On the day of the fake divorce, I was diagnosed with a "terminal illness"

“I was just passing by.”

When the words left my mouth,

even I found them pale and powerless.

I decided not to explain any further.

I turned to leave.

“Passing by? Fine then.”

Keira chased after me relentlessly,

her smile dripping with malice.

“Then come attend my wedding with my brother.”

“Didn’t you say you wished us well?”

“Enough.”

Barry frowned.

“Watch your tone when you talk to Chloe.”

He turned to me,

his voice softening again.

“Don’t listen to her nonsense, honey.”

“I’ll be back by your side soon.”

Keira stamped her foot in anger.

Barry lowered his head and soothed her

with a look I knew all too well.

At that moment,

I suddenly felt nauseated.

I turned back to Keira

and spoke calmly.

“Alright.”

“Send me the invitation.”

“I’ll be there on time.”

When I pushed open the door

to the house Barry and I once shared,

his scent rushed at me.

It was as if the entire world

still carried his shadow.

I could no longer hold on.

I squatted on the floor,

clutching my stomach tightly,

vomiting blood mouthful by mouthful.

I couldn’t stay in this place anymore.

In the end,

I returned to the hospital.

When the doctor saw me,

he visibly let out a sigh of relief.

He said he had been most afraid

that I would die suddenly on the road.

That night,

I received the wedding invitation Keira sent me.

The wedding photos were exquisitely retouched,

flawless in every detail.

Clearly not a last-minute decision.

Suddenly, I realized that

that so-called “depression diagnosis”

was probably part of their plan all along.

The wedding date

was ironically perfect.

It fell on the exact day

I was leaving.

Over the next few days,

I lay quietly in the hospital.

My social media feed

was filled with Barry’s friends.

No matter which app I opened,

all I saw were posts sharing

the news of his remarriage.

They assumed that after the divorce,

I would delete everyone.

So they spoke freely, without restraint.

Discussing me,

the thoroughly betrayed ex-wife.

Until the wedding day arrived.

My body had grown so weak

that I could no longer stand.

I rented a wheelchair from the hospital.

And put on

the wedding dress

I had worn

when I married Barry.

Along the red carpet,

I moved forward bit by bit

in an electric wheelchair.

Employees of the Gu family,

business partners, relatives,

all cast shocked and uneasy glances at me.

This wedding

was far more extravagant

than the one years ago.

Back then,

I had nearly emptied my savings

just to secure this venue Barry adored.

What I could give him

might not have been expensive.

But that was

everything I had.

The wedding march began.

Barry walked alone

from the other end of the aisle

toward Keira.

As expected.

Osiris still did not appear.

No parents.

No elder brother.

He stood at the center

of this grand wedding,

like a groom forgiven and blessed by the world.

At the end of the aisle,

the two embraced deeply.

Keira clutched Barry’s hand tightly.

Her voice, amplified through the microphone,

was clear and resolute.

“Brother, from the first moment I saw you,

I fell in love with you.”

“Later, when I learned

that you were living in such suffering,

I swore…”

“I wouldn’t just marry you.”

“I would treat you well for the rest of my life

and never let you be wronged again.”

I almost wanted to laugh.

So this was it.

Every cheating man

had a story

about being ‘saved.’

I just hadn’t expected that

in Barry’s version,

our marriage

had become a living hell.

Barry threw himself into Keira’s arms,

tears streaming down his face,

his voice thick with sobs.

“I finally married you…”

“I finally married the one I love.”