The Key He Gave Her

When I got home from work, I noticed one of the spare keys on the table was missing.

I asked my husband Ethan about it.

He said he'd lost it.

In the shower, I spotted a strand of hair stuck to the drain.

Long, curly, wine-red.

My hair was short.

Soon after, I received a message on my phone.

It was from Vivian, Ethan's newly hired assistant.

"Aria, Ethan gave me a spare key the other day. He said it was for convenience."

I didn't respond.

The next day, I changed the locks.

Then I posted a message in the company's group chat.

"Locks have been changed. If Vivian wants a new key, she can come find me."

The moment Ethan got home, his face darkened.

"Aria Summers, have you lost your mind? What nonsense are you spouting in the company group? Do you know what people are saying about her?"

I set down the soup.

Looking straight at him, I asked, "Then why did you lie about losing the key?"

He froze.

After a long pause, he sighed, his voice softening slightly.

"Vivian is my assistant. Giving her a key was just for convenience. I lied because I was worried you'd overthink things. Did you really need to react like this?"

I was silent for a few seconds, my voice hoarse.

"Should I just give her all the keys then?"

"Aria Summers!"

Ethan raised his voice impatiently.

"Vivian left crying this afternoon. She and I are just normal colleagues. Can you stop being so paranoid?"

"Then how do you explain the overlapping handprints on the shower wall?"

"What handprints?"

I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bathroom, pointing at the wall where the handprints should be.

But there was nothing there.

Ethan immediately shook me off and snorted coldly.

"I don't want to fight with you, but this better not happen again! Go reflect on yourself."

Then he kicked me out of the group chat.

A new notification popped up on my screen, showing that I, the administrative assistant, had been terminated.

The grayed-out group number and the termination notice.

Like two heavy slaps across my face, leaving it burning.

The fragrance of soup drifted from the kitchen into my nostrils.

Suddenly, it didn't smell good anymore.

Seven years.

I hadn't waited for his proposal yet, but I'd waited for him to publicly defend someone else.

It reminded me of the year my father jumped off a building and my mother left.

He had held me then, his eyes red, voice low and fierce.

"Aria, listen to me. Even if the whole world abandons you, you still have me. If I can't do surgery, I can still be a pharmaceutical rep. I can give you a home, a balcony for growing flowers. You plant azaleas, I'll grow succulents, and we'll have lots and lots of children..."

My heart had ached with tenderness then.

I couldn't refuse Ethan, who had ruined his hands saving me in a car accident, losing his ability to hold a scalpel, yet still making me promises.

I stayed.

From a tenth-level pianist to a nanny who racked her brains to take care of him.

Massages, cooking soup, arranging daily lifemy entire existence revolved around Ethan.

My mom couldn't understand.

"Is it worth giving up your life's dream for him?"

I had answered with certainty.

But now, looking at Ethan's still-handsome face under the warm lights, growing increasingly cold and distant, I realized I'd been wrong.

Ethan and I fell into a cold war.

He stopped coming home, and I had the housekeeper continue delivering his meals as usual.

Vivian's social media posts became increasingly frequent.

Like the Pikachu slippers that appeared outside Ethan's usual break room.

Not my size.

Not his style either.

Like the new soup bowl Ethan was using, in a pink he would never choose.

In the photo, they shared one bowl of soup, smiling at each other.

Vivian's caption read, "Drinking love soup with the one I love. Some old things are destined to exit the stage."

But I'd spent four hours making that soup.

The discarded bowl was from the matching couple's set I'd given him seven years ago.

In the comments, someone teased, "Did Ethan switch girlfriends? Better than the previous one, they look more compatible."

Ethan didn't deny it.

Instead, he liked the comment.

The lighting was warm and yellow.

The heating was on full blast.

Yet I felt bone-chillingly cold.

Because of Ethan's casual like, my seven years of giving everything were just "old things" in others' eyes and "the previous one" in his.

With a ding, Vivian tagged me in a post.

"Sorry, Aria. Last time I accidentally got my clothes dirty and borrowed your bathroom. I apologize. Please don't make things difficult for Ethan because of this."

"Ethan said he's already added my fingerprint to the system, so I don't need to get keys from you anymore..."

Followed by a smug emoji.

She had every reason to be smug.

Apologizing on the surface while secretly telling everyone that Ethan was on her side.

An acquaintance defended me.

"Is this an apology or marking territory? Ethan, aren't you going to do something about this?"

"Do what? Can't you see Mrs. Blake is about to be replaced?"

The comment section erupted.

Ethan said nothing, but under the "Mrs. Blake is being replaced" comment, he posted a smiley face.

I stared at the screen.

My eyes stung with pain.

I exited the app and opened the fingerprint settings.

Deleted my newly added fingerprint, leaving only his two.

Ethan wanted a replacement.

And I was tired of being his nanny.

That evening, Ethan came home.

His face was expressionless, but his eyes gleamed brightly.

Then he shoved a music score into my arms.

"I promised to give you this before. Here."

He pushed me down onto the sofa and sat at the piano himself.

With his back to me, hunched over, he clumsily searched for each key.

If this were before, I would have, like Vivian, taken a photo and posted it with the caption, "My boyfriend is trying so hard to make me smile!"

But now, I just asked calmly, "When did it start?"

The piano stopped.

Ethan turned around, his brows furrowed tightly.

"I've explained. I've apologized. Aria Summers, what more do you want?"

I looked up at him directly.

"There's an extra pair of slippers at home, a new perfume, and a Pikachu plush. The bedside drawer also has several boxes of ultra-thin condoms, the strawberry-flavored kind we never bought. Your closet"

"Enough!"

The living room fell into dead silence.

Only our amplified breathing could be heard.

Ethan stood still for a few seconds before getting up.

The music score crumpled in his grip, his knuckles white with tension.

He looked at me with disappointed, cold eyes.

"Aria Summers, I'm starting to wonder if your father's mental illness was hereditary. Are you planning to jump off a building to force me next?"

"Just like how your mother cheated and your father used death to force her?"

A roaring sound filled my ears.

My heart felt like it had exploded.

I'd thought he might argue or deny.

I never expected him to tear open my old wounds this way.

"Some things are better left unsaidthat's adult maturity! No matter what I do outside, you're still the future Mrs. Blake. I ruined my hands for you, gave up my dream of being a doctor. What more do you have to be suspicious about?"

"Vivian shouldn't have showered in your bathroom, but she apologized. Don't blow other things out of proportion and target her!"

His voice grew louder with each word.

Combined with those cold eyes, every word cut like a sharp blade.

As if the one being unclear with a subordinate, maintaining an ambiguous relationship, wasn't him, but me.

I looked at him, finding the certainty in his eyes painfully glaring.

Not the guilt of being caught, but the confidence that I had no way out, that I wouldn't dare break things off with him.

My throat felt blocked.

I didn't say another word.

He only remembered ruining his hands, giving up his dream of being a doctor.

But he'd forgotten that I'd also ruined my hands, spending every day in the kitchen for him.

After he went to the bedroom, I numbly pressed piano key after piano key.

The music played on.

But it no longer had the sweetness of the past.

Neither of us spoke again that night.

Around midnight, Ethan quietly left.

When the door closed, I opened my eyes.

Soon after, Vivian posted again.

Five photos.

Each one showed brilliant fireworks exploding in the night sky, forming words.

Together, they read, "Ethan Loves Vivian."

I'd received the same confession three years ago.

Back then, Ethan's company had just gone public.

On the same day, he gave me a villa key and a huge flower-growing balcony.

It had roses, peonies, orchids, and succulents.

Lively like a warm little home.

That night, countless fireworks exploded in the night sky as he shouted with a smile, "I did what I promised Aria. I'll love Aria forever."

Same person.

But the object of his love had changed.

My phone vibrated.

It was a reply from my mom.

I turned off my phone, opened my suitcase, and began packing my clothes.

Everything else went into the trash.

When Ethan returned, what he saw was that suitcase.

He instinctively frowned.

"Where are you going?"

"On a trip."

"A trip?"

He loosened his tie, as if he'd heard a joke.

"You've taken care of me for seven whole years without leaving home for a single day. You think you can actually leave?"

"Aria, if you think you can force me to give in this way, it won't work."

"I don't think I'm wrong, and I don't think Vivian and I did anything wrong. I've supported you for seven years. You should be more understanding by now."

I didn't speak or argue.

I just stuffed the 20-inch suitcase back into the closet.

The suitcase was light.

Just like this home I'd stayed in for seven years, this marriage I'd anticipated for seven years.

I'd thought it was full of blooming flowers.

But it was riddled with holes.

Only then did Ethan nod with satisfaction, a laugh escaping from his nose.

"Good that you understand."

"In this world, besides me, no one else can give you a home, a balcony for growing flowers. You should cherish your blessings."

These words were certain yet cold.

Mixed with an unfamiliar strawberry-milk scent on his collar, my heart throbbed with delayed pain.

"Remember, you're no longer the Aria Summers who shone on stage. You're just my nanny now, a woman I've taken care of who's become useless. Stop with these pointless acts. Behave, and I'll treat you well..."

The man's slightly cold words drifted through the sound of running water.

I couldn't hear clearly.

But it was enough.

He didn't know.

The suitcase I'd put back contained my travel documents and clothes.

I didn't leave, not because I couldn't bear to, but because I'd booked a flight for the day after tomorrow.

The next day, Ethan unexpectedly called me.

His tone was soft.

"Company gala. The business partners all want to meet you."

A laugh came through the phone.

"Come. I'll use this opportunity to propose."

My heart raced for a few seconds, then calmed down.

Not much excitement.

But I still agreed.

Not because I had any expectations, but for these seven years of wholehearted devotion, I wanted an answer.

That evening, he had someone deliver a pair of sapphire earrings to me.

And a black off-shoulder dress.

My favorite color.

My exact size.

My heart warmed slightly.

When the grand doors of the venue slowly opened for me and I walked step by step to the center of the crowd, I froze.

On the stage paved with flowers, Vivian stood at the center in a black diamond-studded off-shoulder dress.

Around her neck was an even larger sapphire necklace.

And Ethan was holding a ring, down on one knee.

Brilliant lights cast halos around them.

The clicking of cameras mixed with congratulations loud enough to shatter the ceiling.

Like a tsunami drowning me.

I should have felt sad.

But I didn't.

Only a sense of relief, as if things had turned out exactly as expected.