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.

The wind whipped through the cemetery that evening, carrying the scent of damp earth as I knelt by Emily's gravestone. The rain had let up only slightly, leaving the ground wet and sticky, but I stayed, speaking softly to the cold stone as if Emily could still hear me. My voice trembled with the weight of everything I needed to say—apologies, regrets, promises I couldn't keep. The ache in my chest never eased, no matter how many words I whispered into the void. I stayed there longer than I should have, feeling the mud seep through my clothes, indifferent to the chill of the evening.

As I finally stood up, wiping the mud from my knees, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Jessica's messages flashed across the screen, each more demanding than the last.

[Jessica: Bring the soup to this address. I already told the front desk you're coming. Don't make me wait.]

I scrolled through the messages, my jaw tightening. The address was for the same restaurant where my reunion was being held. A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my lips. She had brought Michael to the reunion and now expected me to be their delivery boy. How fitting. The irony burned in my throat, but instead of replying, I shoved my phone back into my pocket and walked into the restaurant, the decision already made.

The warmth of the room hit me as soon as I stepped inside, contrasting the biting cold I had just left. Laughter and conversation buzzed around me as I made my way through the crowd.

“Aaron? Is that really Aaron? Hey, Aaron!” The familiar voices of my classmates broke through the noise and I turned toward them, forcing a smile as I was greeted with pats on the back and handshakes.

Jessica's head whipped around at the commotion, her eyes narrowing as she spotted me. Her gaze darted from my face to my empty hands, her lips pressing into a thin line. The silent accusation in her eyes was impossible to miss—she had expected me to be holding Michael's soup. But I ignored her completely, brushing past her like she didn't exist.

I walked straight to Roderick, who sat quietly at the far end of the table. His eyes softened when he saw me and he reached out to clasp my shoulder. “Aaron,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

I handed him the red gift box, the one Emily had prepared for him before she passed. His eyes glistened as he accepted it, stealing a glance at Jessica, who had turned her attention back to Michael. He sighed heavily, patting my shoulder once more before urging me to sit and eat.

Jessica, realizing I was paying her no attention, hesitated for a brief moment before focusing entirely on Michael again. Her movements were precise and delicate, carefully plucking a fish bone from his plate when it lodged in his throat. She doted on him, her face full of concern, but every now and then, her eyes flicked in my direction, as though she expected me to intervene.

Michael, emboldened by her care, raised his wine glass, a smug smile plastered across his face. “Aaron, where have you been?” he called out, his voice loud enough to draw everyone's attention. “You look like you just crawled out of a grave. Is this how you show respect to Mr. Sterling and the rest of us at the reunion?”

His words stung, not because of their insult, but because they were true. The rain and mud had soaked through my clothes and I must have looked a mess after spending so much time at Emily's grave.

"I'm certainly not as well taken care of as you, who even gets fed during meals," I replied, meeting his gaze with a calm stare. “But yes, I did just come from the cemetery.”

The room fell silent as my words sank in. Jessica's eyes flicked to my mud-streaked pants, her lip curling in disgust. “Why go to the cemetery in a storm?” she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt. “Is your lover buried there or something?”

She and Michael both laughed, their voices cruel and sharp, but I barely heard them. I had grown numb to her taunts long ago. But when it came to Emily, I couldn't let it slide.

"Jessica, have you no conscience?" I snapped, my voice low and dangerous.

Before I could say more, Roderick slammed his hand on the table, the loud crack startling everyone. His face was flushed with anger, his hand trembling slightly as he spoke. “Your mother called out for you in the emergency room,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But you never came and Aaron had to handle the funeral alone. How could Emily have a daughter like you?”

Jessica's spoon clattered to the floor, her face draining of color. She stared at Roderick, her lips trembling. “What are you talking about?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “What happened to my mom?”

The room went deathly silent.

"You don't know?" Jonathan, who had been watching the scene unfold, leaned forward, his voice sharp with sarcasm. "Your mother had a sudden heart attack and passed away. The funeral was just last week. Everyone here showed up—except you."

Jessica's eyes widened and her breath hitched as she clutched the edge of the table for support, accidentally nudging a glass of wine, spilling its contents onto her dress before shattering on the floor. “No,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You're lying. Why didn't anyone tell me?”

I met her gaze, my expression cold and unfeeling. “I'd like to know that too. Didn't you see the 111 missed calls and over 100 text messages from me?”

Her eyes darted to her phone as if seeing it for the first time. She frantically unlocked it, her hands shaking so badly she dropped it onto the table. She pushed Michael away as he reached out to comfort her, her mind in a whirlwind of disbelief and horror. Blood trickled down her legs where shards of glass from the fallen wine glass had cut into her, but she didn't notice, too consumed by her frantic search for proof that I had lied to her.

For the first time in all these years, I saw Jessica truly break. But I felt nothing. The woman before me was no longer someone I knew, or perhaps she had never been.

It was the first time in all these years that I had seen her so heartbroken. But I felt nothing, as if the person before me was just a stranger.

Michael stood frozen beside her, panic creeping into his features. I finally turned to him and demanded, "Michael, I told you to tell her about her mom, didn't I? Why didn't you?"

He stammered, his eyes wide with guilt as Jessica stared at him in disbelief. But I didn't wait to hear his excuses. Without another glance, I helped Roderick to his feet, supporting him as we left the room. The weight on my chest felt lighter as we walked out of the restaurant, leaving Jessica and Michael to their unraveling drama.

After ensuring that Roderick was settled, I got into a taxi, the night sky heavy with the threat of more rain. I stared out of the window, my mind clear for the first time in months. Then, with steady fingers, I dialed my grandfather's number.

“Grandpa,” I said, my voice steady and resolved. “Pull the investment from Jessica's company. I'm ready to come back and help manage the family business.”