Ethan tossed his travel bag onto the floor of the entryway. It landed with a heavy, final thud, like a stone dropped into the softest part of my heart.
I came out of the kitchen, still in my apron, holding the pot of braised short ribs I’d been slow-cooking for three hours. The rim of the pot was scalding, but I didn’t let go.
“Wash your hands. Dinner’s ready.”
I placed the pot in the center of the dining table. Steam rose under the recessed lighting, blurring his face. He didn’t move. His suit jacket was draped over his arm, and on his shirt collar was the faint reddish smudge of lipstick he hadn’t bothered to wipe away.
“Sarah.” He said my name. For the first time in our five years of marriage, he said it so stiffly, so formally. “I had an affair.”
The steam from the pot rose in wisps, twisting together before dissipating into the air. I just looked at him, waiting for him to say it was a joke. But it wasn’t April Fool’s Day. He just stood there, his expression placid, almost defiant.
“It’s Khloe from the new team.” His tone was as flat as if he were delivering a quarterly report.
I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up from the pit of my stomach, a wave of absurdity rising to my throat, but I swallowed it back down. It felt like swallowing broken glass.
“Oh,” I said.
Then I turned, went back to the kitchen, and brought out two sets of silverware, placing them on the table. The motion of scooping rice into our bowls was as familiar as breathing.
Ethan finally moved. He approached the table but didn’t sit.
“Is that all you have to say?”
There was a note of genuine disappointment in his voice. What did he expect me to do? To throw the pot, to scream, to grab him and demand to know why? The scenes flashed through my mind, followed by a wave of profound exhaustion.
“Let’s just eat first,” I said.
I filled my own bowl, sat down, and picked up my fork. The short ribs were perfectly tender. The meat fell right off the bone. It had taken me three months to master that precise temperature control.
Ethan sat, but he didn’t touch his silverware.
“It started last month,” he began as if reading from a script. “She came to pick me up from the airport on a rainy day. She was soaked, but she’d brought a thermos of hot coffee for me in the car.”
I put a piece of meat in my mouth and chewed slowly. The seasoning was perfect, a golden ratio I’d found after five failed attempts.
“After that, we had a lot of late nights at the office for the project, and she was always there. Once I had terrible stomach cramps and she ran to a pharmacy three blocks away to get me medicine.”
He paused.
“She came back so out of breath her shoes were practically falling off.”
I set a clean bone on the side of my plate. The sound was almost inaudible.
“Last week at the hotel, she made the first move.”
He stopped, gauging my reaction.
I looked up at him. There was a strange excitement in his eyes, like an audience member waiting for the drama to unfold.
So I asked.
He looked stunned.
“So what?”
“So did you decide to start dating, or was it just a one-night mistake?”
I put down my fork and picked up my spoon for the broth.
A flicker of confusion crossed Ethan’s face before it hardened into anger.
“Sarah, I’m telling you, I cheated on you. I slept with another woman. Can you please show a normal human reaction?”
A normal human reaction. What was that?
I remembered him eight years ago at a college football game, drenched in sweat, running toward me from the sidelines. He’d grinned like a fool under the autumn sun and said, “Sarah, will you be my girlfriend? I promise I’ll spend my whole life making you happy.” His eyes were so sincere.
Then five years ago at our wedding, his hands trembled as he placed the ring on my finger. When his friends teased him, he blushed and said, “I’m just so nervous I’ll drop it.” His I do was sincere then, too.
Three months ago, he was promoted to department head. We opened a bottle of wine that night. He held me and spun me around the living room.
“Honey, I’m going to take care of you now. You can just stay home and do whatever makes you happy.”
His embrace was so warm then.
When had it changed?
When the business trips became more frequent? When he started ending my calls with an annoyed sigh? When our picture disappeared from his social media profiles? When he started saying, “Please stop monitoring me. I’m stressed enough as it is.”
All those little signs, so easy to ignore, were already writing the ending. I just hadn’t wanted to read it.
“What reaction do you want from me?” I asked, looking him straight in the eye. “Do you want me to cry and beg you to stay? Or should I go find this Chloe and slap her?”
Ethan was speechless. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“You’re telling me this because you want a divorce, right?”
My voice was so calm, it surprised even me.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. He nodded.
“Yeah. I just don’t think we have feelings for each other anymore. Dragging this out isn’t good for either of us.”
He couldn’t meet my eyes when he said it.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?” He looked up sharply. “What does that mean?”
“It means I agree to the divorce.”
I stood up and started clearing the table.
“This condo was your premarital asset, so I don’t want it. We’ll split the savings, and you can handle the rest.”
The pot of short ribs was still more than half full. A waste after three hours of cooking.
Ethan stood up too. He was a full head taller than me. I used to love leaning against him, feeling like I was in the safest place in the world. Now he just felt like a stranger.
“You’re not even going to ask why I cheated? Aren’t you curious if I love her?”
He grabbed my wrist. His grip was so tight I almost dropped the plates. I held on.
“Does it matter?” I looked at him. “You’ve already made your choice. The reasons don’t matter anymore.”
He let go of my wrist as if he’d been burned.
“God, Sarah, you’re so cold.”
I laughed—a real laugh this time.
“Ethan, you just ripped my heart out and threw it on the ground. And now you’re blaming me for being cold because the blood splattered on your shoes.”
He took a step back. The dining room light was too bright, exposing every emotion on his face. Guilt, anger, indignation, but not remorse.
“Let me know when the divorce papers are ready. I’ll sign them,” I said, carrying the dishes to the kitchen. “I’ll sleep in the guest room for the next few days.”
“You can have the master bedroom, Sarah,” he called out from behind me.
I didn’t turn around.
“Is there anything else you want to ask?”
I stopped, thought for a moment, then turned back.
“Just one thing.”
He straightened up as if he’d been waiting for it.
“This Chloe,” I said slowly. “Do you know how many boyfriends she had before you?”
Ethan’s face tightened.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Just curious.”
I turned and walked into the kitchen. I turned on the faucet and hot water streamed over the dishes, creating a cloud of steam. I stood at the sink, my hands gripping the cold marble countertop, and began to tremble—an uncontrollable tremor that shook my entire body.
Tears fell silently, one by one, into the sink full of water, disappearing instantly. But I didn’t make a sound.
I finished the dishes, dried them, placed them in the dishwasher, and pressed start—the same routine I’d followed every day for the past five years.
When I came out of the kitchen, Ethan was still standing in the dining room, watching me with a complicated expression.
“I’ll find a place and move out soon,” I said. “This is your home. I shouldn’t be here.”
“No,” he said immediately. “You can stay until you find something. I’m not in a rush.”
Of course you’re not, I thought. You have somewhere else to go. Khloe’s place or anywhere else.
“Thank you,” I said, and walked to the guest room.
The room hadn’t been used in a long time. The bedding was clean, but there was a faint smell of dust. I opened the window. The late autumn wind rushed in, making me shiver.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was my mom.
“Hey, sweetie. Have you eaten?” Her voice was warm and kind over the phone.
“Yeah, I just did, Mom.”
I tried my best to sound normal. “Just finished.”
“Dad keeps wanting to go for a walk downstairs, but it’s so cold out.”
She chattered on about her day. I listened, fresh tears streaming down my face, but I made sure she wouldn’t notice.
After hanging up, I sat on the bed and looked around the room.
This was a 1,500 square foot, two-bedroom condo. I had visited the design district dozens of times during the renovation, picking out every single tile myself. The deep green curtains in the master bedroom were the ones I chose because Ethan said they looked luxurious. The custom-built desk in the office was for him, for the nights he had to work from home. The potted plants on the balcony were ones I’d carried one by one from the nursery.
He had said they were beautiful.
Now, none of it had anything to do with me.
My phone buzzed again. A text message from Ethan about the divorce.
Let’s not tell our parents just yet.
I stared at the message for a long time before typing back, “Okay.”
What else was there to say? Should I call him considerate? Thoughtful?
Let’s not make myself sick.
He just didn’t want his image tarnished. He didn’t want to be seen as the scumbag who abandoned his wife by relatives and friends. He wanted a clean, civilized divorce. He wanted me to step aside gracefully to allow him and his true love their happy ending.
Fine. I’ll give it to them.
I opened my laptop and logged into an old email account I hadn’t used in years. My work inbox was full of unread messages. I scrolled through them until I found a photo from Ethan’s department dinner three months ago. He had sent it to me, saying how much fun he’d had.
In the picture, he was standing among his colleagues, smiling brightly. To his left stood a young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, in stylish office attire and perfect makeup. She was looking at him, and there was a definite sparkle in her eyes.
That had to be Chloe.
I zoomed in, looking at her face, her eyes, and the hand she had looped through Ethan’s arm. Her nails were meticulously manicured with tiny rhinestones that glittered in the light.
Then I opened a browser and typed Khloe Evans into the search bar. It was a common name, yielding hundreds of thousands of results.
I added the name of Ethan’s company and his department. The search narrowed considerably. I scrolled through, and on the fifth page, I found an article from three months ago about a charity event hosted by his company.
There was a photo of Khloe standing close to Ethan, holding a donation certificate and smiling for the camera. The article mentioned she was a new assistant in the department, a graduate of a decent university, and had previously worked at another company.
I memorized the name of that company.
Then I opened another website, the homepage of a high-end networking firm run by my college friend Leo. He was a well-known connector now.
I sent him a text.
Leo, you awake?
A reply came back almost instantly.
Yeah. What’s up, my love?
Sarah, can you find out about someone for me? Name is Khloe Evans. Used to work at TechGen. Now she’s an assistant in Ethan’s department at his company.
The typing bubble appeared and disappeared for a few seconds. Then my phone rang.
It was Leo.
“Sarah, what’s going on?” His voice was serious.
I held the phone and stared out the window at the pitch-black night sky.
“Ethan’s having an affair,” I said slowly. “With her.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end.
“That son of a—” Leo bit back a curse. “How long? Are you sure?”
“He just told me himself. He wants a divorce.”
“What?” Leo’s voice rose. “Stay right there. I’m coming over.”
“No, don’t come,” I said. “Leo, just find out what you can about her. The more detailed the better.”
“Okay. Leave it to me,” he said, his voice tight with anger. “But Sarah, are you okay?”
I wanted to say I was fine, that I could handle it. But the words that came out were choked with sobs.
“Leo, it hurts so much.”
The tears finally broke through. I curled up in a corner of the bed, clutching my phone, and cried like an abandoned child.
On the other end of the line, Leo stood guard. He didn’t say a word. He just listened to me cry.
When my sobs subsided and I was completely drained, he said softly, “Sarah, whatever you decide to do, I’m with you. We’re going to make them pay.”
My voice was hoarse but clear.
“Okay.”
After hanging up, I turned back to my laptop. I started organizing files: Ethan’s credit card statements, our joint account records, receipts for gifts he’d bought me, screenshots of years of text conversations, and all the moments that once seemed sweet but now looked like omens.
Last Valentine’s Day, he said he had to work late. The next day, he gave me a necklace. I opened my jewelry box, took it out, and held it to the light.
On the back of the pendant, in tiny letters, was an engraving: M.Y.
It had already started back then.
I placed the necklace back in its box and closed the lid very carefully.
Then I opened another folder. It contained all of our photos from our college days to our wedding, our honeymoon to his birthday last year. Thousands of photos documenting eight years of our lives.
I clicked through them one by one. The way he used to look at me. The way we held hands and laughed like idiots. The way he promised to always be good to me.
Finally, I selected all the photos and hit the delete key.
A confirmation box popped up.
Are you sure you want to permanently delete these items?
The cursor hovered between yes and no.
I closed my eyes and clicked yes.
When I opened them again, the screen was empty.
Someone knocked on the guest room door. Two soft taps.
I didn’t answer.
“Sarah.” It was Ethan’s voice. “Are you asleep?”
I didn’t speak.
“I know you’re hurting,” he said, his voice muffled through the door. “But you can’t force feelings. You’re still young. You’re a great catch. You’ll find someone better.”
I stared at the door, imagining his expression—probably full of that sanctimonious pity, the I’m doing this for your own good look.
“Chloe is…”
“She’s simple,” he continued. “She’s not complicated like you. I feel relaxed when I’m with her.”
Simple. And not complicated.
I remembered his birthday last year. I’d secretly taken baking classes for a month to surprise him, ruining dozens of cakes before I finally made one that looked decent.
He had held me and said, “Honey, you treat me so well.”
Now, being good to him was a flaw.
“I’ll have my lawyer draft the papers tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t worry, I won’t screw you over. I’ll give you what you’re owed.”
The sound of his footsteps faded as he walked to the master bedroom. The door opened, then closed.
I sat in the darkness, staring at the faint glow of the computer screen.
I opened the email Leo had just sent. It contained Khloe’s basic information. It was almost surprisingly perfect.
Twenty-five years old. Graduated from a standard four-year university. Worked at TechGen for a year and a half. Reason for leaving: personal development.
Her social media accounts—Instagram, TikTok—were all linked.
I clicked through them.
Her Instagram was a curated feed of designer bags, high-end restaurants, and selfies taken from the passenger seat of a sports car. The captions were always vague.
A gift from my love.
Thank you.
Being treated like a princess again.
Some people are just a stroke of luck to meet.
Her most recent post was from yesterday. A picture of two hands clasped together.
On the man’s wrist was a watch I knew well. The Rolex I had given Ethan for his thirtieth birthday.
The caption read: Finally found you. It was worth the wait.
Below it, a comment from a mutual friend, one of Ethan’s colleagues.
Wow, going public. Congrats, Chloe. So happy for you two. When’s the wedding?
Khloe replied with a blushing emoji.
And soon.
I stared at the post for a very long time, then took a screenshot and saved it.
I turned off the computer.
Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten.
A new day was dawning, and my life was about to change completely.
I picked up my phone and sent a text to Leo.
Leo, find me the best private investigator you know. Money is no object.
And is there any way to get Khloe’s medical records?
After sending the messages, I lay back down and closed my eyes.
The tears were all gone now.
All that was left was an ice-cold resolve.
Ethan, Khloe—you want your reputations. You want your love. You want to start a new life with a clear conscience.
I will not let you have what you want.
You may have started this play, but I will write the ending.
I could hear Ethan on the phone in the master bedroom. His voice was faint, but I could make out the words.
“Yeah, she agreed. She’s not sad, actually. Pretty calm. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it smoothly. Let’s go look at apartments this weekend. Which neighborhood do you like?”
The tenderness in his voice was something I hadn’t heard in a very long time.
I opened my eyes and stared at a thin crack in the ceiling, a water stain from a leak in the apartment above during last summer’s storm. Ethan had promised to get it fixed, but kept putting it off.
Now, it didn’t need fixing.
This home would soon have a new mistress anyway.
Chapter 2.
Leo was frighteningly efficient. The next afternoon, I was sitting in a small conference room at his networking firm.
Across from me sat a man in a gray blazer. He was in his late thirties, with an unremarkable face that would blend into any crowd.
“You can call me Mr. Kane,” he said, shaking my hand. His palm was rough and his grip was strong. “Mr. Rossy gave me the general picture.”
“What can I investigate for you?”
“Everything about Khloe Evans,” I said. “The more detailed the better—especially her medical history.”
Mr. Kane’s eyes flickered.
“That can be difficult. Medical records are protected by HIPAA.”
“I know,” I said. “So I need you to investigate her personal relationships. Her ex-boyfriends, friends, colleagues. There has to be a weak link somewhere.”
“Understood.”
Mr. Kane took a small notebook out of his briefcase.
“The fee has been discussed with Mr. Rossy. I’ll require a thirty percent retainer to begin.”
I nodded and transferred the money from my phone.
“Miss Miller,” Mr. Kane said suddenly. “Forgive me for asking, but do you only require information, or would you like me to take certain actions?”
I looked up at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you require more direct methods,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “for example, photographing a particular scene or creating a situation where she exposes her own vulnerabilities. I can handle that, but the cost will be higher.”
I thought for a moment, then shook my head.
“No. Just the information. Clean information.”
I wouldn’t stoop to their level. Even if I won through dirty tricks, the victory would be tainted. I would make them destroy themselves, fair and square.
“Very well.” Mr. Kane closed his notebook. “I’ll begin the investigation immediately. I will contact you as soon as I have progress.”
After he left, Leo looked at me.
“You’re too soft. With people like that, you have to fight fire with fire.”
“It’s not about being soft,” I said. “It’s about making them fall into the graves they dug for themselves.”
My phone rang.
It was Ethan.
I watched his name on the screen, letting it ring for a while before I answered.
“Hello, Sarah. Where are you?”
His voice was cheerful. I could hear music in the background. He was at a cafe.
“I had an errand to run.”
“My lawyer has the papers ready,” he said. “When are you free? We can meet up and sign them, so fast.”
Is he really that desperate?
“Okay,” I said. “Text me the time and place.”
“How about tomorrow at three p.m. at that cafe we always used to go to?” he asked cautiously.
“Fine.”
“And when are you moving your things out of the condo? Do you need help?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll find a place and be out as soon as possible.”
“You don’t have to rush, really.”
“I’m in a rush,” I cut him off.
There was silence on the other end.
After a moment, he said, “All right. Let me know if you need anything.”
After hanging up, Leo scoffed.
“What a hypocrite, pretending to be the good guy.”
I said nothing, pulling out my phone and texting Mr. Kane.
Focus your investigation on Khloe’s relationships at her previous company, TechGen. Especially romantic ones.
Mr. Kane replied immediately.
Understood. Already on it.
That afternoon, I went to a real estate agency. A young, friendly agent greeted me.
When I said I was looking for a place, he immediately suggested a few options.
“Ma’am, if you’re living alone, this studio is perfect. It’s newly renovated. You can move right in.”
I looked at the photos and suddenly felt tired.
“Do you have anything cheaper?” I asked. “I don’t mind being far from the city center.”
The agent hesitated, then nodded.
“There are some, but the neighborhoods aren’t as nice.”
“It’s fine. Show me.”
In the end, I chose a small studio in an old apartment complex. It was about three hundred square feet for fifteen hundred a month.
As I signed the lease, the landlady, an older woman, looked at me with pity.
“Living alone, dear? Yes, you have to be careful then. Lock your doors at night.”
She went on and on.
“This neighborhood is old, but the people are good. If anything happens, you just scream and someone will come help.”
I nodded, paid the deposit and first month’s rent.
My hand trembled slightly as I took the key.
This key was opening a life for me alone.
No Ethan. No condo I’d spent five years building. Nothing.
When I returned to what was once my home, Ethan wasn’t there.
I opened the guest room closet and started packing clothes, shoes, makeup, books—one by one—into my suitcases.
I didn’t have much. It all fit into two bags.
What was left were all the things connected to Ethan: our wedding album, the matching mugs, the stuffed animals he’d bought me, the decorative items we’d picked out together.
I stood in the living room and looked at the space that was once ours.
It felt alien now.
In the wedding photo on the wall, we were smiling so sweetly.
It looked ridiculous now.
I found a cardboard box and started putting everything inside, one by one.
Each item was a pang in my chest, but as the pain dulled, I felt nothing at all.
After I finished, I called a moving company and scheduled them for the next morning.
Then I sat in the empty living room and waited for Ethan to come home.
I wanted to see the look on his face when he saw me moving out.
At eight p.m., the door opened. Ethan came in carrying a few shopping bags. A smile on his face.
The smile froze when he saw the suitcases in the living room.
“What’s this?”
“I’m moving out tomorrow. I found a place.”
He put down the bags and walked over to me.
“You didn’t have to rush like this.”
“I wasn’t really trying to kick you out. I’m kicking myself out,” I said, looking at him. “I can’t sleep here anymore.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but ultimately said nothing.
“The papers,” I asked. “You said the lawyer had them ready.”
“Yeah, they’re ready.”
He took a folder out of his briefcase.
“Take a look. If there are no issues, we can sign tomorrow.”
I took the folder and opened it.
Asset division. The condo to him. Savings split fifty-fifty. The car to him.
And he would compensate me with a one-time payment of one hundred thousand.
On the surface, it seemed fair.
“Okay.”
I closed the folder.
“See you tomorrow at three p.m. at the cafe.”
“Sarah,” he said suddenly. “Did we really have to come to this?”
I almost laughed.
“Isn’t that my line?”
Ethan looked down unconsciously, wringing his hands.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t talk about feelings,” I cut him off. “You don’t have the right to use that word.”
His face went pale.
I stood up and pulled my suitcases toward the door.
“I’ll stay at a hotel tonight. The movers will be here in the morning. I’ll leave the key on the table.”
“Sarah,” he followed me. “Do you have to be like this? We can still be friends after the divorce.”
“I don’t need friends,” I said, turning to look at him, my voice very serious. “Especially not friends like you.”
He stood frozen to the spot.
I wheeled my suitcases out the door without looking back.
As the elevator doors closed, I heard the sound of something shattering from inside the apartment.
I didn’t know what he had broken this time, but it didn’t matter.
It wasn’t mine anymore.
I checked into a hotel and lay on the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling.
My phone screen lit up.
A message from Mr. Kane.
Found something.
Khloe Evans was in a very close relationship with a department head at TechGen, a Mr. Jacobs. He was married and was fired last year for embezzlement.
Is there more?
I typed back.
After Khloe left the company, Jacobs met with her several times. We have records of them meeting at hotels.
Where is this Jacobs now?
He moved back to his hometown. But someone saw him visiting a urology clinic at a hospital there.
My breath hitched.
Can you find out what for?
I’m working on it. It will take some time.
As fast as you can.
Understood.
I put my phone down and closed my eyes.
The puzzle pieces were starting to come together.
Khloe. TechGen. A married department head. A urology clinic.
The answer was obvious, but I needed more.
I needed irrefutable proof.
Proof as solid as a mountain.
The next morning, I went back to the condo. The movers were already there, carrying out my boxes.
Ethan stood by, looking unwell.
“Do you have to leave so quickly?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes.”
I instructed the movers to be careful.
“Should I stay here and watch you and your new girlfriend be all lovey-dovey?”
“It’s not like that, Sarah.”
I turned to face him, looking him straight in the eye.
“Stop pretending. You went to her place at six a.m. yesterday, didn’t you?”
His expression froze.
“Were you following me?”
“Do I need to follow you?” I laughed. “Ethan, do you really think I’m some helpless woman who can’t live without you?”
He was silent.
The movers finished loading my things.
I did one last check of the rooms to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, then took the key out of my bag and placed it on the console table by the door.
“Goodbye,” I said.
The words meant: I hope to never see you again.
“Take care of yourself,” Ethan called out behind me.
I stopped but didn’t turn.
I didn’t answer.
I just opened the door and left.
As it clicked shut, I heard him whisper from inside.
“I’m sorry.”
Three words, light as a feather.
I heard them.
It was just too late.
The movers took my things to my new studio. I spent the whole day unpacking.
That evening, Leo came over with a mountain of takeout.
“Wow. This place is tiny, isn’t it?” he said, looking around. “You should have just come and stayed with me.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said. “It’s quiet and nice here.”
“Quiet, maybe, but it’s so old.” He sighed. “Did that bastard Ethan really kick you out with nothing?”
“No. We split the savings and he gave me a hundred thousand.”
“A hundred thousand is nothing,” Leo was furious. “That condo was worth a million when you bought it. It’s got to be at least two million now.”
“It was his premarital property. It was never mine,” I said, surprisingly calm.
“Still, you got a raw deal.”
“No, I didn’t.”
I said, “Two million to see a man for who he truly is? I’d say that’s a bargain.”
Leo looked at me with a complicated expression.
“Sarah, you’ve changed.”
“Have I?”
“Yeah. You’re stronger.”
I smiled and said nothing.
My phone rang.
It was Mr. Kane.
“Miss Miller, I found it.”
“Tell me.”
“The department head Jacobs was diagnosed with secondary syphilis. I have all the treatment records. His wife divorced him over it.”
My fingers went numb.
“And Chloe?”
“Khloe left the company a month before he was officially diagnosed. But based on the timeline, it’s estimated they were involved for at least six months.”
Mr. Kane paused.
“And one more thing.”
“What is it?”
“After leaving TechGen, Khloe visited several private clinics—all dermatology departments. I had someone look into it. Her last physical was at the Serenity Health Clinic in Midtown.”
The report came back positive for syphilis antibodies.
There it is, I thought.
Finally.
“Can you get the original report?”
“It’s possible, but it will require certain methods.”
“How much?”
“Two thousand.”
“I’ll send you three. I want the original report in my hands by noon tomorrow.”
“Understood.”
After hanging up, Leo came over.
“Any progress?”
I quickly explained the situation.
Leo’s jaw dropped.
“Holy syphilis. So Ethan—”
“He doesn’t know,” I said. “But there’s a high probability he’s infected.”
“Serves him right.” Leo seethed.
“Karma’s a—”
I said nothing.
Just looked out the window.
The night was deep, and the lights of the distant skyscrapers glittered like a string of pearls.
In those lights, how many families were living out their own dramas? How many other Sarahs were going through what I was going through?
I didn’t know.
All I knew was one thing.
Tomorrow at three p.m. at that cafe, I would sign those divorce papers, and then the real game would begin.
Ethan, Khloe—are you ready?
Chapter 3.
The next day at noon, just as promised, Mr. Kane brought a manila envelope to my studio.
I opened it.
Inside was a thick stack of documents: Khloe’s employee ID from TechGen, her attendance records, and several photos from company events. In every picture, she was standing next to that department head, Mr. Jacobs, smiling sweetly.
Further in was the medical report.
The Serenity Health Clinic logo was clear at the top. Khloe’s name, social security number, and the date of the exam—just two months ago.
On the final page, under the test results, in bold letters: syphilis, TPHA, reactive.
Below, in fine print, it is recommended to seek consultation at a specialized medical facility in the near future and to advise close contacts to undergo relevant testing.
I read the report three times, memorizing every word.
Then I took out my phone and took clear pictures of the cover page, the personal information page, and the results page.
“Keep the original safe,” Mr. Kane said. “If necessary, we can find the nurse who drew the blood to testify.”
“It’s fine for now,” I said, putting the report back in the envelope. “This is enough.”
Mr. Kane nodded and took a small USB drive from his briefcase.
“This contains the records of her and Jacobs entering and exiting the hotel. It’s from the front desk security camera, so it’s a bit grainy, but their faces are recognizable.”
I took the USB and plugged it into my laptop.
The video quality wasn’t great, but it was clear enough to identify them.
Khloe was laughing, her arm linked through the man’s as they walked into the hotel. The timestamp indicated a weekday lunch hour.
They came out three hours later.
“She was employed at TechGen at the time, and Jacobs was her direct supervisor,” Mr. Kane said.
I closed the video and removed the USB.
“You’ve done excellent work.”
“Just doing my job.”
Mr. Kane hesitated for a moment.
“Miss Miller, I may be overstepping, but perhaps you should inform your ex-husband. A disease like this can become difficult to treat if left for too long.”
I gave a faint smile and didn’t answer.
Inform him?
Why should I?
Did he inform me before he chose Khloe?
“One more thing,” Mr. Kane added. “Khloe has been acting very arrogant at your ex-husband’s company lately. She’s been telling everyone that she’s going to be the department head’s wife soon.”
The department head’s wife.
That title was once mine.
“I see.”
I gathered all the documents.
“I’ve just transferred the final payment. Please check.”
Mr. Kane checked his phone and nodded.
“Received. Thank you, Miss Miller. If you need anything else in the future, please don’t hesitate to call.”
After he left, I put the documents in a drawer and locked it.
I checked the time.
Two-thirty p.m.
Time to go to our appointment.
The cafe was on a quiet street in the West Village. We had been coming here since we were dating.
The owner was a woman in her sixties named Maria, whom we both affectionately called Aunt Maria.
She paused when she saw me walk in alone.
“Oh, Sarah, honey. You’re here by yourself.”
“Ethan will be here soon,” I said. “Our usual table, Maria.”
“Of course, dear.”
Our usual table was by the window with a view of the ginkgo trees lining the street. It was autumn, and the leaves had turned a brilliant yellow, fluttering down whenever the wind blew.
I sat down and ordered a black coffee.
No sugar. No cream.
When Maria brought it over, she hesitated.
“Sarah, did you and Ethan have a fight?”
“No, we didn’t fight,” I said, stirring my coffee. “We’re getting a divorce.”
The tray in her hand almost slipped.
“What? A divorce? But you two—”
“You were always so good together.”
“That was a long time ago,” I said. “Not anymore.”
Maria sat down across from me, her eyes welling up.
“What happened?”
“I watched you two from when you were just kids dating to your wedding. You were such a beautiful couple.”
I just stared out the window, saying nothing.
Ethan’s car pulled up. He got out, dressed in an impeccable suit, his hair perfectly coiffed. He was holding the folder with the divorce papers.
He walked into the cafe and paused when he saw Maria sitting with me.
“Aunt Maria.”
“Oh, Ethan. You’re here.”
Maria stood up, her voice cold.
Ethan gave an awkward nod and sat down across from me.
Maria shot him a look, then turned and walked away.
I could feel the disappointment radiating from her back.
“You told her?” Ethan asked in a low voice. “Why? It’s better to keep things like this quiet.”
“Maria isn’t a stranger,” I said. “She witnessed our entire relationship. She has a right to know how it ends.”
Ethan didn’t argue. He pushed the folder toward me.
“You’ve seen the papers. If there are no problems, sign here.”
I opened the folder and picked up a pen.
The tip hovered over the signature line for a few seconds.
Ethan was watching me, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. He seemed afraid I would change my mind, make a scene, or humiliate him in front of Maria.
I smiled faintly and signed my name.
Sarah Miller.
I wrote the two words quickly and smoothly, as if I’d practiced it many times. In fact, I had—last night, until my wrist ached and the tears had finally run dry.
Signing it for real, I felt nothing.
It was like signing any other unimportant document.
Ethan visibly relaxed. He signed his name as well, then slid a credit card across the table.
“Here’s the one hundred thousand. The PIN is your birthday.”
“Thank you.”
I put the card in my wallet.
“What are you going to do now?” he asked, his tone feigning sincere concern.
“Get a job,” I said. “Move somewhere far away and start over.”
“You don’t have to go that far. The city isn’t that big.”
“Ethan,” I cut him off. “Please stop pretending to care. It’s exhausting to watch.”
His face tightened.
“I’m not pretending. I really do.”
“Really do what?”
I looked at him.
“Really hope I’ll be okay? Really feel sorry?”
“Then go to Khloe right now. Break up with her and come back and beg for my forgiveness. Can you do that?”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“You can’t, can you?” I laughed. “So just stop. It’s pointless.”
The coffee was cold.
I took a sip.
It was bitter.
“So, when do we file?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Tomorrow. I made an appointment at the courthouse,” I said. “After that, it’s completely over.”
He nodded unconsciously, drumming his fingers on the table. A habit he had when he was nervous.
“One more thing,” I said. “How’s your health these days?”
He looked up sharply.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just asking.” My tone was casual. “You don’t look so well. You have dark circles under your eyes.”
He touched his face.
“I’ve just been busy with work. Not sleeping well.”
I nodded.
“Well, take it easy. Your health is the most important thing.”
He looked at me with suspicion, but then seemed to dismiss the thought.
Hypocritical pleasantries.
We were like awkward colleagues finishing a business negotiation.
After signing the papers and finishing our coffee, it was time to leave.
Ethan stood up.
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“No thanks.”
I stood up, too.
“I brought my car.”
I hadn’t, but I would rather walk than get in his car again.
We stepped out of the cafe. The autumn wind was a little chilly.
Ethan followed me out.
“Sarah,” he said suddenly.
I turned.
“That night when I told you I cheated—why didn’t you cry or scream?”
His question was unexpected.
I looked at him for a long time.
“Because my tears had already dried up,” I said. “Because I knew crying and screaming wouldn’t change anything. Because I’d been mentally preparing for it since the day your business trips started becoming more frequent.”
His face went white.
“You… you already knew.”
“I didn’t know the details,” I said. “But I had a feeling. A woman’s intuition is a terrifyingly accurate thing.”
He just stood there, the wind ruffling his hair.
For a fleeting moment, I saw the boy from the football field eight years ago, the one with the foolish grin.
But it was just a moment.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“I’ve already heard that.”
I turned away.
“But I don’t forgive you.”
With that, I walked toward the bus stop.
I didn’t look back.
I knew he was watching me.
Long ago, at the end of every date, he would always stand there and watch me walk away. Back then, it was a gesture of longing.
Now, it was one of relief.
The bus was crowded.
I squeezed into a corner and watched the city streetscape blur past the window.
My phone buzzed.
It was Leo.
“Did you sign?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you feel?”
“I feel nothing.”
“Good. That means you’ve let it go.”
I put my phone away and looked at my reflection in the window.
Had I really let it go?
I didn’t know.
But at least I was no longer the foolish Sarah who waited for her husband to come home.
I got home and put the divorce papers in the drawer right next to Khloe’s medical report.
Then I opened my laptop and started job hunting.
I sent my resume to dozens of companies in the marketing field. I had five years of experience, and though I’d worked part-time for over a year to support Ethan’s career, my skills were still sharp.
Soon, I got calls for interviews from several companies. I chose three and scheduled them for the following week.
By the time I was done, it was dark.
I cooked some instant ramen and ate at my small dining table.
The studio was silent except for the sound of my slurping.
Then my phone rang.
An unknown number.
“Hello, Sarah. Is that you?”
“Yes, it is. Who is this?”
“It’s Ethan’s mother.”
My hand trembled and I dropped my chopsticks on the table.
“Mom.”
“Sarah, honey.”
My mother-in-law’s voice was choked with tears.
“I heard about you and Ethan.”
My throat tightened.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. I should have told you sooner.”
“Don’t be silly. What are you sorry for?”
She burst into tears.
“It’s Ethan who wronged you. It’s our family that wronged you.”
I clutched the phone, unable to speak.
My mother-in-law had been so good to me. For five years, she had treated me like her own daughter. Whenever Ethan and I argued, she always took my side, scolding him for being immature.
And now—
“Mom, please don’t cry,” I said. “It was my fault for not being able to hold on to him.”
“Nonsense.”
Her voice suddenly became stern.
“What are you lacking? That boy is blind. He’s been bewitched by some vixen.”
The word vixen sounded particularly harsh coming from her.
“Mom, please don’t say that.”
“I have to say it,” she said, agitated. “I looked into that Khloe girl. She’s no good.”
“I heard she had a thing with her boss at her old company, and now she’s seduced our Ethan. Ethan is a fool, but…”
She couldn’t finish, and all I could hear were muffled sobs.
My heart felt like it was being torn to shreds.
“Mom, please take care of yourself. Don’t get too upset.”
“Sarah,” she sobbed. “Can’t you really give Ethan one more chance? I scolded him. I’ll make him get on his knees and apologize to you. Please.”
My own tears finally fell. Not for Ethan, but for this woman who had loved me like a daughter.
“Mom, I’m so sorry,” I sobbed back. “We can’t go back.”
There was silence on the other end.
After a long while, she spoke.
“Then… then you have to live well from now on. When you have time, come and see me. I’ll make you dumplings—your favorite kind—with shrimp and chives.”
“Yes,” I cried, nodding. “I’ll come see you.”
After hanging up, I collapsed onto the table and wept openly.
That phone call hurt me more than Ethan’s betrayal.
It made me realize that I hadn’t just lost a husband.
I had lost a mother who considered me family.
After I cried my heart out, I wiped my tears and opened my phone’s photo album. I found a picture from last Thanksgiving at my in-laws.
We were making dumplings. I had flour on my face and Ethan was hugging me from behind. My mother-in-law was smiling beside us.
We were so happy then.
But now nothing was left.
My phone rang again.
It was Ethan.
I watched his name on the screen and didn’t answer.
Once. Twice. Three times.
He finally gave up and sent a text.
Mom called you. Whatever she said, don’t take it to heart. It’s hard for the older generation to accept these things. It will be fine after some time.
I read the message and felt a wave of disgust.
He was always like this—evading, shifting blame, believing that time would solve everything.
But he didn’t know that some wounds never heal with time.
Just like now, every word he sent felt like hypocrisy.
Okay, I replied.
Are you short on money? If the hundred thousand isn’t enough, I can give you more.
No, it’s enough.
Don’t be stubborn. We were married after all.
“Ethan,” I cut him off. “We’re already divorced.”
The typing bubble appeared.
He typed for a long time, then finally sent two words.
Okay.
I didn’t reply.
I turned off my phone and went to take a shower.
The hot water poured over my body.
I closed my eyes.
Tomorrow, I had to go to the courthouse.
And then the real fight would begin.
Chapter 4.
The next morning, I put on a black pantsuit and did my makeup meticulously.
The woman in the mirror had cold eyes and a blank expression, like a soldier heading into battle.
Before leaving, I glanced at the drawer.
The medical report lay there quietly.
I didn’t need it today.
But it would be useful soon.
When I arrived at the courthouse, Ethan was already there.
He paused when he saw me.
“You look different today.”
“Do I?” I said. “People change.”
He didn’t reply.
We walked into the building, one after the other.
The process was quick. A clerk asked a few questions and confirmed our voluntary consent.
Ethan kept his head down the entire time.
The whole thing took less than thirty minutes.
When we stepped out, the sun was bright, almost blinding.
Ethan stood on the steps, staring at the divorce decree in his hand, as if he couldn’t process what had just happened.
“It’s done,” I said.
He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions.
“Sarah, I—”
“Stop.” I cut him off. “From now on, let’s go our separate ways. Don’t interfere in each other’s lives. And no, we can’t be friends.”
I put the decree in my purse and started to turn away.
“Wait,” he called out. “I still have some of your things at the condo. When are you coming to get them?”
“Throw them out,” I said. “I don’t need them.”
“But, Sarah—”
I turned back and looked at him.
“Seriously. That place has nothing to do with me anymore. If you want to keep the things inside, keep them. If you want to throw them out, throw them out. You don’t need to ask me.”
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
I walked away.
This time, I truly didn’t look back.
The papers in my purse were thin and light, but that single sheet of paper had ended my eight years of love and five years of marriage with Ethan.
I went home and took a picture of the decree, sending it to Leo.
He replied immediately.
Congratulations on your new start.
He then sent me a large gift certificate via Venmo.
Dinner’s on me tonight. Let’s celebrate your freedom.
I smiled and accepted it.
Okay.
That evening, Leo took me to a very expensive Japanese restaurant.
In a private room, he ordered a bottle of sake and filled my glass.
“To freedom.”
We clinked our glasses and downed the sake.
It was strong and made my eyes water.
“The second glass,” he said, refilling it, “is to you finding someone much, much better.”
After the second glass, a warmth spread through my stomach.
For the third glass, Leo looked at me, his eyes very serious.
“To the success of your revenge—and to the complete and utter ruin of those two scumbags.”
This time, I didn’t drink.
“Leo, do you really think I should get revenge?”
“Of course.” He slammed his hand on the table. “After what they did to you, what else are you going to do? Wish them a long and happy life together?”
I was silent.
“Sarah, don’t tell me you’re getting soft,” Leo said, his eyes wide. “You don’t still love that bastard, Ethan, do you?”
“I don’t love him,” I said. “But revenge… it feels dirty.”
“What’s dirty about it?” Leo was agitated. “Wasn’t it dirty when they did what they did? And now you’re scared of getting your hands dirty?”
“It’s not that I’m scared of getting dirty,” I said, watching the sake swirl in my glass. “I’m scared of becoming just like them.”
Leo was silent.
After a moment, he said, “Sarah, you’re too kind. And being kind isn’t always a good thing. Kind people get taken advantage of.”
He sighed.
“Like this time, you gave him a quiet divorce. He’s probably thinking you didn’t even care—that he got off easy.”
I smiled.
“Whether I care or not is for me to know. I don’t need his validation.”
“So what’s the plan?” Are you just going to let that medical report rot in a drawer?
“No,” I said. “I’ll use it. But not now.”
“Then when?”
“When he’s at his happiest,” I said slowly. “When he thinks he has everything under control. That his life is perfect.”
Leo’s eyes lit up.
“You’re going to drop the bomb when they’re at their most glorious moment.”
“Yes.”
“Brilliant.” He gave me a thumbs up. “The higher the stage, the harder the fall.”
We had a few more drinks, and by the time we left, we were both a little tipsy.
Outside the restaurant, the night air sobered me up.
Leo wanted to call me an Uber, but I told him I wanted to walk for a bit.
“Okay. Be careful. Text me when you get home.”
“I will.”
I walked slowly along the riverfront. Cruise ships glided on the water, their lights like flowing stars. There were many couples on the promenade holding hands and whispering.
I was once one of them.
Now I was just a spectator.
My phone buzzed.
An Instagram notification.
Ethan had posted.
It was a close-up of two clasped hands—his and a woman’s delicate hand. On her ring finger was a sparkling diamond ring.
The caption read: New life, new beginning. Thank you for saying yes
The post was already flooded with likes and comments.
Congratulations, Ethan.
Wow, engaged already.
Congrats.
What a beautiful couple.
When’s the big day?
Khloe had replied with a blushing emoji.
Thank you everyone.
We’ll have good news soon.
I stared at the post for a very long time, then took a screenshot and saved it.
New life. New beginning.
Fine.
Let’s see how long your new life lasts.
I got home, opened my laptop, and logged into an old email account from my college days. It was full of old photos and messages.
I found a file: a business plan that Ethan and I had created together.
We were still in college then, and we had pulled countless all-nighters to enter a startup competition. I wrote the plan, and he did the research.
We ended up winning third place.
And with the hundred-dollar prize money, we took a trip to Miami.
Watching the sunrise over South Beach, Ethan had said, “When we make a lot of money, let’s buy a house by the ocean. We can watch the sunrise every day.”
I had said, “Okay, then you better work hard.”
He replied, “Of course. I’d do anything for you.”
How ironic it all seemed.
I closed the file and opened Khloe’s medical report again.
I took the photos I’d taken and compiled them into a clean PDF file.
Then I created a new folder named The Gift and put the report inside, along with the photos of Ethan and Khloe, their hotel records, and the information about her affair with Mr. Jacobs.
A perfect, carefully prepared gift.
When would be the best time to send it?
I thought for a moment, then marked a date on my computer’s calendar.
The fifteenth of next month.
It was Ethan’s birthday—and also the day of his company’s annual holiday party.
He had mentioned on Instagram that he was going to bring Khloe to the party to formally introduce her to all his colleagues.
Perfect.
Let’s do it then.
On the day they are at their happiest and most glorious, I will deliver this grand gift in front of everyone.
I shut down the computer and lay in bed.
The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a cold glow on the floor.
I closed my eyes and imagined Ethan’s face on that day.
I imagined him plummeting from the clouds to the ground.
I imagined Khloe’s perfectly made-up face twisting in horror.
And then I fell asleep—a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 5.
The following weeks fell into a strange, quiet rhythm. I went to interviews during the day and organized my files at night. I sometimes had dinner with Leo.
Life was simple but full.
Ethan didn’t contact me again.
His Instagram, however, was as loud as ever. A candlelight dinner with Khloe. Photos of them apartment hunting. Close-ups of the diamond ring.
He flaunted every piece of happiness he could.
Every time, I quietly took a screenshot and saved it.
It was like collecting evidence—or perhaps building a psychological shield for myself.
See, the man who promised to love you forever is now saying the same things to someone else.
See, this is what so-called love amounts to.
After my third interview, I received a job offer for a marketing specialist position.
The salary was lower than my previous job, but it was acceptable.
I took it.
I was to start the following Monday.
Leo was thrilled when he heard the news and insisted on celebrating.
“This is a good thing. New job, new life, new beginning.”
He booked a restaurant and invited a few of our college friends—all women who knew my situation.
We talked about work, gossip, and new movies, just like we did in our carefree college days.
In the middle of dinner, one of my friends suddenly lowered her voice.
“Hey, guys… have you heard the news from Ethan’s company?”
Everyone went quiet and looked at me.
I took a sip of my juice.
“What news? Go ahead. I’m fine.”
My friend hesitated, then said, “My cousin is an intern there. She says Ethan is being super obvious at work. He and that Chloe girl commute together, eat lunch together. Everyone’s saying they’re going to get married by the end of the year.”
Leo rolled his eyes.
“Let him show off. He’ll fall hard one day.”
My friend continued, “My cousin says that Chloe girl is really good at playing the part. She brings him a homemade lunch every day. Brings him snacks when he works late. She has him completely wrapped around her finger. His colleagues are all gossiping behind his back, saying he’s been bewitched.”
I listened quietly, feeling no ripple in my heart.
I was immune to such talk now.
“Oh, right,” my friend said as if suddenly remembering something. “My cousin also said that Ethan doesn’t seem to be feeling well lately.”
My fingers paused.
“Why?”
“She said during a meeting the other day, he kept scratching his neck. Later, she saw him in the bathroom and he looked really pale.”
“Could be allergies,” another friend chimed in. “It’s that time of year, maybe.”
My friend didn’t say anymore.
That night after dinner, Leo drove me home. In the car, he asked, “So, how’s the plan coming along?”
“It’s almost ready,” I said. “I have all the evidence.”
“It’s just a matter of timing.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
I thought for a moment.
“Can you get me the guest list for his company’s holiday party?”
“I can ask my cousin,” Leo said. “Why?”
“To make sure the right people see it.”
Leo nodded in understanding.
“Got it. Leave it to me.”
When I got home, I opened my laptop and double-checked The Gift folder.
All the files were in order: the medical report, the hotel records, Mr. Jacobs’s treatment documents, screenshots of Khloe’s boastful social media posts, and Ethan’s ostentatious Instagram updates.
I even had an audio recording of my conversation with the cafe owner, Maria, where she tearfully cursed Ethan.
Of course, I wouldn’t release that recording publicly.
That was for Ethan to listen to alone.
I wanted him to know how deeply he had disappointed even the people closest to him.
After checking everything, I looked at the calendar.
Three weeks until the fifteenth of next month.
There was still plenty of time.
But I was already prepared.
On Monday, I started my new job.
The company wasn’t large and the atmosphere was relaxed.
My new boss, a woman in her forties named Miss Kim, was direct and no-nonsense.
“Sarah Miller, right? I saw your resume. Good experience. For now, just follow along with the projects and get used to the environment. If you have any questions, just ask.”
“Yes. Thank you, Miss Kim.”
I sat at my desk, took a deep breath, and looked at the unfamiliar computer screen.
The new beginning had truly begun.
During lunch, my phone rang.
It was an unknown number, but the area code was from my in-laws’ town.
“Hello, Sarah.”
It was my mother-in-law’s voice.
“Mom, did you change your number?”
“This is your father-in-law’s phone. Mine’s broken.” Her voice sounded tired.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine. But your father-in-law… his blood pressure shot up after he heard about it. He collapsed.”
My heart sank.
“Is he okay?”
“He was in the hospital for a few days, but he’s much better now.”
She sighed.
“Sarah, don’t have any bad thoughts. This isn’t your fault. It’s that boy’s sin.”
I held the phone, not knowing what to say.
“Mom, Dad… please take care of yourselves. Don’t let this upset you too much.”
“I know.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Sarah, how are you doing? Did you find a job?”
“Yes, I did. Today was my first day.”
“Oh, that’s good. That’s wonderful.”
Her voice trembled slightly.
“You’re a good girl. From now on, you have to be happy.”
“Mom…”
“Okay, that’s enough. You need to work. Make sure you eat well. Don’t skip meals.”
“You, too, Mom.”
After hanging up, my heart felt heavy.
The two elderly people were suffering because of what Ethan had done.
He probably never even considered it.
Or if he did, he didn’t care.
After work, I went home and made ramen.
As I was eating, I checked Instagram.
Ethan had a new post.
It was a picture of a real estate agent’s business card.
The caption read: Time to find a new home. Getting ready to welcome a new life.
The comments were full of congratulations.
Khloe had replied: So excited for our new home.
I looked at the post and suddenly laughed.
A new life?
What did they think a new life was—moving into a new house, wearing new rings, receiving the blessings of others?
Or was it living under the shadow of disease, suspecting and tormenting each other?
I put my phone down, finished my ramen, and took a shower.
As the hot water streamed down, I thought about my mother-in-law’s call about my father-in-law being hospitalized and her words.
You’re a good girl.
The tears mixed with the hot water, flowing silently down my face.
After my shower, I sat on my bed and turned on my laptop.
I opened The Gift folder and looked at the files again.
This time, there was no hesitation in my heart.
Ethan—this is the path you chose.
Chapter 6.
Two weeks until the holiday party.
Ethan’s Instagram became even more extravagant.
One day, it was a picture of Khloe trying on wedding dresses.
The next, it was a receipt for a custom-tailored tuxedo for the party.
The captions were always things like: Looking forward to our new life.
And: The best choice I ever made.
He posted a close-up of the diamond ring, writing that he had promised her a grand wedding.
The comments were full of praise.
“Khloe is so lucky. Ethan is handsome, capable, and so good to her.”
Khloe replied with a blushing emoji.
“He’s an even better person on the inside.”
I took a screenshot and saved it to the folder.
A message came from Leo.
Got the guest list. Sent it to your email. Also, my cousin says Ethan has been acting really weird lately.
How so?
She ran into him in the break room and he had a red rash on his neck. He tried to pull up his collar to hide it, but Khloe, who was with him, said it was just an allergy from eating shellfish.
I stared at the screen and slowly typed.
And people believed that.
Seems so.
Khloe even bought him some cream and has been applying it for him every day.
I scoffed.
An allergy.
Secondary syphilis rashes can indeed look like an allergic reaction, but as the disease progressed, it would become something else entirely.
Keep an eye on him, I texted back to Leo. I think your cousin might need to provide a little help on the night of the party.
What kind of help?
Something simple. A small, timely malfunction with the projector or the sound system, and then someone accidentally plays a file on the main screen.
Leo sent back a winking emoji.
Leave it to me.
For the next few days, I lived my life as usual.
I went to work, came home, ate, and slept.
It was a robotic, regular existence.
Only I knew the taut string of tension stretched tight inside me.
D7.
Ethan posted a photo on Instagram.
Tuxedo for the party arrived. Khloe picked it out. She has great taste.
In the picture, he was wearing a deep navy tuxedo. And Khloe, in a wine-red dress, was leaning on his shoulder, both of them smiling into a mirror.
The comments were all about what a perfect, handsome couple they were.
I took a screenshot and saved it.
D5.
Leo told me Ethan’s department had started practicing a performance for the party.
Ethan was scheduled to give a speech on stage, thanking the company and his team.
Khloe was also supposed to go on stage as his plus one, to present him with a bouquet.
I smiled faintly.
The higher the stage, the harder the fall.
D3.
Miss Kim messaged me asking me to prepare a market analysis report for a presentation next week.
I stayed up for two nights and made it perfect.
She was very pleased.
“Sarah, you’re very capable. If you keep this up, you’ll have a lot of opportunities here.”
“Thank you, Miss Kim.”
D2.
Ethan’s Instagram suddenly went quiet.
A message came from Leo.
My cousin says Ethan called in sick. Said he has a bad flu. Khloe took the day off too, and went to the hospital with him.
I didn’t reply.
I opened my browser and searched for the symptoms of secondary syphilis.
Fever. Headache. Muscle aches. Rash. Swollen lymph nodes.
It could easily be mistaken for a severe case of the flu.
I closed the browser and continued with my work.
D1.
That night, I did a final check of The Gift folder.
All the files were in order.
I created a new anonymous email account, compressed the files, and set up a scheduled send.
The time: 8:00 p.m. tomorrow.
The recipients: the general email address for Ethan’s company holiday party, and the personal email addresses of several key executives.
The subject line: A toast to the union of Mr. Ethan Miller and Miss Khloe Evans.
Then I prepared another USB drive with the same files and a short note.
True love deserves to be celebrated—provided that love is clean.
Happy birthday, Ethan.
This is the gift you deserve.
Tomorrow, Leo’s cousin would find an opportunity to plug this USB into the main computer at the party venue.
If the anonymous email was sent successfully, the USB would be a backup.
If it failed, the USB would be the main attack.
A double insurance policy.
After all the preparations, it was ten p.m.
I stood by the window and looked at the city lights.
Tomorrow was the fifteenth—Ethan’s birthday, his company’s holiday party.
Everything would change completely at eight p.m. tomorrow.
My phone buzzed.
It was Ethan.
A text message.
Sarah, it’s my birthday tomorrow.
I looked at the message and didn’t reply.
A moment later, another one came.
Remember last year’s birthday? You made me that cake we ate for two days. That was a really good time.
I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Finally, I typed three words.
I don’t remember.
And then I blocked his number.
Outside, the wind howled, making the windows rattle.
I went back to bed and closed my eyes.
Tomorrow would be a beautiful day.
Chapter 7.
The next morning, the sun was shining brightly.
I got up as usual, showered, did my makeup, and got dressed.
The woman in the mirror was wearing a crisp business suit, her makeup perfect, but her eyes were calm.
You couldn’t read any emotion in them.
Before leaving, I glanced at the nightstand.
The white envelope lay there quietly.
Inside was destruction.
But also a new life.
When I got to the office, Miss Kim smiled at me.
“You look great today, Sarah.”
“Thank you, Miss Kim.”
I worked as usual all day.
Meetings. Reports.
My colleagues were talking about the holiday party season, gossiping about which company was giving away a car as a prize and which had hired a celebrity entertainer.
I listened quietly, occasionally nodding along.
At lunchtime, a message came from Leo.
Ethan’s at the office. He looks terrible, but is trying to put on a brave face. Khloe came with him all dressed up. I hear Ethan is giving a speech on stage tonight.
I replied.
Okay.
At three p.m., Miss Kim suddenly called a meeting.
“Current announcement. An important client is visiting tomorrow, so the marketing team needs to prepare some materials in advance. Sarah, that report you just finished—can you work late tonight and add more detail?”
I paused.
“Tonight?”
“Yes. The client moved up the schedule. I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. “I’ll approve triple overtime pay. Is that okay?”
I looked at Miss Kim and did a quick calculation in my head.
The party starts at eight p.m.
Ethan would be on stage around eight-thirty.
My gift was scheduled to be sent at eight.
If I took the night off, it might look suspicious.
But if I stayed at the office to work late…
“No problem, Miss Kim,” I said. “Thank you.”
She patted my shoulder.
After the meeting, I went back to my desk and checked the time.
Four p.m.
Four hours until eight.
I opened my laptop and started editing the report.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, but my mind was counting down.
People in the office started leaving one by one.
By six p.m., only Miss Kim, myself, and two other colleagues working late were left.
At seven p.m., Miss Kim ordered takeout for everyone.
“Not hungry, Sarah? You’re barely eating,” she asked.
“I had a big lunch,” I said with a smile. “I’m not very hungry.”
Seven-thirty p.m.
We finished dinner and everyone went back to work.
Seven-fifty p.m.
My heart started to pound.
My palms were slick with sweat.
I forced myself to stare at the screen and edit the report, but I couldn’t read a single word.
Seven-fifty-five p.m.
I got up and went to the bathroom.
I closed the door, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on my face.
The woman in the mirror was pale, but her eyes were frighteningly bright.
Seven-fifty-eight p.m.
I went back to my desk, opened my email, and checked the scheduled send status.
Scheduled to send today at 20:00.
Seven-fifty-nine p.m.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Eight p.m.
A notification popped up on my computer screen.
Your scheduled email has been sent.
Delivery successful.
I stared at the words for three seconds, then closed the notification and continued editing the report.
My hands were still shaking.
But my mind was calm.
All that was left was to wait.
Eight-ten p.m.
A message from Leo.
Party has started. The atmosphere is great. Ethan and Khloe are at the main table. She’s clinging to his arm and smiling sweetly.
I replied.
And the USB.
My cousin found a chance and plugged it into the control room computer. Ready to play anytime.
Good.
Eight-twenty p.m.
Miss Kim stood up and stretched.
“Okay, that’s about it. Let’s wrap it up and get ready to go home. Sarah, how’s the report?”
“Almost done,” I said.
Eight-twenty-five p.m.
Another message from Leo.
Ethan’s on stage, giving his speech, thanking the company, thanking his team. Big applause. Khloe is looking up at him from below the stage with an adoring expression.
I put my phone down and saved the report.
“Miss Kim, I’ve finished the edits and emailed it to you.”
“Great work, Sarah,” she said, walking over. “That’s enough for today. Everyone, go home and get some rest.”
My colleagues started packing up.
I slowly shut down my computer and packed my bag.
My movements deliberately slow.
Eight-thirty p.m.
My phone suddenly started vibrating like crazy.
It wasn’t a message notification.
It was a call from Leo.
I answered and walked out into the hallway.
“What’s happening?”
The sound of chaos and faint screams came through the phone.
“It happened,” Leo’s voice was excited but low. “Just as Ethan was giving his speech, the big screen suddenly went black. And then a file popped up.”
He paused.
“It was Khloe’s medical report. The words syphilis, reactive were huge—and crystal clear. The entire company saw it.”
I gripped the phone tightly and said nothing.
“And then—all hell broke loose,” Leo said. “Some people were screaming. Some were whispering. Some were taking pictures with their phones. Ethan was just frozen on stage. Khloe ran up and tried to turn it off, but she didn’t know how, and just started crying.”
“Then another picture came up. The security camera footage of her and that Mr. Jacobs going into the hotel. The time and place were perfectly clear.”
The noise on the other end of the line grew louder. I could hear someone yelling, “What is this?” and, “Turn it off,” and the sound of a woman sobbing.
Probably Khloe.
“And now?” I asked.
“It’s a total disaster,” Leo said. “The executives are on stage trying to shut down the equipment, but it won’t turn off. The file is on a loop and now it’s showing Jacobs’s medical records—and Ethan…”
Leo’s voice suddenly became complicated.
“Ethan looked at the screen, then at Khloe, and then… and then…”
“What did he do?”
“He raised his hand and slapped her right across the face. The sound was so loud. Everyone must have heard it.”
I closed my eyes.
“And then Ethan ran off the stage. No one knows where he went. Khloe is on stage holding her face and crying and everyone in the audience is pointing at her. The executives had someone drag her off stage and they ended the party early.”
Leo finished and was silent for a few seconds.
“Sarah,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”
I opened my eyes and looked at the window at the end of the hallway.
Outside, the city was bright with lights, the night soft.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m okay. I’ve never been better.”
I hung up and went back to the office.
Miss Kim and my colleagues had already left, but the lights were still on.
I sat at my desk and opened my phone.
The group chats were exploding.
Oh my god, did you guys see the news about Ethan Miller’s girlfriend having syphilis?
I saw it. It was right there on the screen. Reactive. And the hotel records with her old boss.
Holy crap.
So does that mean Ethan is infected too? Obviously, they’ve been together for months. That’s terrifying.
I’m staying far away from them.
Ethan’s career is over. The company won’t let this slide.
Not just the company. His reputation in the industry is shot.
I scrolled through the messages one by one.
I felt no pleasure.
No guilt.
Just a vast, empty peace.
Like a heavy snow had fallen and covered everything, making it clean.
I turned off my phone, grabbed my bag, switched off the lights, and locked the door.
As I walked out of the office building, a cool night breeze hit my face.
It was cold.
But it made me feel sharp and awake.
I looked up at the sky.
There were no stars—only thick clouds.
But I knew that above the clouds, the moon was shining.
Just as I knew that after this storm, a clear day would surely come.
I took a deep breath and walked into the darkness.
Behind me, in that building, a light was probably still on in some office.
Maybe Ethan was in there, facing the reprimands of the executives and the strange looks of his colleagues.
Maybe Khloe was crying in some corner, making excuses or cursing.
But none of that had anything to do with me anymore.
My war was over.
Now it was time to go home and sleep.
When the sun rises tomorrow, a new day will begin.
A day that truly belongs to all of Final Payback.
THE END.
