Love Cuts Like a Blade

My phone rang with a text notification. It was from Delilah.

"Your husband is my greatest support," she texted.

Attached was a photo of Tristan massaging her ankle and kissing the top of her foot.

My nose tingled, and as I turned off the screen, my eyes caught the sight of Delilah's pale wrist. It was adorned with an emerald bracelet.

This bracelet, unique and blessed, was something my mother had gone to great lengths to obtain—she spent three days and nights in deep reflection and devotion, hoping for my safety and happiness.

I used to think I was loved, but then, I understood all my pain came from him.

A bitter smile crept onto my lips, and my tears streamed down like a broken faucet.

Tristan was my beacon of hope at the start of my miserable life three years ago. After our marriage, I gifted the emerald bracelet to him in hopes of blessing him with a smooth-sailing life.

Yet, the bracelet disappeared in less than a week.

When I confronted him, he smiled and explained that he had put it away in a safe, not wanting to tarnish it from daily wear.

With the photo of proof before my eyes, I realized that what had once been a gift to him was now regifted to his unrequited love.

To reclaim the only item my mother had left for me, I tapped the dial button with my trembling finger.

Surprisingly, Tristan promptly answered my call.

I recalled that whenever he accompanied me for meals, shopping, or work, a special ringtone would always ring at the perfect moment. He would instantly answer, and it was always followed with some excuse that seemed just right to brush me off.

He must've had a unique ringtone for me, too.

"Hey, Tia. I'm back at the company to handle some stuff. Have you missed me already? I didn't know you were this clingy."

I stayed quiet momentarily and didn't call out his lies. Instead, I asked, "Is the emerald bracelet still with you, Tristan?"

There was a brief pause in his breathing, and after a moment, he spoke awkwardly. "Oh, it's locked away in the drawer in my study. Why did you ask?

"Right—it'll be our third anniversary in a few days. Are you planning a surprise for me, honey?"

"I… want to wear it to visit Mom. Could you come with?" I asked tentatively.

After a momentary daze, he replied, "Sure. We'll find time and visit your mother."

Was that so? Would I really see her again?

I switched off my phone, completed the discharge procedures, and went home. As I approached the study, the scent of jasmine greeted me.

Tristan's study was a place he never allowed me to enter, and he never liked wearing perfume. The scent probably belonged to Delilah.

Someone else had already taken over a place I never stepped into.

I pushed open the door and froze when I saw the photo on the desk.

Delilah was smiling brightly, lying in Tristan's arms. His eyes were filled with a genuine smile I had never seen before. And yet, there wasn't a single photo of us together.

I had once hoped to take wedding pictures with him, but he said he was afraid I would face even more gossip, so he chose to marry me in secret and kept everything simple.

As I looked back on it, it was clear he never intended to make our relationship public.

At that moment, the sound of the door opening came from the living room. I turned around and saw Tristan rush into the study, his face filled with panic.

He exhaled sharply as he looked at a certain spot and then fixed his gaze on me. "When did I say you could enter? Get out of here."