: Settling the Score

I looked at his twisted expression and was suddenly struck by how absurd this all was.

"I'm tired."

I left him with those words, turned, and grabbed the suitcase I had just set down. Without a backward glance, I headed for the door.

A hand yanked my wrist.

Joel Lowell's voice rose. "What the hell is your problem? You just got back and you're throwing some random tantrum? Sienna, when did you become so unreasonable?!"

I wrenched my hand free, the anger I had been deliberately suppressing now boiling over.

"Joel Lowell, you're the one making a scene! You texted me saying you missed me, so I worked overtime, crammed five days of work into three, and traveled through the night just to get back to you."

"And you? From the moment I walked through that door, have you shown even a shred of concern? Do you even remember that today is our fifth anniversary?!"

The words came out as a shout, and my eyes felt dry and strained.

But Joel Lowell just stared at me, a blank look on his face. He clearly had no idea it was our anniversary.

I laughed, a short, self-mocking sound.

"If you forgot our anniversary, then what was this 'surprise' you had for me?"

Joel Lowell stammered, unable to answer.

I didn't look at him again. I just turned and walked away.

'Why get bogged down in a question when I already knew the answer?'

The door slammed shut behind me, cutting off all sound.

The chaos subsided into silence, and my heart sank into a pit of despair.

Joel Lowell didn't follow.

Standing in the freezing hallway, I felt a chill seep deep into my bones.

...

I sat numbly in a hotel room all night.

At dawn, I realized my nails had dug deep, bloody crescents into my palms.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through my chat history with Joel Lowell.

Three years ago, I took out all my savings to scrape together enough for his tuition and living expenses to study at an art academy in France.

He'd held me, sobbing uncontrollably. "Sienna, when I get back, we'll get married. I'll never marry anyone but you!"

I believed him.

To make sure he could study abroad without a worry, I worked three jobs a day, took on every project I could get my hands on, and worked myself into the hospital with a bleeding stomach. Even then, when I called him, I just downplayed it and said I had a cold.

On the other end of the line, he sounded anxious, but in the background, I could faintly hear Ivy Seymour's voice:

"Joel, hurry up, the movie is about to start."

He hung up in a rush, promising to call me back that night.

I waited all night. My phone screen lit up and went dark, over and over, but his call never came.

Instead, I saw their picture on Ivy's social media feed.

In the photo, they were nestled together under the Eiffel Tower, their smiles radiant.

The caption read: "Best buds should see the world together."

So, Ivy Seymour had gone to France, too.

Joel Lowell had never told me.

Back then, I'd consoled myself. 'They grew up together, they're like siblings. I shouldn't be so petty.'

Now, those details I had deliberately ignored replayed in my mind, frame by frame.

After he returned, we opened our own design studio.

I was the one who convinced our biggest client, landing a major project that was enough to make the studio's reputation overnight.

I drank too much at the celebration party and wanted him to pick me up.

I called him countless times, but he never answered.

In the end, a colleague took me home.

The next day, he explained with red-rimmed eyes that Ivy Seymour had just been dumped, gotten dead drunk at a bar, and he had to stay with her all night.

"Sienna, I'm all she has. I can't just abandon her."

My heart ached for him, and I forgave him.

'But I forgot to ask, why did Ivy's breakup require him to stay with her all night?'

'Why was his phone off?'

I closed my eyes, a stinging pressure building behind them.

A moment later, I slowly opened my eyes and dialed a number.

"Hey, Wen, do me a favor."

Wen was my college roommate. Now, she's a private investigator.

"I need you to look into someone for me—Ivy Seymour. Also, find out everything you can about her and Joel Lowell's movements in France three years ago. The more detailed, the better. And especially… check the local hospitals. See if there are any records of Ivy Seymour having an abortion."

After hanging up, I stared out at the glaring sun, but all I felt was ice in my heart.

'Joel Lowell, I gave you countless chances.'

'If all of this is true, then all that's left between us is a final reckoning.'

My phone vibrated. It was a message from Joel Lowell.

A series of voice messages. When I played them, I heard his voice, choked with tears.

"Sienna, where on earth did you go? I was so worried about you."

"I was wrong yesterday. I shouldn't have taken that tone with you. But that decoration was my favorite, how could you just smash it like that?"

"Those words were just part of a game, why don't you believe me? Does our relationship of so many years mean less than a joke?"

'How ridiculous.'

He didn't even think the problem was with him and Ivy Seymour. Instead, he blamed me for not believing him.

I replied without expression, "Joel Lowell, do you really not know what our problem is? Stop playing dumb, it's pathetic."

The message had barely sent when Joel Lowell's call came in.

"Sienna, don't say that. I really know I was wrong."

On the other end of the line, his voice was laced with an urgent, tearful tone, sounding incredibly wronged.

"Please don't be angry, okay?"

Just then, a very faint gasp came from the other end of the line.

My hand holding the phone froze. I asked subconsciously, "What's going on over there?"

"N-nothing." His voice was a little unsteady.

Before he could finish, an irrepressible, soft moan came through the phone.

My mind exploded.

'I could practically picture the scene.'

He was on the phone apologizing to me, yet he was fooling around with another woman.

My knuckles turned white.

'The image in my mind made me sick.'

"Is Ivy Seymour with you?" I asked calmly.

He clearly panicked on the other end. Then, Ivy Seymour's flippant voice piped up:

"Ms. Sterling, don't get the wrong idea. I'm just here working out with Joel."

She continued shamelessly, "After all, you're so busy with work and never have time for him. As his bro, I've got to help him relax, right?"

Suddenly, there was a sharp CRASH, like a glass shattering on the floor.

It was followed by Ivy Seymour's low exclamation, feigning annoyance, "Hey! Be gentle…"

From the other end of the line came Ivy Seymour's smug little laugh.

"Sienna, the trainer's here! I… I have to go, I'll talk to you later!"

Joel Lowell said, flustered and panicked.

The call was hastily disconnected.

Listening to the dial tone, I felt my heart turn to ash for the first time.

I sat stunned on the bed as tears finally started to fall.

I don't know how much time passed before Wen's call came. Her tone was serious.

"Sienna Sterling, I have the results. You'd better prepare yourself."

My heart sank. My fingers, gripping the phone, turned white from the pressure.

"Three years ago, Ivy Seymour did have an abortion at a private hospital in Paris. On the surgical form, the name signed for the emergency contact was Joel Lowell."

"I also found that the day before the surgery, you transferred $8,000 to Joel Lowell's bank card. The note was… 'Family emergency.'"

My vision swam, and a ringing filled my ears.

'I remembered.'

That day, Joel Lowell had called me, crying, saying his mother had a sudden heart attack and urgently needed money for surgery.

I had been frantic, borrowing money from everyone I could, and sent it to him immediately.

So, the so-called "family emergency" was to pay for the abortion of his and Ivy Seymour's child.

And I was the generous benefactor who footed the bill.

Wen's voice continued, "I also found some other things. I've compiled them into a file and sent it to your email."

"Sienna Sterling… are you okay?"

I took a deep breath, forcing down the metallic, sweet taste in my throat.

"I'm fine. Wen, thanks."

After hanging up, I opened my email with trembling hands.

Photo after photo, each one slicing my heart to ribbons.

Them, kissing in front of the Louvre. Them, embracing on the banks of the Seine. Them, laughing sweetly in the lavender fields of Provence.

In one photo, Joel Lowell was hugging Ivy Seymour from behind, their hands overlapping on her lower abdomen. The caption read:

"In memory of our lost angel. Next time, Mommy and Daddy will protect you."

The post date was exactly three days after her abortion.

And on that day, I was at a work dinner, drinking until my stomach bled, all so I could afford to buy him a set of art supplies he'd been wanting for ages.

How laughable!

I fought back the urge to smash my computer and instead zipped and encrypted all the evidence.