Chapter 3

"You're kicking me out of the master bedroom?" I looked at him.

Ethan's face showed impatience as he released Yvonne's hand.

"Do you have to make such a scene? She's only staying one night."

When we first bought this place, he visited over a dozen design firms just for the master bedroom decoration.

He said the master bedroom was my territory. He even had my initials engraved on the door plate.

Once when he was on a business trip, his mother wanted to sleep in the master bedroom. He got angry on the phone and paid overnight to send her to a hotel.

He promised then that only the lady of the house could enter the master bedroom.

Now for Yvonne's so-called comfort, he was evicting the lady of the house.

He stepped forward to accuse me:

"Fine, play the boss at the company, but you have to lord over a young girl at home too?"

I walked past him to the guest room door. The bed had the silk sheets I bought last month.

I'd planned to use them on our fifth anniversary, but now Yvonne's suitcase sat on top.

I used to have skin allergies. When we first moved in together, I broke out in a rash across my back.

Ethan knocked on the boutique door in the middle of the night and paid premium prices for every silk bedding set in the store.

Before, he always prepared half a month in advance for anniversaries.

Our first anniversary after getting our marriage license, he cut his finger preparing dinner but insisted on cooking my steak even with bandaged fingers.

He swore every future anniversary would be ceremonial, never perfunctory.

Back then he cared about my health and our special days.

Now he let someone else trample on my anniversary gift.

"Move your things." I looked at Yvonne.

Yvonne's eyes reddened and tears began to fall.

"I'm sorry. Ethan said no one was using it, so I put my things here."

Ethan stepped forward to block her.

"Why are you taking it out on her?"

"They're just sheets. I'll buy you ten sets tomorrow."

He pulled out a black card and slapped it on the table.

"Take the money and get a hotel room."

That card was my supplementary card. He was using my money to dismiss me.

I didn't take the card. Nausea rose in my stomach.

The hormonal imbalance from premature ovarian failure intensified the cramping in my lower abdomen.

I felt dizzy, gripping the doorframe to catch my breath, cold sweat beading on my forehead.

"Stop faking."

Ethan looked at me.

"You climb stairs with clients without getting winded. Now you're playing the victim for who?"

I looked away.

During our startup phase, I drank with clients until I had stomach bleeding.

He burst into the private room and beat up the client, carried me running to the hospital, crying as he ran.

That night he kept vigil by the hospital bed and swore that if I even frowned from period cramps in the future, he'd take me to the ER and suffer in my place.

Now I could barely stand from pain, yet he said I was acting.

He grabbed Yvonne's hand.

"Yvonne, let's go. You're not welcome here. I'll take you to a hotel."

The door closed. I slid down the doorframe to the floor and dialed emergency services.

On the ambulance, the nurse took my phone.

"We need to contact your emergency contact. What's your family member's number?"

I gave Ethan's number. The nurse dialed and put it on speaker.

The phone rang for a long time before a female voice came through.

"Hello, who is this?"

It was Yvonne who answered.

The nurse looked at me.

"Is Ethan there? His wife passed out and is heading to the hospital now."

There was no immediate response.

Yvonne's voice came through the speaker, with the sound of running water and a man's heavy breathing in the background.

"Ethan told me he was single when he started sponsoring me. Where did a wife come from? You've got the wrong number."

The call was disconnected.

Before, Ethan said his phone was on standby for me 24/7. I was the starred contact in his phone, available at my beck and call.

The nurse looked at me.

"Do you need to call again?"

"No need. No one will answer." I closed my eyes.