They swarmed me the moment I stepped outside.
Questions from every direction.
Cameras in my face.
Sean’s company had grown fast in recent years.
He was rich, powerful, handsome, constantly trending online.
People loved stories about men like him.
And they loved tearing apart women like me even more.
One young reporter followed close behind and asked, “Mrs. York, what would you like to say about Mr. York and Miss Reed?”
I kept walking.
Then I said without turning around, “One is a married man cheating on his wife. The other knew he was married and still got involved.”
“What exactly do you want me to say?”
But she wasn’t done.
“I heard that when Mr. York was at his poorest, you dumped him for money.”
“Then after he became successful, you emotionally manipulated him into marrying you.”
“Now that he’s found true love, you refuse to give up the title of Mrs. York, and you’re calling someone else the mistress. Don’t you think you’re the one bullying people?”
That made me stop.
I turned and grabbed the badge hanging from her neck.
She flinched.
On the back of the plastic holder, tucked behind her press pass, was a college ID.
She went to Southfield University.
I looked at her and asked calmly, “You’re friends with Chloe Reed, aren’t you?”
Her face changed.
I smiled faintly.
“When Sean married me, he was the one who would do anything to make it happen.”
“Everyone in our circle knows that.”
“So tell me—do you not know that? Or are you just here helping your little friend move up from mistress to Mrs. York?”
She snatched back her badge and lifted her chin.
“Yes, we are friends,” she said, “but I’m also a journalist. Everything I say is objective.”
“Then if you really didn’t want to marry Mr. York, why not divorce him now that he loves someone else?”
I was about to answer.
Then another nosebleed started.
Warm blood slid down to my lip.
Someone nearby laughed.
“Mrs. York, you keep saying you don’t care, that the marriage was forced. So why are you so upset you’re literally getting a nosebleed?”
I wiped away the blood with one finger.
And said quietly, “I’m not upset.”
“I’m sick.”
“I’m dying, actually.”
“I get nosebleeds a lot.”
The crowd fell silent.
Not one person laughed after that.
Except the girl with the press pass.
She scoffed.
“Oh, please. What is this, some new pity act? A little blood and now you’re pretending you’re terminal?”
“I hate women like you. Acting half-dead just to keep a man.”
“Have some shame.”
Then she spun on her heel and walked off.
Her ponytail swung behind her.
I stared at her back and thought she was just as irritating as Chloe.
The video of me surrounded by reporters went viral within an hour.
This time, Sean responded personally.
He issued a public statement.
He said he would never divorce me.
He said no one was allowed to harass his wife again.
That same afternoon, the little reporter got fired.
Online, people split into camps immediately.
Some cursed me.
Some called me disgusting.
Some said if I didn’t want to marry him, then I shouldn’t have.
Some called me manipulative, sanctimonious, fake.
Then, buried in the comments, one account suddenly posted—
“Watch your mouths. If you don’t know the truth, shut up.”
Everyone jumped on it at once.
What truth?
Tell us.
What happened?
I stared at that screen for a long time.
And suddenly, after all these years, the old story opened like a wound again.
It really was a very ordinary story.
So ordinary that no one would care if it didn’t hurt so much.
That year, my mother got sick.
A fatal genetic disease.
The doctor said there was a strong hereditary risk.
Not only could I develop it too, but if I married and had children, my kids might carry it as well.
The day my mother first collapsed, she bled so much I thought I would lose her on the spot.
She was unconscious for three days.
When she woke up, the first thing she did was hold my hand and tell me to break up with Sean.
I stared at her.
“Mom,” I whispered, “he won’t嫌弃 me.”
He won’t reject me.
He won’t despise me.
I wasn’t sure whether I was saying it to her or to myself.
My mother squeezed my hand gently.
“I know he’s a good boy.”
Then she smiled sadly.
“You two started dating in high school. Every morning he’d wait for you at the alley entrance with his bike. Did you think I didn’t notice?”
“One time I saw him buy you a breakfast sandwich.”
“He had twelve dollars in his pocket. The sandwich cost ten. He used the remaining two to buy two soy milks. One for you, one for him.”
“You were such a silly, greedy little thing back then. He told you he’d already eaten, and you believed him. You stood there happily eating while he watched.”
“At the time, Sean had nobody. Divorced parents. No one really cared for him. Twelve dollars might have been his whole day’s money, and he spent it all on you without hesitation.”
“That’s when I knew my daughter had found someone good.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“He was too good.”
“That’s why I felt sorry for him.”
That same year, Sean’s grandmother got hospitalized too.
He had been raised by her.
He was already exhausted trying to save her.
My mother said his wings were too thin.
If he had to carry his grandmother and me at the same time, he would never fly.
I dug my nails into my palm.
And after a very long silence, I finally whispered—
“I can’t let him go.”
The moment I said it, tears came pouring out.
Even now, ten years later, thinking about it still hurts.