Gabriel left for work just after dawn.

He kissed Victoria’s forehead, told her to rest, told her he loved her. His voice was steady. His lie, effortless. Victoria kept her eyes closed until she heard the door click shut. Only then did she exhale, slow and sharp, as if she’d been holding her breath all night.

She didn’t wait for permission.

By midmorning, Victoria signed the discharge papers herself. The nurse protested. The doctor frowned. She smiled faintly and insisted. She had too many things to do—far too many—to lie in a hospital bed pretending her life hadn’t already been dismantled.

The following afternoon, Aunt Mary’s car pulled up outside.

The moment Victoria slid into the passenger seat, the strength she’d been forcing cracked. Mary didn’t ask questions. She only reached over and squeezed Victoria’s hand, grounding her.

“Slowly,” Mary said. “We’ll do everything slowly.”

Victoria shook her head. “No. I can’t afford slow.”

They drove straight to her parents’ house.

Victoria hadn’t been there in years.

As the gate creaked open, memories ambushed her—her mother’s hurried footsteps, her father’s booming laugh, both of them standing at the door whenever she came home, eyes bright with excitement, as if she were the best thing that had ever happened to them.

Now, the door stood closed.

The house felt smaller than she remembered. The air inside was stale, untouched, and lifeless. Every step echoed too loudly, as though the walls themselves were listening.

Victoria stood in the living room for a long time, fingers trembling, before finally moving.

She went straight to her parents’ bedroom.

Their things were still there—her mother’s neatly folded scarves, her father’s old watch on the bedside table, frozen in time. Victoria opened a box and began packing silently, piece by piece. Each item felt heavier than the last.

Her vision blurred.

Tears dropped onto her hands, onto the memories she could no longer protect.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“Mom… Dad… I’m too weak. I couldn’t even protect the last things you left me.”

She pressed her forehead against the wardrobe, shoulders shaking, grief pouring out unchecked. This house had once been her sanctuary. Gabriel had stepped into it with her blessing. And now—now he wanted to stain it with lies, with another woman, with a life built on betrayal.

She wouldn’t allow it.

Before coming here, Victoria had already met with a realtor.

She sold the house quickly. At a price far lower than its worth.

Money didn’t matter.

She refused to let Gabriel defile this place any further. If the memories had to be taken away, she would be the one to do it—on her own terms.

When she sealed the last box, Victoria wiped her face and straightened.

Grief still lived in her chest. Betrayal still burned.

But beneath it all, something else had taken root.

She knew exactly where to start.

After mailing the belongings, Victoria took one last look at the house where she had grown up.

It would be the final time.

She locked the door and stepped outside—only to come face to face with Gabriel.

He looked startled, then relieved. He must not have found her at the hospital and guessed she would come here.

“Sweetheart,” he said quickly, moving toward her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were discharged? Your phone is off. Do you know how worried I was?”

His eyes were red, filled with what looked like genuine concern.

“Don’t go out without telling me, okay?” he added, his voice breaking slightly. “I was so scared something happened to you.”

He pulled her into his arms.

His body trembled against her shoulder.

Victoria’s mind flashed to the image from the night before—Gabriel tangled with Prisca in the stairwell, breathless and shameless. Nausea surged up her throat.

She shoved him away.

Her eyes were cold. Disgust filled them.

“I’m fine, aren’t I?” she said flatly. “I didn’t want to bother you. You’re very busy.”

Gabriel froze.

For the first time, he saw something unfamiliar in her eyes—impatience.

Usually, she would apologize softly. Usually, she would comfort him.

Why was she acting like this?

He frowned and said she must be upset about her parents’ things. He reminded her that he had warned her not to come here, but she hadn’t listened. Trying to smooth things over, he suggested getting something tasty for her—ice cream, maybe.

She refused.

He reminded her about the upcoming transplant, about how she needed to stay strong.

Without waiting for her response, Gabriel took her hand.

“What do you want me to do for your birthday tomorrow?” he asked lightly. “That bag I promised you—I had someone get it. It’ll arrive tomorrow. You’ll be the first person in the world to have it.”

“Excited?”

His grip felt like needles piercing her skin.

The first in the world?

Hadn’t he already given that same bag to Prisca?

Did he really think she was blind?

Victoria pulled her hand free, her voice distant and flat. “I don’t want to eat out. I’m not hungry.”

More than unappetizing food, the man standing in front of her killed her appetite. Even his slightest touch felt filthy.

“Alright,” Gabriel said, momentarily stunned, then quickly pasting on a smile. “We’ll eat at home. I’ll cook for you.”

He was confident.

A little coaxing, and she would fall back into his arms.

She could never leave him.

Victoria turned and looked straight into his eyes.

Suddenly, she wanted to know.

“Gabriel,” she asked quietly, “if I don’t get the transplant and I die… would you be sad?”

The question struck him like a blow.

His chest tightened inexplicably.

“Why would you ask that?” he said quickly. “No, sweetheart, don’t think like that. You’ll recover. Don’t say such things.”

His voice thickened. His eyes glistened, as if he might cry.

Victoria gave him a faint smile.

She used to avoid questions like this. She didn’t want to worry him. She was afraid he would do desperate things—like secretly spending nights praying in temples for her survival.

Now she knew the truth.

It was all a lie.

Even if he offered her the kidney himself, she wouldn’t feel a shred of pity for him.

1101

Gabriel returned from the grocery store carrying bags filled with Victoria’s favorites.

Fresh fruit. Crackers she liked. Soup ingredients. Things he remembered she used to crave when she was weak.

He moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, rolling up his sleeves, rinsing vegetables, setting a pot on the stove. From time to time, his eyes drifted toward the living room.

Victoria sat quietly on the couch.

Too quietly.

She wasn’t watching television. Wasn’t scrolling through her phone. She sat still, hands folded in her lap, eyes lowered, as if lost somewhere far away.

Something about her felt off today.

Gabriel frowned faintly but said nothing, convincing himself he was overthinking again.

Meanwhile, Victoria’s mind was racing.

Tomorrow.

She would leave tomorrow.

She needed to pack only what mattered—documents, clothes, a few personal items. Nothing else in this house was worth taking with her. She would disappear cleanly, without warning.

As she calculated silently, her phone vibrated.

A friend request.

She glanced at the screen, her breath catching.

The profile picture showed a little girl she recognized instantly.

Her fingers stiffened as she accepted.

Almost immediately, her phone exploded with notifications.

One photo. Then another. Then another.

Over a dozen images flooded her screen.

Children.

A little boy and a little girl.

Photos from birth, birthdays, first steps, first days of school. Every stage of their growth carefully recorded, lovingly preserved.

Victoria’s vision blurred.

She recognized them.

Especially the girl.

Sandra.

Gabriel’s daughter.

A message followed.

Victoria, I’ll be direct. I’m Prisca Edward.

These are my children with Gabriel. This is my daughter. She’s four. This is my son. He’s six.

You’ve been married for eight years. Our son is six. You can figure out the rest yourself.

Victoria’s fingers trembled.

Another message appeared.

Gabriel loves us. If not for you, our family wouldn’t be torn apart. You’re the home wrecker, Victoria.

Her chest tightened.

Do you know how he describes you? Arrogant, Spoiled and Boring.

Victoria’s ears rang.

I’m the one who satisfies him. I’m the one who drives him crazy.

Can you imagine how compatible we are?

Her stomach turned violently.

when you were hospitalized, he came to me every day.

I’m the one he truly loves.

Victoria stared at the screen, unable to blink.

I told him I wanted to move into your parents’ house. He agreed.

I found your hidden cameras.

Her blood ran cold.

The final message came slowly, and deliberately.

I hope you enjoyed the videos.

I hope you’re satisfied now.

The room felt too small.

In the kitchen, Gabriel stirred the pot, unaware that every lie he had ever told was collapsing behind him.

Victoria lowered her phone.

Her face was calm.

Too calm.

The pain was still there—but beneath it, something colder had settled in.

Prisca thought she had won.

But Victoria finally understood something clearly.

This was no longer about love.

It was about survival.

And she would not lose.

Victoria’s breathing grew uneven.

Years of medication had left her body fragile, unable to withstand shocks like this. Her fingers dug into the couch as she forced herself to stay upright.

Prisca wanted her dead.

Victoria wouldn’t give her that victory.

Her phone vibrated again.

I know you saw the messages.

If you’re still clinging on, I’ll show you who he really cares about.

Victoria didn’t reply.

At that moment, Gabriel’s phone rang.

She glanced toward the kitchen.

Gabriel frowned at the screen, then answered.

“Hello? Thompson?”

A pause. His expression changed.

“What? Okay. I’m coming. Wait for me.”

He turned off the stove, pulled off his apron, and grabbed his jacket.

“Sweetheart,” he said quickly, already moving toward the door. “I’m sorry. Urgent company business. I’ll cook when I’m back. Rest for now.”

The words barely settled before the door slammed shut.

Victoria’s phone buzzed again.

See, Victoria? One word from me and he drops you.

Every ‘urgent company matter’ is me.

Today I just said his daughter had a fever. Look how fast he ran.

Haha. I bet you can’t relate.

Victoria trembled.

Rage burned through her veins, hot and violent. She stared at the half-prepared meal in the kitchen, tears streaming down her face.

She hadn’t eaten all day.

Yet nausea twisted her stomach.

Midnight came.

Gabriel didn’t return.

Victoria walked into the kitchen and threw everything away—the vegetables, the meat, the carefully chosen ingredients.

She never ate leftovers.

And a man already used by another woman was beneath her notice.

In eight years of marriage, Gabriel had never stayed out all night.

Until now.

At three in the morning, another message arrived.

A photo.

Gabriel asleep in Prisca’s arms. His body relaxed, unguarded—something Victoria hadn’t seen in years.

He went all night and just fell asleep.Can you satisfy him like this, Victoria?

You don’t deserve him. Boring woman.

Victoria set her phone down.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t cry.

She simply continued sorting—deciding what to discard and what to leave behind.

She didn’t sleep.

By five in the morning, the house no longer held anything that belonged to her.

If she was leaving—

She would vanish completely.

870

The house felt wrong the moment Gabriel stepped inside.

Not quiet—quiet had lived here for years, learned and tolerated—but emptier. As though something essential had been lifted out, leaving the walls slightly hollowed, the air thinner than before.

He paused just past the doorway, keys still clenched in his fist. The automatic lights came on, revealing the familiar living room: the cream sofa Victoria had chosen because it didn’t irritate her eyes on bad days, the glass coffee table he’d always hated but never argued about, the pale curtains filtering the last of the evening light.

Everything looked exactly the same.

And yet—

“Victoria?” he called, already knowing there would be no answer.

His voice echoed too cleanly.

He frowned, checked his watch. She should have been home by now. Even on hospital days, she never stayed out this late without telling him. Routine had become her religion—medication times, meal windows, rest hours. She clung to predictability the way sick people did when their bodies betrayed them.

Gabriel set his keys down slowly.

The smell hit him next.

Not food. Not disinfectant or herbal tea or the faint medicinal scent that clung to Victoria no matter how often she bathed.

Nothing.

The kitchen was spotless.

Too spotless.

He walked in, eyes scanning instinctively. The trash bin was empty. The counters bare. The refrigerator—he opened it abruptly—nearly hollow. Gone were the neatly labeled containers she prepared on her good days. Gone were the low-sodium soups, the fruit cut into precise cubes, the bottled supplements arranged by day.

His chest tightened.

“Victoria,” he said again, louder now.

Still nothing.

A faint unease slid under his skin.

He moved faster, checking the hallway, the guest room, the bathroom. Her toothbrush was gone. So was her skincare bag, the one she never traveled without because her skin reacted badly to unfamiliar products.

He reached the bedroom last.

The bed was made.

Perfectly.

Too perfectly.

Victoria never bothered making the bed when she was tired. She always said it was pointless when she might need to lie down again in an hour.

The wardrobe door was ajar.

Gabriel crossed the room in three long strides and pulled it open fully.

Empty.

Not entirely—but emptied of her.

The pale dresses she favored were gone. The soft sweaters, the silk scarves Aunt Mary had brought back from her travels. Even the shoes—the sensible flats, the low heels she wore when she felt brave—were missing.

Only his clothes remained, hanging untouched on one side like an accusation.

His heartbeat began to race.

“No,” he muttered. “No, no—”

He turned sharply, scanning the room as if Victoria might step out from behind the door, amused by his reaction. But there was no humor here. Only the unmistakable evidence of departure.

She hadn’t left in a hurry.

She had prepared.

Gabriel’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Relief surged irrationally. He pulled it out quickly.

Prisca.

He hesitated—just a second too long—then answered.

“Where are you?” Prisca asked, her voice light, almost playful. “I’ve been calling.”

“I just got home,” he said, distracted, his eyes still tracing the empty shelves. “Victoria isn’t here.”

There was a pause on the line.

Then Prisca laughed.

A soft, careless sound.

“Oh,” she said. “Maybe she went to the hospital again.”

“She would have told me,” Gabriel snapped, sharper than he intended.

Another pause. This one longer.

“Well,” Prisca said slowly, “you know how dramatic she can be.”

Something in her tone—too calm, too pleased—sent a spike of irritation through him.

“I’ll call you back,” he said, and ended the call without waiting for her response.

He stood there for a moment, phone dangling uselessly in his hand, before dialing another number.

Aunt Mary.

It rang.

Once. Twice.

She answered on the third ring.

“Gabriel,” she said, her voice cool. “Is something wrong?”

“Is Victoria with you?” he demanded.

A beat.

Then: “No.”

His throat tightened. “She’s not home. Her things are gone.”

Another pause. This one felt deliberate.

“I see,” Mary said.

“You see?” Gabriel barked. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” she replied evenly, “that perhaps you should sit down before this conversation continues.”

His jaw clenched. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Mary said, and for the first time, there was something sharp beneath her calm. “But I know she didn’t leave without reason.”

The implication landed hard.

“You’re suggesting I—”

“I’m suggesting nothing,” Mary cut in. “Victoria is a grown woman. She made a choice.”

“What choice?” Gabriel demanded. “She’s sick. She can’t just disappear—”

“Funny,” Mary said coldly. “You never seemed concerned about what she couldn’t do before.”

Silence swallowed the line.

“Mary,” he said, lowering his voice, forcing control back into it. “If you know where she is, tell me. This isn’t a game.”

“It’s not,” Mary replied. “That’s the problem. Good night, Gabriel.”

The call ended.

Gabriel stared at his phone, disbelief giving way to something darker.

Fear.

He moved through the house again, this time with growing urgency. Opened drawers. Checked cabinets. In the study, he noticed something he’d missed before.

The safe.

It was open.

Empty.

His stomach dropped.

He knew what had been inside. Documents. Jewelry. Backup cash. Things he’d insisted on controlling “for safety.”

Victoria had never argued.

Until now, apparently.

He raked a hand through his hair, pacing. Thoughts collided chaotically.

How long had she been planning this?

What did she know?

His phone buzzed again.

Prisca, calling back.

He ignored it.

Instead, he opened the security app connected to the villa—Victoria’s parents’ old place, the one she occasionally visited when she needed space.

Access denied.

His blood ran cold.

He tried again.

Still denied.

She had revoked him.

Gabriel swore under his breath.

This wasn’t a tantrum. This wasn’t illness-induced confusion.

This was intentional.

And for the first time in years, Gabriel felt something close to panic claw up his spine.

Prisca stood in front of the mirror, admiring herself.

She wore red tonight—silk, fitted, the kind of dress that announced victory without saying a word. Her hair fell in glossy waves over her shoulders, makeup flawless, lips curved in a satisfied smile.

She lifted her phone, rereading the last message she’d sent Victoria before the woman vanished.

No reply.

Of course not.

“She finally broke,” Prisca murmured, satisfaction curling warmly in her chest. “Took her long enough.”

She poured herself a glass of wine, savoring the sound of liquid filling crystal. The house—her house, really—felt alive with anticipation. Tonight, Gabriel would come. Tonight, he would finally be free of the sick wife, the constant guilt, the endless pretending.

Her phone buzzed.

Gabriel.

She smiled and answered immediately. “Did you see? She’s gone.”

“I know,” he said tightly.

Prisca blinked, surprised by his tone. “Well,” she laughed lightly, “isn’t that good news?”

“Where are you?” he asked.

“At home,” she said. “Waiting for you.”

“I’m not coming.”

The words hit harder than she expected.

“What?” she asked, frowning.

“I need to find her,” Gabriel said. “This is serious.”

Prisca’s smile faltered. “Gabriel, listen to me. She left. That’s it. You don’t need to chase—”

“She’s ill,” he snapped. “She needs treatment.”

“And whose fault is that?” Prisca shot back. “She’s always been weak.”

Silence crackled between them.

“Don’t say that,” Gabriel said quietly.

Prisca’s fingers tightened around her glass. “Why not? You’ve said worse.”

“That was different.”

“How?” she demanded. “You told me she was a burden. You told me you were trapped.”

“I said—” He stopped. Exhaled. “This isn’t the time.”

A chill crept into Prisca’s chest.

“You’re choosing her,” she said slowly. “Again.”

“I’m choosing to fix this.”

She laughed sharply. “Fix what? She finally did us the favor of leaving.”

“Prisca—”

“No,” she interrupted, anger flaring now. “No, you don’t get to panic now. You promised me this would end.”

“It hasn’t ended,” he said. “Not like this.”

Her voice dropped, venomous. “What are you afraid of?”

The answer came too quickly.

“What she might do.”

Prisca froze.

“You think she’s a threat?” she asked.

“I think,” Gabriel said carefully, “that I underestimated her.”

The line went dead.

Prisca stared at her phone, pulse pounding.

Underestimated.

The word echoed unpleasantly.

She moved quickly now, wine forgotten, mind racing. Victoria had been quiet, yes—but quiet didn’t always mean weak. And if she had planned this escape…

Prisca’s phone buzzed again.

A message.

Unknown number.

She opened it.

A single image loaded slowly.

A screenshot.

Gabriel, asleep on Prisca’s bed. Her arm draped over him. Intimate. 

Below it, a message:

You celebrated too soon.

Prisca’s breath caught.

Another message followed.

You wanted him? Keep him. I’m done.

Her hands trembled.

“No,” she whispered.

She dialed Gabriel again.

Straight to voicemail.

Panic, sharp and sudden, pierced through her triumph.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Victoria wasn’t meant to win.

Back in the empty house, Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

The silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating.

For the first time, there was no one here to absorb his absence, no one quietly enduring the consequences of his choices.

Victoria was gone.

And the house knew it.

So did he.