His Fake Illness, Her Real Heartbreak The Betrayal I Never Saw Coming

From that day on, everyone knew Ebony James had a best friend named Maud Fox.

No one dared bully her again.

We grew up together after that, inseparable as shadows. We did everything side by side.

Then last year, she lost her job and couldn't find a new one.

I was the one who offered.

"Why don't you just move in with me?"

"I'll tell everyone you're my live-in housekeeper. You won't have to lift a finger, and I'll pay you fifty thousand a month."

Ebony moved in, thrilled.

But slowly, the pieces started falling into place.

She had planned this all along, just waiting for me to make the offer myself.

"Well, I really should thank you, bestie."

Ebony let out a cold laugh and patted my cheek.

"If you hadn't given me that fifty-thousand-dollar salary, I'd still be out on the streets. Probably sweeping sidewalks somewhere."

"A best friend who gives me money, gives me a home, and is even scared enough to hand over her husband. I must have done something incredible in a past life to deserve this."

Every mocking word hit my ears like the prick of a needle.

I really had brought this on myself. Rolled out the red carpet for the wolf and dug my own grave.

Now I was reaping what I'd sowed, and I had no one else to blame.

"Ebony, what do I have to do for you to let me go?"

I closed my eyes in despair.

The next second, she tossed a document in front of me.

"Get Caspar to sign this divorce agreement, and I'll let you go."

I said nothing. I bent down and signed the divorce papers.

My body moved like a puppet on strings, hollow and mechanical.

Ebony examined the document carefully, then smiled with satisfaction.

She patted my shoulder, still smiling.

"For old times' sake, I'll let you stay here one last night."

"But remember from now on, don't wander into the wrong house. This is my home."

That night, as I lay in bed, the door was pushed open, slowly and carefully.

"Maud."

Caspar walked in with guilt written across his face and dropped to his knees in front of me.

"I'm sorry, Maud. I had another episode. I didn't recognize you earlier today."

He looked up at me, his eyes rimmed with red.

"I'll take my medication. I'll take so much of it. Please, can you forgive me?"

As he spoke, he fumbled with a pill bottle, grabbed a fistful of pills, and shoved them into his mouth.

Every other time I'd seen him do something this extreme, I would rush over with tears in my eyes, pull his hands away, hold him tight, and tell him:

It's not your fault. You're just sick.

But now, I only watched. Still and silent.

Memories from the past two years surfaced unbidden.

Caspar in the grip of an "episode," slashing me with a knife, trying to tear my face apart.

Mistaking some strange woman for me, then turning around and beating me with his fists.

But every time he "came to," he would hold me and sob, apologizing through his tears.

"Maud, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Just wait a little longer. I'll get better."

I believed him. Again and again. I forgave him ninety-nine times.

I traveled to every remote temple and holy site I could find, dropping to my knees every three steps, not caring when they bled raw.

I tried every folk remedy under the sun, forcing down concoctions that made me retch until my throat burned.

I canceled every social engagement, stayed by his side day and night, terrified something would happen to him.

I thought sincerity could earn sincerity in return. I thought that one day, he would finally get better.

But what I got in return was him and my best friend, tangled together in our marriage bed.

And worse.

Even the illness had been an act.

Caspar choked down the fistful of pills, struggling to swallow. He failed, gagging, and broke into a fit of coughing.

"Maud, I'm trying so hard to take my medicine. I promise I'll get better soon..."