He Pretended to Be Poor to Test My Love

Waiting in line at the pharmacy, my phone buzzed with a text from my husband.

Babe, the doctor said it's late-stage. There's no coming back from this.

Maybe we should just... stop the treatments.

I'm terrified of losing you and ending up with absolutely nothing left.

My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally typed back a simple agreement.

He had spent nine years living in a damp basement apartment with me, working five jobs a day just to pay my medical bills. I couldn't drag him down anymore.

Dragging my wrecked body to my shift at the coffee shop, I noticed a girl decked out in designer labels chatting loudly on speakerphone.

"I told you she was faking the terminal illness to drain your bank account. Who just agrees to stop treatment that easily?"

I was about to walk over and ask her to take it off speaker when a terribly familiar voice drifted from the phone.

It was my husband. Michael.

"I honestly thought her love was pure. Turns out even when I pretend to be dead broke, I still attract gold diggers."

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

The girl's sugary laugh grated against my ears.

"Well, are you ready to come home and marry me now?"

"No rush. She told me she's at death's door. I want to see exactly how she plans to fake her own funeral."

I stood perfectly still, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

The poverty was a lie. He never believed in me.

But it didn't matter. I would be gone soon anyway.

The girl rolled her eyes. "I don't know what you're so hung up on. You willingly lived in a moldy basement for nine years. There is no way she's prettier than me."

A soft chuckle came through the speaker.

"She's just a haggard mess now. But her acting totally fooled me back then. I really thought she loved me for me. You have no idea... she literally starved herself, eating one meal a day just to buy me a pair of hundred-dollar sneakers."

"I never wore them, obviously. They were cheap garbage. But I did enjoy the thrill of having someone from the bottom of the barrel sacrifice everything for me. I just never expected she'd use that exact same dedication to fake stomach cancer."

My arms hung limp at my sides, my fingernails biting into my palms.

Those sneakers he said he was saving for a special occasion were just too cheap for him. Every drop of blood I bled for him was nothing but a pathetic parlor trick in his eyes.

I forced my face to remain blank and walked over to her table.

"Miss, please turn off your speakerphone."

Tiffany bristled like a cornered cat. "This place is completely dead! Who am I bothering? Do you have any idea who I am, or are you just blind?"

I kept my eyes pinned to the floor and stayed quiet.

My silence only fueled her rage. "I swear to God, I will have you fired before your shift ends."

She killed the call and stormed out, but not before I caught Michael's gentle voice coaxing her.

"Easy, babe. Don't waste your breath on trash like her."

Trash.

To him, I was always just a bottom-feeder.

A sharp pain clawed at my stomach. I doubled over, coughing violently until a mouthful of hot blood splattered onto the floor.

Michael, when you met me, you played the part of a struggling kid perfectly.

We went to the same college. He was the golden boy everyone knew, and I was a ghost.

Walking back to my dorm after a late-night shift, a group of guys backed me into an alley. They whistled, boxing me in.

"Hey sweetheart, just getting off work? Why don't you come clock some overtime with us?"

I was shaking so hard I couldn't feel my legs.

That was the exact moment Michael crashed into my life. Wearing a threadbare jacket, he chased them off. I didn't care about looking tough. I grabbed his sleeve and sobbed until I couldn't breathe. He walked me all the way back to my building.

Maybe it was just the adrenaline, but I fell for him completely.

When he finally asked me out, his face was flushed red. He told me his family was drowning in debt and he couldn't give me the life I deserved.

I looked at him with stars in my eyes. "It doesn't matter. As long as I have you, I have enough."

He hugged me so tight I thought my ribs would crack. I thought he was moved by my words. Now I realize he was probably just laughing at how incredibly easy I was to manipulate.

Another coughing fit hit me, loud enough to bring my manager rushing out of the back room.

"Stella, honey, what's going on? You sound awful."

I waved her off, forcing a smile.

She rested a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Look, don't hate me for this. But you don't need to come in tomorrow."

I stared at her, the cough dying in my throat.

"Some big shot named Michael made a call. He said you disrespected the wrong person."

I gave a slow, numb nod.

So this was his gift to his real girlfriend. He was cutting off my only lifeline.

If that was the game, fine. He called me a gold digger, so I was going to dig. I needed to leave something behind for Nana before I died.

My manager slipped me two days of extra pay and told me to focus on getting better.

I smiled and took the cash. I didn't tell her that getting better was entirely off the table.

Michael didn't get home until after midnight. He was wearing his usual delivery uniform, but the fabric was pristine. I had been so blind.

He blinked in surprise when he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You're home early. Doesn't the shop close at ten?"

"I got fired."

He took off his helmet and ruffled my hair, the same familiar gesture he always used.

"What happened? You always bust your ass there."

I tilted my head, subtly dodging his hand.

"I offended the wrong person, I guess."

His hand froze mid-air. He didn't push it.

I cut straight to the point. "Michael, I need thirty grand."

He had just started pulling off his jacket. Hearing the number, his brow furrowed.

"What do you need that kind of money for?"

Thirty grand. That wouldn't even cover the cost of one of his designer watches.

"I want to live. I want to pay for the treatments."

He walked over and set a crushed piece of cake on the table. He bought it on the way home. It looked exactly like how I felt.

He reached for my hand, his voice dipping into that soft, persuasive tone.

"Stella, we talked about this. The doctors said it's pointless."

"It's a bottomless pit. Thirty grand won't even make a dent. Let me use that money to buy you nice things, take you places. Let's just enjoy the time we have left."

I pulled my hand back.

"But I want to survive, Michael."

Seeing I wasn't backing down, a flash of genuine anger crossed his face. He stood up.

"What is your problem, Stella? Haven't we burned enough cash on this phantom illness of yours? Are you trying to bleed me dry?"

"I bet you're not even sick. If you were really dying, you wouldn't be sitting here perfectly fine without so much as a cough! You just want my money!"

He kicked the table violently and stormed out of the apartment without looking back.

He didn't notice the table crashing into my leg, leaving an ugly, purple bruise on my shin.

I never coughed in front of him because I was terrified of worrying him. I was terrified he would drop his shifts to take care of me.

Once, when I was bedridden with a bad flu, he was out of state for work. He finished his shift and rode a Greyhound bus for sixteen hours straight just to put a cold towel on my forehead.

I never imagined that my desperate attempt to protect him would become the exact reason he doubted my cancer.

I set the table upright and rubbed my aching leg.

The cake had splattered across the floor. I knelt down and scooped up a bit of frosting that hadn't touched the dirt, letting it dissolve on my tongue.

It was so sweet.

So sweet it brought tears to my eyes.

It was a shame I'd never get to taste it again.

After cleaning up the mess, I wandered out of the basement and into the city.

I ended up standing outside a high-end bridal boutique, pressing my hands against the freezing glass.

Michael promised me a wedding once.

I had lost three pregnancies for him, and I still never got to wear a white dress.

Footsteps clicked against the pavement. I turned around and froze.

Michael and Tiffany were walking right toward me.

She spotted me first.

"Babe, look. It's that barista who mouthed off to me today."

Michael didn't even look at me. "Don't worry about it, Tiff. I already had her fired."

"It's weird though. My gold-digging wife actually asked me for..."

He finally looked up and saw me standing by the window. All the color drained from his face.

I kept my composure and took a step forward.

"I heard everything at the cafe today."

"You're actually rich. Aren't you?" I stared straight into his eyes.

He shifted his gaze, refusing to meet mine.

Tiffany gasped, covering her mouth in mock horror.

"Oh my god, you're the wife? Sorry I interrupted your little chat earlier."

"Since you obviously recognized his voice, why didn't you stick around and listen to the rest? You might have heard something really juicy."

Michael's panic faded, replaced by a cold, arrogant calm.

"Since the secret's out, there's no point pretending."

"I faked being poor because girls in my tax bracket don't know how to love. I wanted to see if I could find something real."

His upper lip curled in disgust.

"I thought you were different. Turns out you're worse than the rest of them. I'm literally living in a basement, and you're still trying to scam me."

I gave him a hollow smile, a single tear slipping down my cheek.

If I was really a gold digger, I wouldn't have starved with him for nine years.

"You're right. I'm a gold digger. So since you're loaded, wire me thirty grand."

I had to get that money. My body was rotting from the inside out, but Nana still had a chance. She had a tumor and was waiting for surgery. She was the only family I had left.

Tiffany nudged Michael with her elbow, a nasty smirk on her face.

"See? I told you. The broke ones are the greediest."

Michael looked at me like I was something he scraped off his shoe.

"You want the money? Fine."

He didn't finish the sentence. He just crooked a finger, motioning for me to follow them inside.

I couldn't hear what he was whispering to Tiffany. But I knew if I walked through those doors, I could save Nana.

They led me right into the center of the bridal shop. It was packed with customers.

Tiffany sat in a velvet chair and pointed her phone camera right at my face.

I instinctively threw my hands up to cover my eyes.

I was terrified of cameras. Back in high school, the rich kids bullied me because I wore hand-me-downs. They dragged me into the locker room, tore my clothes off, and dumped freezing water on me while recording the whole thing. The video went viral around the school. They branded me as trash.

I told Michael all of this in the dark of our basement.

He had pulled me into his chest and held me so tight. He told me I was safe now and promised he would never force me to take a photo if I didn't want to.

Now, he stood perfectly still, watching Tiffany shove a lens in my face without saying a word.

Tiffany giggled.

"Get on your knees. Tell the camera you're a homewrecker who tried to steal my fianc. Bow your head to the floor three times and apologize. You do that, and Michael will wire you the cash. Deal?"

My throat felt like it was packed with glass. I looked at Michael, begging him silently.

He looked away.

"Do what she says."

I stared at the glowing red recording light, feeling the eyes of a dozen strangers burning into my back.

I clamped my jaw shut and dropped to my knees.

The entire store went dead silent.

I choked out the humiliating script she demanded, but my body physically wouldn't let me bow my head.

Tiffany scoffed. "Let me help you out."

She grabbed the back of my hair and slammed my forehead into the marble floor.

Three times. Blood dripped into my eyes.

Just as I managed to stand up, my phone started ringing. It was the hospital.

My heart stopped.

"What? What happened to her?"

I bolted out of the store. They trailed right behind me, but I didn't care.

The doctor said Nana was refusing the surgery unless I was there.

With blood streaking down my face, I burst into her hospital room, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Nana weakly lifted a hand, her trembling fingers brushing my hair.

"My sweet girl... what happened to your forehead?"

Before I could invent a lie, Tiffany strolled into the room.

"Oh, she got that bowing to me, ma'am."

"Did you know your precious granddaughter is a scam artist? She just begged for thirty grand, admitted on camera that she tried to ruin my relationship, and kissed the floor at my feet!"

She shoved the phone directly into Nana's face, playing the video.

My vision went red. I shoved her backward with everything I had.

"Turn it off! Shut up! It's all a lie! Nana, please..."

Before I could finish, the heart monitor flatlined, letting out a shrill, continuous scream.

Doctors flooded the room.

They started chest compressions. I stood in the corner, praying to a God I didn't believe in.

Minutes dragged like hours. The green line on the screen never spiked again.

My legs gave out. I collapsed onto the linoleum, slowly turning my head to look at Tiffany.

"This is your fault. You killed her."

I lunged at her, fingers curled into claws.

Michael stepped in front of her, shoving me back with brutal force.

My hip slammed into the metal corner of the hospital bed. I hit the floor, vomiting a massive pool of dark blood.

Michael looked down at me in absolute disgust.

"Are you seriously still trying to pull this sick stunt?"

But a searing, tearing agony ripped through my abdomen. Hot blood soaked through my jeans, pooling on the white floor.

Something was leaving me. Something small.

I started laughing. I laughed until tears washed the blood off my cheeks.

I looked up at him, my voice lighter than a feather.

"Michael. We are entirely done."

Right before the darkness swallowed me, I heard a sound I had never heard before.

Michael screaming my name, his voice tearing at the seams.

"Stella!!"