The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the cemetery as the wind whispered through the trees. The funeral procession had been solemn, filled with polite murmurs and stiff embraces. My mother-in-law's death left a palpable heaviness in the air, but the weight on my chest had nothing to do with grief. As I stood at the edge of the crowd, the vibration of my phone pulled my attention. The neighborhood group chat was blowing up, my name tagged over and over.

With trembling fingers, I clicked on the message, a sinking feeling already blooming in my gut. The video loaded slowly and then there it was—Jessica, my wife of ten years, pressed against the cold concrete wall of an underground parking lot, her lips locked with her first love, Michael. Her face, usually so composed, was flushed with passion. My breath hitched.

I could hardly process the mocking comments from neighbors, wondering aloud how I could "let this happen." Let this happen? She had done this and I'd been the fool.

My grip tightened around the phone as rage boiled inside me, threatening to explode. But I couldn't, not here, not now. The mourners were still here. I swallowed down the anger, forcing myself to keep up appearances and handle the final funeral arrangements. My hands moved automatically, signing papers and offering polite condolences, but inside, I was unraveling.

Later, when I finally found a moment of solitude, I called my grandfather. My voice was steady, but each word carried the weight of betrayal.

"Grandpa," I said, my voice cold, "pull the investment out of Jessica's project. I'm coming home to inherit the family business."

——

There was a brief pause on the line before my grandfather replied, his voice calm but firm, as if he had been expecting this moment. "Understood."

The day after the funeral, Jessica came home. She waltzed through the door like nothing had happened, draped in an oversized suit jacket that wasn't hers and hickeys that were unmistakable dotted her neck. The sight of her made my blood run cold. How had I been so blind?

She met my eyes briefly and for a split second, I saw a flicker of guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a look of annoyance. Jessica always hated being questioned and now was no different.

"Those videos are fake," she snapped, her voice dripping with impatience. "Michael and I are just friends. Don't get the wrong idea."

I stared at her, my face an impassive mask, though my chest burned with a mix of fury and disgust. "Uh-huh, I know," I replied mechanically, my attention shifting back to the messages of condolence still pouring in on my phone. I felt numb, detached from everything, even as the anger simmered just beneath the surface.

Jessica seemed to take my nonchalance as acceptance. Her frown deepened and she added, "I've been really busy lately, too busy to answer your calls. Let's talk about this later, okay?"

"Uh-huh, I know," I said while mechanically replied to the messages of condolences, feeling numb.

Too busy? I thought bitterly. Before the funeral, I had seen the real reason she hadn't answered my calls. Michael had posted a picture on social media—a handwritten note from Jessica, apologizing for not answering his call immediately. His picture's quote said: [Haha, we used to do this in high school. Your punishment is two hours of no kissing.]

Her neat handwriting taunting me from the screen. She had time to play childish games with Michael but couldn't pick up the phone when her husband or mother needed her.

As my expression darkened, Jessica's eyes flickered with unease. She took a step forward, as if to see what I was looking at, but just as she did, her phone buzzed incessantly from her purse. She glanced at it and smiled, the kind of smile she used to reserve for me. Without a word, she retreated into the bedroom, her voice sweet and tender as she answered the call.

I sat there, seething in the silence. As her voice drifted out of the room, I caught the sound of her words—soft, syrupy, filled with affection.

"Baby, it's been ten minutes since we were apart. Do you miss me?" Michael's voice crackled through the earbud she had dropped on the floor.

Jessica's response was like a knife twisting in my chest. "I miss you so much! I wish I hadn't come back. Just looking at his face annoys me. I really wish it were you here with me now."

Each word landed like a blow, her honeyed tone reserved for the man she had betrayed me with. Michael chuckled, telling her to bear with it, promising they'd be together soon enough. The two of them laughed at my expense, their casual cruelty turning my stomach.

Without any outward reaction, I bent down and picked up the earbud, placing it back on the table. My heart pounded in my chest, the pain of betrayal tightening like a vice around my lungs, but I refused to let it show. Not yet.

A knock on the door startled me, but before I could move, Jessica was already there, her face lighting up with that same sweet smile as she greeted the courier. She accepted the delivery, barely sparing me a glance as she handed me a small box on her way back to the bedroom.

"Here, your favorite mango crepe cake," she said nonchalantly, as if everything between us was still fine.

I stared at the box in disbelief. My lips curled into a bitter smile. She had no idea, after all these years.

"We've been together for ten years. Don't you know I'm allergic to mangoes?"

Jessica froze in place, her face flushing with embarrassment. Her eyes darted to mine, searching for a way out. "What do you mean? How was I supposed to know you're so picky for a grown man?"

I narrowed my eyes at her, cutting her off. "Not as easygoing as Michael, right?"

Her breath caught and she stumbled over her words, guilt and panic flashing across her face. She opened her mouth to explain, but I was done listening to her lies. I stood up, my body tense with the effort it took to walk away.

Three years of dating, ten years of marriage. And she couldn't remember a basic detail about me. She didn't answer my calls but wrote a 10,000-word apology letter to Michael for missing one of his. The realization hit me hard, a cold, bitter truth sinking into my bones: I had wasted all these years loving someone who never really knew me.

I walked toward the guest room, shutting the door behind me. As I sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of it all pressed down on me, suffocating. The pain was unbearable, gnawing at my heart, but what hurt most was the emptiness—the void left by the love I had given so freely, only to realize it had meant nothing to her.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the soft hum of air conditioner doing little to distract me from the overwhelming silence of the room. In my hand, I clutched a framed photo—our family portrait. Jessica and I stood side by side, her mother, Emily, smiling between us.

I remembered back then, when Emily had taken me in. I was a kid, barely old enough to process the pain of losing my parents. Emily had been kind, opening her home and her heart to me. The Harper Family became my sanctuary and I had lived with them from middle school until my grandparents finally reached out, urging me to live with them. But by then, Jessica had already become an irreplaceable part of my life.

Jessica…

I admired her from the moment we met. Her resilience and optimism stood out to me like a beacon. She had this ability to rise above any challenge and I was drawn to her strength. Perhaps that was why, when I was given the chance to inherit my family's business, I turned it down. I chose to stand by Jessica's side instead, joining her struggling company. I thought that if I could support her, if I could be the steady presence she needed, she would eventually look at me the way I had always looked at her.

For three years, I was there, through every crisis, every sleepless night, working tirelessly to keep her company afloat. But despite my efforts, despite my loyalty, her heart wasn't with me. Whenever Michael was around, her gaze never lingered on me. I was invisible. Still, I convinced myself that if I stayed, if I just loved her enough, she would choose me in the end.

But Michael left her, didn't he? When her company was on the brink of collapse and their relationship was teetering on the edge, he bolted, running off abroad. I thought that would be the end of it. That night, Jessica drank herself into oblivion and in her drunken haze, she kissed me. One kiss led to another and before I knew it, we were wrapped up in a frenzy of emotion and desire. I thought it meant something. I thought it meant she had finally chosen me.

The next morning, she cried in my arms. She swore she was done with Michael, that she would commit to me, to us. I believed her, foolishly and in my joy, I asked my grandfather to invest in her company. I left behind the future my family had planned for me because I was convinced that Jessica and I were building something real.

But it was all an illusion. Fragile. Fleeting. I started noticing the small things first—how she blocked me from her social media posts, how she ignored my calls. I tried to ignore it, to tell myself it was just a phase, but deep down, I knew my happiness was slipping through my fingers.

Even Emily, whom I had considered my own mother, couldn't stand to watch anymore. She urged me to leave Jessica, to stop sacrificing my life for someone who didn't value me. But I was stubborn. Thirteen years of companionship had to mean something, didn't it? I held on, convinced that somewhere, deep down, Jessica cared for me.

Then came the night Emily had a heart attack. She was lying in the emergency room, waiting—waiting for her daughter, desperate to see Jessica one last time. But Jessica's phone was off. She was nowhere to be found. I sat there, watching Emily's condition worsen, the life slipping from her, while Jessica was with Michael. I finally saw the truth for what it was.

I forced myself to remain calm, to handle the funeral arrangements with grace. Friends and family watched me with pity, offering empty words of comfort, but I didn't need their sympathy. I had spent years living in denial, but at that moment, the fog of confusion that had clouded my mind for so long finally cleared.

Jessica didn't even show up to the funeral. I went to her office, desperate for some explanation, only to be told that she had barred me from entering. Her assistant, Michael—of course—had delivered the news, smug and unapologetic. I had no choice but to ask him to pass along the message that her mother had passed away. Not that it mattered.

And then, as if life wasn't cruel enough, the neighborhood chat group exploded with the video of Jessica and Michael. That was the final blow. The tears I had held back for so long broke free. I couldn't deny it any longer—I was nothing to her. I was just a fool.

The next morning, I went through the motions, preparing breakfast in silence. My hands shook slightly as I cut my sandwich, the knife gliding through the bread almost too easily. My mind wandered, lost in thoughts of resignation—both from her company and from this farce of a marriage.

Suddenly, Jessica's arms wrapped around me from behind. I flinched, the surprise making my hand slip. The knife sliced into my finger and blood immediately gushed from the wound. I cursed under my breath, grabbing a towel to staunch the flow. But the blood soaked through quickly—my body never did handle cuts well.

As I was about to call for an ambulance, Jessica looked at me with a cold, unimpressed expression. "You're overreacting," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's just a small cut. Is this really necessary?"

I didn't bother arguing. My face paled as I felt the blood loss begin to take its toll. My head spun slightly and I knew I needed help. Reluctantly, Jessica grabbed her car keys. "Fine, I'll drop you off on my way," she muttered, as if I was inconveniencing her.

We got into the car and when I reached for the front seat, she stopped me. "The front seat has Michael's vomit from last night. It hasn't been cleaned yet. You'll have to sit in the back."

Her lie was so blatant, so dismissive, I couldn't even muster the energy to respond. I opened the back door and froze. Several opened condom wrappers littered the seat. My jaw clenched and I laughed bitterly. Jessica's face stiffened as she hurried to shove them into her pocket.

"I lent the car to a friend yesterday," she said hastily.

I didn't care. I just wanted to get to the hospital. My life was more important than her ridiculous lies. But barely a few minutes into the drive, her phone rang. She glanced at it, her face twisting with concern. She pulled over without hesitation.

But just a few minutes after we started driving, Jessica's phone rang. She hung up the call without hesitation and pulled the car over to the side of the road, her eyes full of worry.

"You'll have to go to the hospital by yourself," she said, turning to me. "Michael has a cold and he's lost his voice. I need to check on him."

I stared at her, disbelief clouding my mind. A cold? She was leaving me, bleeding, to tend to Michael's cold? Before I could speak, she pushed me out of the car. "Stop acting jealous!" she snapped, as if my life was less important than his minor illness.

I stepped out of the car, barely able to keep my balance. As she drove off without a second thought, my vision blurred and the coldness of blood loss seeped into my bones. I fumbled for my phone, dialing an ambulance before everything went black.

The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was Jessica's car passing me by again, Michael in the passenger seat. He made a show of pretending to ask her to stop for me, but she just shook her head and sped off, leaving me behind once more.

A soft beeping sound pulled me out of the blackness and when I opened my eyes, I found a doctor standing over me, just about to remove my IV. His face was stern, a look I had grown used to over the years.

"Oh, you're awake," he said, pausing. His expression didn't soften. "You know your blood doesn't clot well, yet you waited so long to come to the hospital. You're not taking your health seriously at all."

I tried to speak, but my throat was dry and I could only manage a slight nod.

"In the next room, there's a young man with just a mild cold," the doctor continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And his girlfriend is freaking out, insisting on a full body checkup by a specialist." He shook his head in disbelief.

I clenched my jaw, the bitter taste of humiliation rising in my throat. Even though my heart had turned to ashes long ago, hearing about Jessica's frantic care for Michael still cut through me like a dull blade. The chill of it snaked through my body, leaving me numb.

After I paid my medical bills, I headed for the exit, only to run straight into Jessica. She was helping Michael walk, supporting him like he was an invalid. My chest tightened at the sight and my grip on the bag of medicine tightened as well. Seeing the pills in my hand, Jessica's face briefly registered surprise, her eyes flickering with hesitation, though it was gone in an instant.

Michael, ever the actor, began to cough weakly. "Cough… Sorry, Aaron. It's all my fault… cough… for suddenly getting sick and making Jessica late to take care of you…"

Before he could finish his pitiful performance, Jessica cut him off, her voice full of concern. She was all but ignoring me now. "Don't speak," she said tenderly. "The doctor told you to rest and not to waste your breath on something unimportant."

Michael stood behind her, his thin smile revealing the smug satisfaction he couldn't quite hide. His eyes briefly met mine and there was a spark of triumph there.

"You just cut your finger. Is it really that serious?" Jessica finally addressed me, her gaze shifting to the bag of medicine in my hand as if she suspected I was faking my injury just to get her attention. Her eyes narrowed slightly, the suspicion evident.

I swallowed my anger, the cold weight of disappointment settling deeper into my chest. Without a word, I walked past them, out of the hospital, my steps slow and steady, the echoes of their voices following me.

As I stood by the curb, waiting for a taxi, Michael's voice rang out behind me again, dripping with playful affection. "Sorry, babe, we can't kiss today. I don't want to give you my cold."

Jessica giggled, her voice lighter, full of warmth. "I don't care!" she said. "I want to stick with you. It's just a cold."

I heard the sound of their lips smacking, but I didn't turn around. Instead, I reached for my left hand and slid the wedding ring off my finger, feeling its cold metal one last time before I threw it into the trash bin beside me. The clink of it hitting the bottom felt final. Irrevocable. My marriage to Jessica was over and any part of me that still clung to hope died right there on the street.

When I got home, the apartment felt emptier than usual, like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I didn't waste any time. I began packing my belongings, stuffing clothes into my suitcase, determined to leave this chapter of my life behind.

As I opened the drawer to retrieve my documents, a leather-bound photo album caught my eye. I had never seen it before. Curious, I pulled it out and flipped it open. The cover was engraved with the initials "J & M," and underneath, in Jessica's familiar handwriting, were the words: [Love Diary.]

A lump formed in my throat as I rifled through the pages, my hands trembling slightly. Papers fell out, scattering across the floor. I bent down to pick them up and froze when I saw what they were—plane tickets. Hong Kong to the United States. My frown deepened and I opened the album to reveal a timeline of Jessica's secret life with Michael.

Page after page, 30 in total, filled with photos of their trips to the U.S., their time together in different locations, smiling, always hand in hand. In every single photo, Jessica looked happier than I had ever seen her. That radiant smile she never once showed me was there in every picture.

The tickets dated back seven years. Seven years of lies, of betrayal. I laughed bitterly as the realization hit me like a freight train.

I remembered our honeymoon, how excited I had been to take Jessica to Paris, her dream destination. But she threw my plans back in my face, accusing me of caring only about fun, telling me to go alone if I wanted. She didn't want to waste her time on leisure, she had said. But now I understood—it wasn't that she didn't want to go. She just didn't want to go with me.

I pitied myself. The blind fool I had been. But not anymore. I wasn't going to fall into that trap again. I packed the last of my things, the two jackets that had hung forgotten in the closet and sent my resignation email to her company. It felt like severing the final tie that bound me to this empty, one-sided love.

After finishing everything, I fell onto the bed, exhaustion dragging me down. My eyes closed as I sank into a restless sleep.

In the haze of half-dreams, I felt something soft brushing against my face. It felt foreign, unwelcome and I jolted awake to find Jessica sitting beside me, her hand tracing down my chest. My heart tightened and I pulled away from her touch.

She paused, her expression unreadable, before she leaned in closer again, her voice turning soft, almost pleading. "Aaron, remember when you used to make that soup for me when I got sick? Could you make some tomorrow night and bring it to the office?"

I stared at her, my heart cold and distant. She was oblivious to the change in me, too focused on her request, on the soup. "Got it," I muttered, my fingers already moving to type a message on my phone.

Jessica's phone buzzed and she glanced at it, a smile spreading across her lips. My eyes hardened and I couldn't hold back anymore.

"Tomorrow is your mother's seventh day," I said, my voice calm but firm. "Aren't you going to attend the ceremony?"

Her hand froze on her phone and her expression darkened. Without warning, she grabbed a cup from the bedside table and hurled it at me. "All I did was ask for some soup and you wish my mom to die? Are you even human?"

I didn't move, letting the shattered pieces of the cup scatter across the floor. Jessica wasn't done. "I misjudged you, Aaron! My mother treated you so well and you're nothing but an ungrateful wolf! She should never have pitied you in the first place!"

With that, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I sat there for a long moment, my heart aching—not for her but for Emily. Her daughter didn't even know she had passed away.

Sighing, I got up and picked up the broken pieces of the cup, tossing them into the trash. Once I was done, I sent the legal documents I had been preparing to Jonathan, my old college friend who was now a top divorce lawyer.

Back when Jessica and I got married, she had dismissed the wedding, saying it was a waste of time and money. I had invited only a few close friends for a small dinner and Jessica hadn't shown up. None of her friends had come either. That night, I found her at a bar, drunk and crying out Michael's name.

Jonathan had patted me on the shoulder then, saying, "If you ever need anything, just let me know." I hadn't understood the weight of his words until now. Ten years later, he had been right.

Jonathan quickly acknowledged receiving the documents with a reassuring emoji. Just as I was about to put my phone down, another message popped up—details of our class reunion.

[Jonathan: Are you coming? Mr. Sterling will be there too.]

I hesitated. Roderick Sterling had been Emily's best friend and she had prepared a gift for him before she passed away. I never had the chance to give it to him.

After a moment's thought, I replied: [I'll be there.]

Since I was leaving this life behind, it was time to tie up all the loose ends.