Lose Me Once, And I'm Gone Forever

"You used to leave work at the office no matter how busy you were," I casually pointed out.

Heather's fingers froze mid-typing, and he glanced up at me, guilt flashing across his face.

"Oh, things have just been hectic lately, babe. It'll be over soon, I promise. Go get some rest now, okay?"

As I walked past him toward the bedroom, I stole a glance at his phone.

The screen showed a crying emoji—a message from another woman.

Another lie.

But I didn't say a word. I just went to the bedroom and sank into bed.

Opening my Instagram, I switched to a dummy account and searched for the page of Jennifer Herman—a barely-known actress.

Two hours ago, she'd posted a new update.

In her post, she flaunted a pair of unreleased heels from the same brand Heather just handed over to me earlier tonight.

The comment section was brutal.

People accused her of wearing fakes, saying she couldn't afford the real thing and was just trying to act rich.

She claimed she was actually the brand's yet-to-be-announced ambassador. Apparently, her boyfriend had already finalized the deal, and the contract was ready to be signed. Even the high heels in the photo were gifts from the brand.

Nobody believed her, though.

It wasn't unusual for someone like her to buy knockoffs.

But she refused to admit it and argued with the commenters.

I scrolled through the comments one by one until a newly created account caught my attention. The user was claiming to be working at the brand.

[I know her boyfriend. He's one of the execs. He made the call for her to be the brand ambassador. In fact, the shoot starts tomorrow.]

Skeptics quickly fired back.

[She's an up-and-comer at best. No way she has a boyfriend like that. Gosh, does she think she's the next Shannon Walsh?]

[Nice try, but creating a dummy account to clear your name? If there are no shoots tomorrow, oh, well, you better prepare to be humiliated. And good luck dodging a lawsuit for leaking the designs!]

But within a minute, that same account posted a photo of the signed endorsement contract.

Then, as if to silence everyone, the user dropped a statement.

[Well, see the shoots tomorrow for yourself.]

I shut off my phone and rubbed my aching temples.

When I headed to the bathroom, I overheard Heather on a call.

"What's the photoshoot team doing? If they can't get do this, fire them!"

"I told you to prioritize the shoot! Do I need to repeat myself?! Drop everything else!"

"If the materials aren't out by tomorrow, none of you are coming back to work, you understand?"

The owner of that dummy account backing Jennifer... was my husband.

At that moment, it felt like all the strength was drained from my body. I leaned against the wall, silent tears streaming down my face.

When Heather noticed me, I was still trembling, struggling to pull myself together.

He looked so afraid that his face turned pale, scooping me up like he was about to rush me to the ER.

He didn't even bother to put on his shoes.

I steadied myself with one hand against the doorframe, took a shaky breath, and shook my head. My voice cracked as I choked on my words.

"I-I'm fine. I... I just got emotional reading a sad novel. Don't worry about me. Go ahead finish your work."

He pressed his face against mine, nuzzling me softly.

"How about you stop reading sad stories, hmm? Didn't I tell you, I want to make you the happiest woman in the world?"

"All those heartbreaks in those stories aren't real. But our happiness is."

Not real?

Then why does it hurt so much just to breathe?

Maybe his reaction had somehow made him feel closer to me.

But his phone wouldn't stop vibrating, buzzing with one message after another.

And he gave me a smile, an awkward one.

"Just a little more work. I swear, I'm almost done."

I didn't respond. Barefoot, I walked back to the bedroom alone.

By midnight, I heard the door shut. Oh, he'd broken his promise again.

He left the villa in the dead of night.

I didn't need to ask where he was going.

I just threw on a black coat, pulling it tight around me as I trailed behind him like a thief.

After wandering for a while, he stopped in front of another apartment in the neighborhood.

I watched as he rang the doorbell, and it revealed a woman. Jennifer. She was wearing this ridiculously revealing outfit—a tight, black bodysuit. That bitch even pressed my husband against the doorway.

"Thanks for speaking up for me, Mr. Walsh. I owed you one, so I've got a little gift for you."

"But... you'll have to unwrap it yourself."