’t you care if I live or die?”

“Of course I care!” he insisted, his grip on my phone tightening. “But Ilene… you know her condition. A police investigation would be too much for her. It could push her over the edge.”

He looked at me, his eyes begging for the understanding I no longer had to give. “Her life is already ruined because of us, Rory. We can’t destroy what’s left of it.”

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

“Her life is ruined?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. “What about the accident, Ethan? Did you ever wonder why she was calling you so frantically on our wedding day? She wasn’t in any danger. She was trying to ruin our wedding.”

“What did I do wrong?” My voice broke, the years of suppressed pain finally pouring out. “I loved you. That was my only crime. If you were so consumed with guilt, why did you marry me? Why did you drag me into this nightmare?”

I was screaming now, tears streaming down my face. “You always have an excuse for her! Always! Do I have to be dead for you to finally see me?”

The words ripped from my throat, raw and bloody.

Ethan just stood there, stunned. He had never seen me like this. The calm, compliant Aurora was gone.

His face crumpled. He looked lost. “Rory…”

He reached for me, his expression softening with a pain that mirrored my own. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around my shaking body. “I love you,” he whispered into my hair. “I only love you.”

For a moment, I almost believed him. I almost let myself sink into the familiar comfort of his embrace.

But it was too late.

I pulled away, my gaze steady and cold. “If you love me, let me get justice.”

“All I want is for her to pay for what she did.”

He stared at me, his jaw tight. He seemed to be wrestling with himself. He looked at my bandaged wrist, at the tears on my face, at the raw pain in my eyes.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering sigh, he handed my phone back to me.

He had made his choice.

Or so I thought.

The days passed. The police came. I gave my statement. They promised to investigate thoroughly.

A week later, I was ready to be discharged. The police called.

“Mrs. Bruce,” the officer said, his voice professional yet apologetic. “We’ve concluded our investigation. Based on the evidence and Ms. Wolf’s documented history of severe mental illness, we’ve determined that we cannot press charges.”

“The evidence is insufficient to prove intent,” he explained.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “But the security footage! It shows her pushing me!”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bruce. The security system at your residence malfunctioned. The footage from that day was erased.”

The hair on the back of my neck prickled and stood on end. A peculiar chill traced its way down my spine, settling deep in my bones.

I hung up the phone, my mind reeling. I knew. I knew who was behind this.

I left the hospital and went straight to the house. I had to see for myself. I had to know for sure.

As I approached the front door, I heard voices from inside. Ilene’s voice, bright and cheerful.

“Oh, Ethan, thank you! Thank you for dealing with that horrible video! And for arranging that new doctor’s note saying I was having a psychotic episode. You even used your connections to quiet the police! I knew you still loved me!”

The floor beneath my feet seemed to tilt, and I instinctively reached for the cool stone of the doorframe to steady myself, its solidity the only confirmation that I was still standing upright.

He hadn’t chosen me. He had chosen her. He had lied to my face, held me while I cried, and then gone behind my back to protect the woman who tried to murder me.

The betrayal was so absolute, so complete, it was no longer an emotion but a physical state of being.

The sound of Ilene’s triumphant voice was like a dousing of frigid water, shocking me out of my grief and into a state of preternatural clarity.

This was not the sharp pain of a heart breaking; that had happened long ago. This was the quiet sweeping-up of齑粉, the final acknowledgment of a ruin.

There was nothing left to save. Nothing left to fight for.

The only thing left was escape.

The need to leave, to put this city and these people behind me, was no longer a desire but a primal, urgent necessity.

I backed away from the door silently, my body trembling not with fear, but with a strange, new resolve.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen. I called my parents.

"Mom, Dad," I said, my voice low and urgent. "The immigration papers. How soon?"

"We submitted everything last week, sweetheart," my mother's voice was a soothing balm. "They said it could be approved any day now. Maybe a week or two."

"Thank you," I whispered, a wave of relief washing over me. "Thank you."

I hung up and started walking away from the house, from the life that was no longer mine.

A few days later, I was living in a small, anonymous hotel. I needed to go back to the house one last time to retrieve my passport and some other essential documents I had forgotten in my haste.

As I was letting myself in with my key, the door was pulled open from the inside.

Ilene stood there, her eyes narrowing with suspicion when she saw me.

"What are you doing sneaking around?" she demanded.

She snatched my phone from my hand. "Are you calling the police again? Trying to cause more trouble?"

Just then, Ethan came down the stairs. He saw me and his face went pale.

"Rory."

He took the phone from Ilene and looked at the screen, his expression tense.

I held my breath. My recent calls to the immigration lawyer were right there. My escape plan was about to be exposed.

But before he could see anything, I snatched the phone back, my movement sharp and decisive. His eyes widened in surprise.

"It's my mother," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "You don't need to concern yourself with my family anymore." I deliberately powered the phone off, the screen going black as I held his gaze. The small act of defiance felt like a declaration of war.

Ethan's shoulders relaxed slightly, but his eyes were still full of suspicion.

"Were you calling the police?" he asked, his voice sharp. "They already told you, Rory, it's over. Don't keep pushing this."

His words, meant to be reassuring, felt like a slap. Don't be difficult. Let it go. Your pain is an inconvenience.

I felt a tremor in my legs and had to lean against the wall for support.

I looked up at him, my eyes clear. "No. I was just talking to my parents."

He seemed to believe me. He looked relieved. "Oh. What about? Is everything okay? If you need anything, just tell me. I'll handle it for you."

His offer to help, once a source of comfort, now felt like a cage.

I looked him straight in the eye. "Can you really handle anything for me, Ethan?"

"Of course," he said without a second's hesitation, his voice full of a confidence he didn't deserve to have.

I took a deep breath. "Then-"

"Ethan!" Ilene's shrill voice cut through the air. "I don't feel well. My head hurts. You have to take me to the hospital. Right now!"

She clutched her head, her face a mask of pain.

Ethan' s gaze flickered between us. The familiar conflict. The familiar choice.

He turned to me, his voice apologetic. "Rory, wait for me here. I'll take her to the emergency room and be right back. Then we can talk. We' ll solve whatever problem you have."

I knew what would happen. He would go. He would spend hours, maybe days, catering to her every whim. He would forget all about me and my "problem."

I didn't say anything. I just watched him go.

I watched Ilene shoot me a triumphant, spiteful look over her shoulder as she let him lead her away.

The front door closed, leaving me alone in the silent house.

I looked at the empty space where he had stood.

"I was going to ask you to leave me alone," I whispered to the empty air. "To never see me again."

It was a request he would never have granted.

The next two days passed in a blur. Ethan didn't come back. He didn't call.

Ilene, however, was very active on social media. Pictures of Ethan bringing her flowers at the hospital. A video of him peeling an orange for her. A selfie of the two of them, her head resting on his shoulder, with the caption: "My hero."

I watched it all with a detached calm. The pain was gone. There was only a vast, hollow chamber where my affections used to reside.

I used the time to finalize my affairs. I sold some stocks Ethan had given me over the years and transferred the money to my parents' account. It was the only thing I would take from this marriage.

On the third day, Ethan finally came back.

He didn't explain where he' d been. He just grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong.

"Come on," he said, his voice tense. "We're going out."

"Where are we going?" I asked, pulling my arm away.

"It' s Ilene' s birthday," he said, not meeting my eyes. "She's having a party. She specifically asked for you to be there."

A chill that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature traced a path down my spine. The audacity of it. The cruelty.

"I don't want to see her," I said, my voice shaking. "I don't want to have anything to do with her. Or you."

"Why are you forcing me to go?" I demanded, my voice rising. "Is her birthday more important than the fact that she almost killed me? Twice?"

He grabbed my hand, his face a mask of desperation. "Rory, please. Her emotions are still unstable. The doctor said we can't upset her. Just for tonight. Just endure it for a few more hours."

He leaned in, his voice a low, pleading whisper. "I promise, after her condition is stable, we'll get remarried. I'll make sure she never bothers you again."

The same empty promises. The same hollow words.

He didn't wait for my answer. He just pulled me out the door and into his car, a prisoner being led to her own execution.