My Husband Gave Her My Wedding Ring

The day the doctor diagnosed me with premature ovarian failure, a whole table of food.

I waited until midnight before my husband Ethan finally sent me a FaceTime call.

He was wearing matching pajamas, sitting in another woman's living room.

Beside him was Yvonne, the struggling student he sponsored. Her nightgown was fresh and revealing.

"Yvonne's afraid of the dark. I'm staying with her tonight. You eat by yourself."

Five years of secret marriage. I bore him a son and suffered countless ailments.

Yet he used gratitude as an excuse to rent Yvonne a luxury penthouse and play full-time caretaker.

I'd suggested going public with our marriage multiple times.

He always emphasized that Yvonne was emotionally fragile and couldn't handle any stimulation, constantly accommodating her feelings.

As his legal wife, I'd become an invisible business partner instead.

On the video screen, Yvonne pulled a diamond ring from Ethan's coat pocket.

This was the wedding ring I'd waited three years for.

Ethan only hesitated for a second before nodding with a smile. "If you like it, wear it as a toy."

I glanced at the diagnosis in the trash can and calmly ended the call.

Then I photographed the divorce agreement I'd drafted along with my son's name change application and posted it on Ins:

"Widowed, single mother, three listed companies under my name. Now seeking handsome husband. Interested parties, DM me."

[Beep. Fingerprint verification successful.]

"Ethan, why can Yvonne unlock our front door?"

I tossed my bag onto the shoe bench, staring at the green light on the lock.

Inside the bag was my premature ovarian failure diagnosis.

Ethan sat on the carpet looking at his phone, not raising his head.

"The showerhead in her studio apartment broke. She's borrowing the bathroom today. I added her fingerprint for convenience so she doesn't have to knock every time."

His tone was casual, seeing nothing wrong with it, not even needing my consent.

When we first moved in, Ethan had set my fingerprint as the sole administrator.

He said I had the highest authority and could kick him out at any time.

Now he'd shared that authority with someone else.

The old Ethan was territorial.

He refused to add the cleaning lady's fingerprint, preferring to clean himself on weekends.

He said home was a restricted zone that outsiders couldn't enter.

Now the door was wide open for Yvonne.

I looked at the pink slippers by the entrance. They were on Yvonne's feet.

Five years ago that winter, Ethan had run across half the city to buy them.

He knelt on one knee to help me put them on, saying my feet got cold in winter and I could only wear this type.

Now those slippers were on someone else's feet.

I looked at the frosted bathroom door. "That's a personal towel. I find it dirty."

Ethan looked up and frowned.

"Don't assume the worst about people. She just graduated and doesn't know about these things."

"Her parents were injured saving me. Taking care of her is my duty."

"You should be more generous and help me take care of her!"

The bathroom door opened. Yvonne emerged wearing my black camisole under Ethan's bathrobe.

I pressed my aching abdomen. "Then why is she wearing my nightgown?"

Ethan glared at me.

"Enough! Don't be excessive!"

He turned, his eyes gentle as he walked toward Yvonne.

The old Ethan had a cleanliness obsession.

When a female intern brushed against his coat in the elevator, he took it off on the spot and threw it in the trash.

He said his clothes should only carry his wife's scent.

Now he draped his bathrobe over Yvonne and allowed her to wear my underwear.

Ethan stood up and took the towel from Yvonne's hands.

"Her clothes got wet. I just grabbed something. Be more generous and don't fixate on small things."

He helped Yvonne dry her hair with gentle movements.

Before, after every hair wash, he'd use the hairdryer to dry mine, afraid I'd catch cold.

"I'll dry your hair for the rest of my life!"

Now that treatment went to someone else.

"Ethan, is this the business partner you mentioned?"

Yvonne tilted her head and smiled at me.

Five years of secret marriage. I bore him a son and suffered chronic illness, yet in his mouth I was just a business partner.

Ethan paused.

"Yeah. She's usually busy. Ask her if you don't understand anything."

He pulled me aside, his tone carrying a warning.

"Yvonne thinks you're my startup partner. She has low self-esteem. If she knew I was married, she'd feel guilty and refuse my support."

"Be more understanding and help me build a relationship with her so she feels secure."

I laughed. "Build a relationship? Do you need me to make the bed for you two?"

Yvonne retreated half a step behind Ethan.

"Does Lily hate me? Ethan, I'll leave. Don't let me affect your relationship."

She reached to untie the bathrobe sash.

Ethan grabbed her wrist and looked at me.

"You sleep in the guest room tonight. Yvonne will be more comfortable in the master bedroom."

"You're kicking me out of the master bedroom?" I looked at him.

Ethan's face showed impatience as he released Yvonne's hand.

"Do you have to make such a scene? She's only staying one night."

When we first bought this place, he visited over a dozen design firms just for the master bedroom decoration.

He said the master bedroom was my territory. He even had my initials engraved on the door plate.

Once when he was on a business trip, his mother wanted to sleep in the master bedroom. He got angry on the phone and paid overnight to send her to a hotel.

He promised then that only the lady of the house could enter the master bedroom.

Now for Yvonne's so-called comfort, he was evicting the lady of the house.

He stepped forward to accuse me:

"Fine, play the boss at the company, but you have to lord over a young girl at home too?"

I walked past him to the guest room door. The bed had the silk sheets I bought last month.

I'd planned to use them on our fifth anniversary, but now Yvonne's suitcase sat on top.

I used to have skin allergies. When we first moved in together, I broke out in a rash across my back.

Ethan knocked on the boutique door in the middle of the night and paid premium prices for every silk bedding set in the store.

Before, he always prepared half a month in advance for anniversaries.

Our first anniversary after getting our marriage license, he cut his finger preparing dinner but insisted on cooking my steak even with bandaged fingers.

He swore every future anniversary would be ceremonial, never perfunctory.

Back then he cared about my health and our special days.

Now he let someone else trample on my anniversary gift.

"Move your things." I looked at Yvonne.

Yvonne's eyes reddened and tears began to fall.

"I'm sorry. Ethan said no one was using it, so I put my things here."

Ethan stepped forward to block her.

"Why are you taking it out on her?"

"They're just sheets. I'll buy you ten sets tomorrow."

He pulled out a black card and slapped it on the table.

"Take the money and get a hotel room."

That card was my supplementary card. He was using my money to dismiss me.

I didn't take the card. Nausea rose in my stomach.

The hormonal imbalance from premature ovarian failure intensified the cramping in my lower abdomen.

I felt dizzy, gripping the doorframe to catch my breath, cold sweat beading on my forehead.

"Stop faking."

Ethan looked at me.

"You climb stairs with clients without getting winded. Now you're playing the victim for who?"

I looked away.

During our startup phase, I drank with clients until I had stomach bleeding.

He burst into the private room and beat up the client, carried me running to the hospital, crying as he ran.

That night he kept vigil by the hospital bed and swore that if I even frowned from period cramps in the future, he'd take me to the ER and suffer in my place.

Now I could barely stand from pain, yet he said I was acting.

He grabbed Yvonne's hand.

"Yvonne, let's go. You're not welcome here. I'll take you to a hotel."

The door closed. I slid down the doorframe to the floor and dialed emergency services.

On the ambulance, the nurse took my phone.

"We need to contact your emergency contact. What's your family member's number?"

I gave Ethan's number. The nurse dialed and put it on speaker.

The phone rang for a long time before a female voice came through.

"Hello, who is this?"

It was Yvonne who answered.

The nurse looked at me.

"Is Ethan there? His wife passed out and is heading to the hospital now."

There was no immediate response.

Yvonne's voice came through the speaker, with the sound of running water and a man's heavy breathing in the background.

"Ethan told me he was single when he started sponsoring me. Where did a wife come from? You've got the wrong number."

The call was disconnected.

Before, Ethan said his phone was on standby for me 24/7. I was the starred contact in his phone, available at my beck and call.

The nurse looked at me.

"Do you need to call again?"

"No need. No one will answer." I closed my eyes.

The next day, I dragged my exhausted body back to the real estate office.

A client was about to put down a deposit on that million-dollar penthouse duplex. I had to handle it personally.

As I reached the reception area, I saw Ethan sitting on the sofa with Yvonne.

Yvonne flipped through the duplex's brochure and looked up.

"Ethan, these floor-to-ceiling windows are so beautiful. I could practice yoga here."

Ethan affectionately ruffled her hair.

"If you like it, we'll rent it. This can be your art studio."

This property was where he'd knelt on the cement floor to propose to me years ago.

He'd drawn up a design plan, saying he'd lay down wool carpet by the windows for me to read.

This property held all our initial fantasies about home. Later we had to mortgage it when the company's capital chain broke.

He'd promised with red eyes that one day he'd buy it back himself and give it to me.

But now, he wanted to turn our "proposal sanctuary" into Yvonne's yoga room.

I stepped forward and raised my chin toward the sales manager. "Take this property off the market. Not for sale or rent."

Ethan's expression darkened. He stood up accusingly. "What do you mean? You have to compete with Yvonne?"

I cut him off:

"Ethan, I'm the full-price owner of this property. If I want to leave it empty to feed rats rather than let questionable people dirty my floors, that's my choice. Understand?"

Ethan froze.

Yvonne lowered her head, her voice taking on a tearful tone:

"Lily is rich, naturally she looks down on me. Ethan, let's go."

Ethan gripped her hand and turned to me:

"So what if you have money? You don't have an ounce of empathy. Go ahead and grow old with your broken property."

Watching their retreating backs, I recalled how during the company's startup phase, he'd rather do hard labor on construction sites than accept startup capital from my parents.

He gave me every penny of his first earnings, even if it was just a few thousand, while he ate only cheap bread and pickled vegetables..

He said his money was my money. He would never spend a woman's penny.

And now, he shamelessly swiped my supplementary card to please another woman, even turning around to mock me for being rich and heartless.

He pulled Yvonne away without looking back.

I closed my eyes, sat back in the car, and picked up the property deed from the passenger seat.

I tore this fifth anniversary gift along with the diagnosis from my bag into pieces and threw them away.

I opened SnapChat and posted the divorce agreement I'd already drafted along with photos of my son's name change documents to my feed:

"Widowed, single mother, three listed companies under my name. Now seeking handsome husband. Interested parties, DM me."

After posting, I pressed the accelerator and drove toward the unfinished villas in the western suburbs to test nighttime noise levels.

At eleven p.m., I walked into the villa complex with a flashlight.

Years ago when I worked overtime until dawn during a blackout, I was too scared to move from under my desk.

Ethan braved a rainstorm and climbed twenty flights of stairs to find me.

His clothes were soaked through, but he wrapped me in his warm coat, crying as he swore never to leave me alone in darkness again.

He said he couldn't rest easy with me working alone at night.

Now I could only light my own way with a flashlight.

I'd just reached the first floor when messy footsteps sounded behind me. Several thugs blocked my exit.

"Middle of the night, what's a pretty lady doing here alone?"

The gang leader whistled, looking me up and down.

I turned and ran upstairs, entered a second-floor bedroom and locked the door. Pounding came from outside.

"Open up! Dont reject a kind offer only to face the consequences!"

I hid in the closet and instinctively opened SnapChat, calling Ethan on FaceTime.

The video rang and rang. Outside, the wooden door made cracking sounds.

The screen finally lit up. In the frame, Ethan sat in the luxury apartment he'd rented for Yvonne.

Before, when I encountered a drunk stalker on a business trip, I only sent a punctuation mark and he immediately called the police and chartered a car overnight to find me across provinces.

He used to hold me and say that whenever I needed him, he'd be there at my call.

Now across the screen, he watched my trembling lips without a trace of concern in his eyes.

"What game are you playing now?" He stared at the camera impatiently.

"Save me. I'm not joking. Someone's breaking down the door." I lowered my voice. "I can't get through to 911. Please call the police!"

He scoffed, his eyes full of irritation. "Lily, what are you doing posting crazy stuff on Ins? Recruiting a husband? Three listed companies? Delete it now!"

"I'm really trapped in an unfinished building. Call the police..."

"Keep making things up. You're just using this ploy to force me to come back, aren't you?" Ethan picked up the milk beside him and took a sip.

"Yvonne saw your post and cried. She's afraid of being alone. I have to stay with her tonight. Figure it out yourself."

The camera shook. Yvonne's face appeared on the screen.

She held an exquisitely packaged gift box in her hands.

"Ethan, why do you have lingerie in your bag?"

The box opened, revealing the sexy lingerie I'd blushed while selecting for a long time, planned as a surprise for our fifth anniversary night.

Back then, seeing my shyness, he'd rescued me from embarrassment and generously put it in his bag, holding me and saying thank you repeatedly.

Ethan hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded with a smile. "If you like it, go ahead and wear it."

Before, I'd casually given him a woven bracelet worth a few dozen dollars. He never took it off even in the shower, and when it broke he kept it in the safe.

Now he gave away my carefully prepared intimate fifth anniversary gift like it was just any piece of clothing.

The wooden door was completely knocked down. Several thugs walked in.

I watched Yvonne on screen holding the lingerie with a triumphant smile and proactively pressed the hang-up button.

The gang thug walked to the closet and yanked open the door. "Run! Why aren't you running now?"

I reached into my bag and gripped the pepper spray.

Police sirens and screeching brakes sounded outside.

A low male voice came from downstairs. "Anyone who touches a hair on her head leaves here horizontal today."

Footsteps accompanied bodyguards rushing into the room. The gang thug was kicked to the ground.

Adrian bent down slightly, adjusting the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose.

He looked at me trembling.

"Miss Monroe, does your Ins post still stand? I'm here to pick you up."