At my husband’s promotion party, his colleagues cheered and hounded him to give his wife a kiss. My face flushed, and I lowered my gaze, waiting.

The next second, Brandon leaned past me and pressed his lips firmly against my best friend’s forehead.

He raised Amber’s hand into the air. "The person I owe everything to is Amber," he announced into the microphone. "Walking this path together hasn’t been easy.

She’s taken on so much for me." I froze. The floor beneath my feet felt like it had dissolved, dropping me into an endless abyss.

My phone buzzed in my hand with a delayed message from him. "Mistook her for you for a second.

Don't make a scene." "I didn't want Amber to feel awkward, so I just rolled with it." When the party wrapped up, I swallowed the bile in my throat and headed toward the restroom.

Before I could reach the door, a muffled gasp came from inside one of the stalls. "Brandon, stop... we can't do this to Cassie..." "If she finds out what you said tonight, she's going to be crushed." Brandon’s lazy, teasing chuckle floated out, dripping with casual intimacy. "What's there to worry about?

I already sent her an excuse. Even if she throws a fit, it just shows how childish she is. A milestone moment like tonight?

You're the only one who belongs beside me." It felt as though my body had been run over by a freight train. I closed my eyes tightly. To him, I had never been enough.

If that was what they wanted, I would step aside and give it to them. … I took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.

Before my fingers touched the brass, the door swung open from the inside. Brandon stepped out, looking flushed and thoroughly satisfied.

There was no ambiguity about what had just happened. I dug my fingernails into my palms, staring past him into the stall.

Amber was frantically buttoning her silk blouse, her voice trembling as she stammered, "Cassie... what are you doing here?" "I... it was just getting really hot in here.

Please don't misinterpret anything." I looked at the faint red marks scattered across her collarbone and let out a cold, hollow laugh. "Hot?

Is that what it is?" Brandon shifted his weight, stepping in front of her to block my view.

His face flickered with a brief, uncomfortable shadow. "Why are you wandering around?" he snapped. "Stop embarrassing me in public." I didn't answer.

I pushed past his shoulder and walked straight into the tight space. The cramped room was thick with the unmistakable scent of recent intimacy.

My eyes caught the small trash can in the corner, where a freshly used condom sat right on top. Amber’s face drained of color.

She lunged forward, grabbing my forearm. "Cassie, please don't overthink this.

Brandon and I... there's nothing between us." She turned to Brandon, throwing him a sharp, panicked look. "Say something!

Explain it to Cassie!" I smiled faintly, lookingBrandon dead in the eye. "His promotion dinner ended less than twenty minutes ago.

You two certainly couldn't wait." Brandon’s jaw tightened. He drew his shoulders back, his eyebrows pulling into a heavy scowl. "You're seeing things.

So what if I accidentally read the wrong name earlier?

Are you going to be this paranoid over every little thing?" He looked completely composed, as if I were the one acting out of line.

Before I could open my mouth, he had already taken Amber’s hand. "Amber is afraid of the dark.

I'm driving her home." He glanced at me. "Wait here for me—" He paused, then shifted his tone with a wave of his hand. "Forget it, it's a hassle.

Just call yourself an Uber." My throat felt tight, constrained by an overwhelming dryness. "It's two in the morning, Brandon. I'm your wife—" He didn't wait for me to finish.

He led Amber out the door without looking back. The venue was in a secluded area. I didn't make it back to our house until six in the morning after struggling to get a ride.

The moment I unlocked my phone, a notification popped up.

Amber had posted an update a few minutes earlier. "With him around, I guess I get to stay a spoiled, helpless kid forever~" The attached photo showed her newly leased apartment under renovation.

In the bottom right corner, a man's hand was visible—a hand I knew better than my own. I looked up at our living room.

When we were decorating this place years ago, no matter how much I begged him to participate, Brandon had refused to care.

He had always said a house was just a place to sleep, that there was no need to make a fuss over it. The truth was, he just didn't care to make a fuss for me.

Another message from Amber chimed on my screen. "Cassie, do you think I should go with blue or yellow wallpaper for the bedroom?" I typed two words back. "Up to you." I turned toward the kitchen to slice some fruit.

My hand slipped on the cutting board, the blade nicking my index finger. Blood welled up instantly.

Impulsively, I took a quick photo of the cut and posted it to my closefriends story. Sure enough, within three minutes, Brandon called. A small, foolish ripple formed in my chest.

I picked up.

Instead of concern, his loud, demanding voice echoed through the speaker. "Your best friend reached out to you out of goodwill, and you give her a twoword brushoff?" "Do you have any idea how sensitive she is?

Saying 'up to you' is just going to make her overthink everything!" My voice turned cold. "And what does that have to do with you?" He choked on his words for a second, then snapped back, "She’s your best friend!

What's wrong with me showing a little concern?" I moved my lips slowly. "I cut my hand." There was a brief pause on his end, almost like he was fulfilling a duty. "What happened now?" "The knife slipped." Brandon’s tone relaxed back into a dismissive drawl. "It's just a scratch.

It'll heal in five minutes. You always make a mountain out of a molehill." I stared at the bleeding tip of my finger, saying nothing.

Suddenly, a sharp scream from Amber pierced through the speaker, followed by Brandon’s panicked voice. "Amber just burned herself with hot water. I have to go." The line went dead.

I calmly cleaned the blood off my finger. He didn't lack concern; he just didn't care when it came to me. I took a shower, wanting to sleep, but my mind refused to shut off.

Eventually, I got out of bed and began packing away everything in the house that belonged to our shared history. Brandon returned late in the afternoon.

He walked into the living room, frowning when he saw the cardboard boxes at my feet. "What are you doing now?" "Clearing things out," I said without looking up.

He nodded indifferently. "Good. You should have thrown that stuff out long ago. It just takes up space." I kept my head down, looking at the items in the box.

The first was a navy blue scarf he had knitted for me by hand during our first winter together, back when he swore he would keep me warm for every winter to come.

The second was his first love letter, filled with promise about the future we were going to build.

The third was a jar of paper cranes he had folded by my bedside when I was sick, wishing me a long and healthy life.

It turned out these things were only valuable when love was still alive. Without love, they were just clutter taking up space.

When I didn't reply, he turned and went into the home office. By evening, I had finished packing.

I pulled out the divorce agreement I had prepared earlier, walked over, and knocked on his office door.

I placed the paper quietly on his desk. "Sign this." He didn't even glance at the header.

He picked up his pen and signed his name with a quick, practiced scribble—just as decisively as he had confessed his love to me under the cherry blossoms years ago. "Thank you." I picked up the paper and turned to leave. "Wait." Brandon suddenly called out behind me. "What... is this for, anyway?" My eyelids fluttered.

My voice felt raspy. "It's a div—" "Right, I get it," he interrupted, pressing a hand to his temple. "You need money for a new bag, right?" "Just don't waste it on useless designer junk that sits in the closet." The paper in my hand crumpled slightly under my grip.

When we were dating, he would have brought me the stars if he could. He gave me everything he had and still worried it wasn't enough. Now, everything had changed. "Right.

Understood." There were so many things I could have said, but in the end, I realized none of it mattered anymore. He finally condescended to look up at me.

Seeing my pale face, his tone softened slightly. "It's not that I don't want to buy things for you, or that I'm being stingy." "It's just that you don't go to any events where you'd use that stuff.

It's a waste..." "You should learn from Amber. She never asks me for—" He seemed to realize what he was saying and cut himself off midsentence. I looked back at him.

My hands and feet felt icecold, but my voice remained steady. "Yes.

She never asks you for anything." "Because you give her everything before she even has to ask." He was the one who cleared out her online shopping cart while she was asleep and bragged about it online.

He was the one who sent her thousands of dollars in cash transfers when he couldn't make it back for her birthday.

And when she complained about her job, he was the one who created an assistant position for her at his company so she could work right beside him.

Whenever it came to me, we were "an old married couple who didn't need grand gestures." Spending money was "wasteful," and at the office, we had to "keep our distance." I had protested.

I had fought with him over it. None of it had ever worked. I should have seen the truth a long time ago. I had simply chosen to lie to myself.

Brandon leaned back in his chair, impatiently spinning a pen between his fingers. "See? Here you go again." "You said it yourself, she's your best friend.

What's wrong with me taking care of her a little bit?" "This whole thing..." I didn't stay to listen to the rest. I turned around and walked out.

A moment later, I heard his office door slam shut behind me. Through the wall, I could hear him on the phone with Amber, complaining irritably. "Her temper is out of control.

I honestly can't take it anymore." "I just said two words to her, and she acts like this." Amber’s voice came through soft and low, comforting him smoothly. "Alright, Brandon.

Cassie's just hurt because she's been seeing us together so much lately. We need to give her some time. Don't be so impatient with her." "Amber, you're the only one who gets me.

Thank God I have you." Then came the lower, softer sounds of playful murmuring that I knew all too well. I felt as though every ounce of energy had been drained from my body.

I leaned against the hallway wall, closing my eyes tight. In that silence, I made up my mind. I was going to erase both of their names from my life, completely and permanently.

I stopped overthinking. I sent out my resume to companies in other cities, wanting nothing more than to end this as quickly as possible.

A few days later, around lunchtime, I cooked a small, simple meal just for myself. Brandon came downstairs casually, his eyes sweeping over me.

He walked around the kitchen, looked at the empty counters, and stepped over to where I was sitting. "Where's my lunch?" I chewed slowly, my eyes fixed on my plate. "I didn't make any for you." His voice dropped instantly, heavy with irritation. "Why not?" "You sit at home all day doing nothing, and now you're too lazy to even cook a meal?" His fingers tapped aggressively against the table, his body tense.

I knew he was angry. In the past, whether he came home on time or not, I would always prepare a full meal and wait for him. There had never been an exception.

This time, I was done keeping the peace. "You can cook for yourself from now on." Brandon let out a cold laugh. "Fine by me.

Your cooking tastes terrible anyway." He turned on his heel, went to the kitchen, and fried a bowl of rice for himself. Then he sat down heavily right across from me.

Just as I stood up to leave, I saw him take a photo of his food and text it to Amber. "Babe, this is what I'm eating today. What about you?" "I miss you.

I miss your cooking, too." As he sent it, he cast a deliberate glance in my direction. My steps felt heavy, like I was dragging lead.

He had done this so many times before—flirting with Amber right in front of me, making suggestive comments, running off to her place in the middle of the night.

Every single time, I had been the one trying to fix things, compromising, giving in. Afterward, he would dismiss it casually, saying he was just doing it to provoke me.

Yet between those excuses, they had done everything a betraying couple could do. I took a slow, deep breath, walked back to my room, and closed the door. My phone buzzed again.

It was a text from Amber. "Cassie, Brandon's just like that. Don't be mad at him." "You two have been married for so long.

You should focus on making things work." "I'll give him a earful for you later, I promise." Looking at the words pop up on my screen, I felt nothing but a hollow, bitter irony. "Give him an earful for me?" Amber replied immediately. "Of course!

We're best friends. I'm always on your side." She attached a little gif of two animated figures holding hands.

It was almost laughable. "When you two call each other husband and wife, did you remember I was your best friend?" I still remembered years ago, lying in bed late at night with Amber, whispering about our teenage dreams.

Back then, we vowed to be best friends forever and promised that nothing would ever get between us. We had made promises, made pacts. My chest throbbed with a dull, persistent pain.

The phone kept vibrating with incoming messages from Amber, but I stopped reading them. I walked back down to the kitchen and quietly washed my plate.

Just as I turned to head upstairs, the front door burst open.

Amber ran inside, throwing her arms around me and sobbing uncontrollably. "Cassie, I'm so sorry!" "Please don't be mad at me, okay?" A wave of intense repulsion washed over me.

I pushed her off with all my strength. "Don't touch me." Brandon came charging over, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her securely into his chest.

His eyes locked onto mine, cold as ice. "Cassie, what the hell is wrong with you?" "Amber is your friend!

She's been worrying about you nonstop!" Looking at the two of them wrapped around each other, my fists clenched tightly at my sides. "Worrying about me?" "Worrying about whether my husband can last in bed?" "Or worrying about when my man is finally going to give her a home of her own?" Amber broke free from his grip and lunged forward to grab my hands. "No!

That's not true!" "I swear I won't see him anymore!

I'll cut all contact with Brandon!" "It's my fault, I just couldn't handle being lonely..." "Don't you feel disgusting?" I raised my hand, ready to slap her.

Brandon reacted instantly. He stepped between us and threw his palm hard across my face. The impact cracked through the air.

A sharp pain burst across my cheek, and I stumbled backward, slamming against the edge of the dining table. "How clean are you supposed to be?" he snarled, his voice ringing in my ears. "Amber is already drowning in guilt!

We didn't do anything right in front of your face.

Can't you just turn a blind eye and move on with your life?" My ears rang violently from the hit, but his words came through crystal clear, like rapid gunshot rounds.

Then, Brandon seemed to snap back to reality.

He stared at me, his gaze freezing on my bruised cheek, his stance suddenly hesitating. "You..." Amber kept crying beside him, clutching his arm. "Stop fighting... it's all my fault." "I won't show my face here ever again!" She turned and ran out the front door. "Amber!" Without a second's hesitation, Brandon sprinted out after her.

I held onto the edge of the table, using the back of my hand to wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth. Whatever remained of our years together died with that single slap.

Two days passed. The mark on my face faded significantly. Brandon hadn't come back. If anything, his absence brought a strange sense of relief.

On the second night, Amber sent me another text. "Cassie, I'm really sorry." "Brandon and I slept together again." "I really didn't want to, I just couldn't resist." "You can hit me, you can scream at me, just please don't ignore me.

Don't end our friendship." She followed the text with several explicit photos taken in bed. I tapped on the images. Inside, my heart felt like a stagnant, rotten pool of water.

Unmoved. I typed out a final response. "If you like him that much, you can have him." After sending it, I blocked her number entirely.

Just as I finished showering, Brandon called me. I let it ring out. A text arrived a moment later. "Coming back tomorrow morning." "Is there anything you want?

I'll bring it home for you." I ignored it. If I asked for anything, he would complain that it was a hassle and end up bringing home something completely irrelevant anyway.

The next morning, I received an invitation for a job interview scheduled for that afternoon. I was gathered my coat and bag, ready to head out, when the front door unlocked.

Brandon walked in holding a shopping bag, with Amber trailing right behind him, her eyes red and puffy.

He stared at the purse in my hand and frowned. "Where are you going?" "I have an errand," I said plainly.

Brandon let out a dismissive snort, stepping forward to block the hallway. "What kind of errand could you possibly have?" "It's almost lunchtime.

Cook lunch first." "I don't have time." I tried to step around them. Amber suddenly rushed forward, grabbing my arm. "Cassie, please don't go.

Are you still mad at me?" "I really just couldn't control myself, I didn't mean to..." As she tugged at me, the contents of my bag spilled all over the floor.

I bent down to pick up my papers, but Amber stepped down hard on the printed sheets. Brandon leaned over and pulled the paper out from under her shoe.

As he read the top header, his face darkened instantly. "You're looking for a job?" "Yes." I reached out to take my resume back.

Amber shoved me away, her voice rising in panic. "No! You can't!" "You haven't worked in years!

What kind of job could you possibly do now?" Brandon chimed in immediately. "Look at you. You've gained weight, you're totally out of touch with the industry.

What company would want you?" "Just stay home like you're supposed to." I watched as he tore my resume into shreds and tossed them into the trash bin. My breath caught in my throat.

When we got married, he was the one who said he hated longdistance relationships, so I resigned from my highpaying corporate job in another state to become a fulltime homemaker.

If I hadn't given up my career back then, I would have been at the top of my field by now. "I am going. You can't stop me." I shook off his arm and reached for the front door.

Amber threw herself at me again, her fingers digging painfully into my arm. "No! I won't let you!" "You have to stay home and cook!

You can't start doing your own thing!" "I finally managed to surpass you... you can't go back out there!" A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "So that's what you're actually afraid of." No wonder she had been such a passionate supporter of me becoming a housewife all those years ago.

She just didn't want to see me succeed. "Too bad. It's not up to you." I pushed past her with finality.

Brandon stepped up, slamming the front door shut with a heavy thud. "Cassie, just drop it." "Amber finally found her confidence at work.

Don't tear her down." "Is it really so terrible to just stay home quietly?" "Yes, it is." Before I could say another word, Amber panicked and shoved me hard from behind.

I stumbled backward, losing my footing. The back of my head struck the sharp corner of the wooden side table with a sickening crack. The pain was blinding.

Darkness swam across my vision. Through the haze, I felt someone forcing something down my throat, forcing me to swallow. I lost consciousness.

When I finally opened my eyes, I was lying on the living room sofa. "Water..." The voice that came out of my mouth was a broken, horrific rasp—a horrific, gutteral whisper.

My whole body shuddered. I sat up and looked at the two of them sitting nearby, casually eating fruit. "What... happened to my voice?" I choked out.

Amber kept her head down, avoiding my eyes.

Brandon took a bite of an apple, his eyes narrowing lazily. "What's the big deal?" "Amber accidentally gave you the wrong medicine earlier.

Your throat is a little hoarse, it's not the end of the world." A suffocation settled in my chest.

I fought to keep the tears from falling. "Not a big deal?" Brandon turned to comfort Amber, entirely unbothered. "It's just a voice.

It's not like you need it for anything important.

As long as you can still speak, it's fine." Yet the very first time he met me years ago, he had stammmered while telling me how beautiful my voice sounded.

I wanted to scream, to demand an answer, but Brandon grabbed Amber, claiming they had an urgent matter at the office. Before leaving, they locked the deadbolts from the outside.

The windows were secured. I sat alone in the quiet house until night fell. Finally, With complete, icy calm, I picked up the lighter from the table.

The flames caught quickly, roaring up the curtains and spreading across the living room.

I stared blankly into the fire. "Cassie—!" Through a crack in the sealed window, I saw Brandon sprinting toward the house, his face pale, veins bulging on his neck as he stumbled through the front yard.