I Erased Our Child And You

An abortion is incredibly hard on your body, the doctor said, her voice soft but heavy with professional concern as we stood outside the surgical suite. If theres any way you can keep the pregnancy, you should consider it. Are you sure you dont want to talk this over with your husband first?

I pulled out my phone and stared at the screen, my fingers trembling slightly. I pulled up my thread with Greg and typed out a single sentence.

Im at the hospital. Im planning to terminate the pregnancy.

Within seconds, the reply came back:

K.

A single, cold letter.

I turned the screen toward the doctor. She looked at the brief exchange, sighed quietly, and didn't push any further. She simply nodded and went back inside to prepare for the procedure.

I stared down at that single-letter reply. A bitter, hollow laugh bubbled up in my chest. It was pathetic, really.

For the longest time, I had convinced myself that Greg was just a man of few words. Quiet. Reserved.

But five years into our marriage, the truth had finally settled in my bones like a cold draft. He wasn't naturally detached. He was just empty. He had spent every ounce of his warmth, his passion, and his energy on Sasha, his childhood best friend. By the time he came home to me, there was nothing left but dry embers.

I had tried to voice my hurt before. I had fought for his attention, cried, and demanded better. But Greg would only look at me with that calm, faintly exhausted expression.

"Sasha and I grew up together, Mona. We're partners at work. Anything between us is strictly professional. Besides, this is what marriage is. Its quiet. Its stable. Cant we just live a normal, peaceful life?"

I hadn't known how to argue against that. So, like a fool, I learned to live with the silence.

Until three months ago.

I was crossing the street when a distracted driver clipped me. The impact threw me onto the asphalt. As I lay there, the world spinning in and out of focus, my vision blurring, I managed to slip my phone out of my pocket with trembling fingers. I sent Greg a desperate text.

His response was instantaneous: K.

I waited. I waited as kind strangers gathered around me, as someone called 911, as the paramedics loaded me into the back of an ambulance. I waited through the blinding pain in the ER, through the stitches, and through the long, quiet hours in the recovery room.

Greg never showed up.

Panic had finally overridden my pride. Nursing the throbbing ache in my side, I dialed Sasha's number, terrified that Greg had been in an accident on his way to see me.

Sasha answered. When I finished explaining what had happened, she let out a soft, airy giggle.

"Oh, Mona. Gregs actually right here with me. Ive been managing his personal accounts and texts for a while now. Did he seriously never tell you?"

The world seemed to grind to a halt.

"Hes just so incredibly busy with work," Sasha continued, her tone dripping with casual intimacy. "He gets overwhelmed with notifications, so he logged his personal accounts onto my phone ages ago. I handle the clutter, filter through the noise, and only pass on the urgent stuff. I saw your messages, of course. But since it didn't look like an absolute emergency, I just shot back a quick reply to clear the notification."

My phone slipped slightly in my sweaty palm. My entire body began to shake.

Every single text. Every late-night confession. Every small, vulnerable update I had sent my husband over the last few years... he had never even seen them. The person reading them, the person sending back those dismissive, one-word replies, had been Sasha.

Greg had no idea what I had been saying to him.

"Mona? You're not mad, are you?" Sasha's voice was sweet, tinged with a delicate, childish pout. "I mean, if you really need him, I can totally tell him to head home to you."

I couldn't breathe. I hung up without saying a word.

I had spent years making excuses for his absence, chalking it up to a high-pressure career and an emotionally reserved personality. But the truth was far simpler, and far more brutal: he didn't care enough to even look. He had handed my life, and my feelings, over to another woman to manage.

I lay on the narrow hospital bed, staring blankly at the sterile ceiling tiles.

The surgery had gone horribly wrong. Halfway through, I suffered a severe hemorrhage. My blood pressure plummeted, and the heart monitor began to emit a frantic, high-pitched wail. Through the haze of anesthesia, I heard nurses shouting, rushing out of the room to try and contact my emergency contact.

They called Greg. Again and again. But the calls went straight to voicemail.

Ultimately, the lead surgeon had to sign an emergency waiver to proceed with a life-saving intervention. They spent over two hours dragging me back from the edge of death.

When my eyes finally fluttered open, the recovery room was silent and empty. No husband. No family. Not even a single missed call or text from him.

But Greg had posted an update on social media just ten minutes prior.

It was a photo of a cozy beach camping setup. A bonfire crackled in the center, casting a warm, golden glow over the two of them. Sasha was leaning against his shoulder, her eyes crinkled with genuine, radiant happiness. On the small blanket in front of them sat a tiny, rustic cake with the number 10,000 piped clumsily in white frosting.

The caption was simple: Life is only thirty thousand days. You are my ten thousand.

My thumb hovered over the screen, frozen.

I stared at their smiling faces, and for the first time, the grief in my chest was replaced by a profound, deadening exhaustion.

What on earth was I fighting for?

Our marriage had become a joke. A pathetic, one-sided performance where I was the only actor on stage, and the audience was laughing at my desperation.

I closed the social media app and opened our text threadknowing full well who would likely read it first.

Im exhausted, Greg. I want a divorce. If you dont reply by midnight, Im taking your silence as your consent to end this. I wont cause a scene, but the choice is yours.

I kept my eyes on the clock.

11:57 PM.

11:58 PM.

At exactly 11:59 PM, the status bar at the top of the chat finally flickered: Greg is typing...

I let out a soft, humorless laugh. My fingers moved swiftly, blocking his number before the message could even come through.

Did you really think I was giving you a second chance, Greg? Were done.

Once his contact was blocked, I dialed a different number. One I had kept memorized but had never dared to call.

The line rang only once before a deep voice answered. He didn't sound surprised to hear from me.

"You won," I said, getting straight to the point. "I know when I've lost. I agree to your terms."

There was a brief, heavy silence on the other end, followed by a low, quiet chuckle.

"A man who fails you once will fail you forever, Mona," Jude said, his voice smooth and steady. "If there's no love left, you discard him. You can treat me the exact same way if I ever disappoint you."

He paused, then added, "My current project wraps up in three days. Ill come collect you then."

After my vitals stabilized, the doctors discharged me.

When I returned to our penthouse, the living room lights were surprisingly on.

I pushed the door open and found Greg sitting on the leather sofa, flipping through some work documents. His tailored suit jacket was draped carelessly over the armrest. He looked like he had just gotten in.

At the sound of the door, he looked up, setting the papers aside.

"Sasha said you went to the clinic," he said, his voice flat. "What was that about?"

"I had an abortion."

Halfway through my sentence, Gregs phone began to ring. Sashas name flashed across the screen, accompanied by a bright, cheerful ringtone that completely drowned out my voice.

Greg glanced at the caller ID, and a soft smile instantly broke across his facea genuine, warm expression I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

He answered, spoke softly for a minute, and hung up. Turning his attention back to me, he asked casually, "Sorry, what were you saying?"

I looked at his calm, unaffected face, and a profound emptiness washed over me.

Sasha had obviously passed on some version of the truth to him, but how she framed it was her choice, and his lack of curiosity was his.

I let out a soft sigh. "Nothing."

I turned to walk toward the guest bedroom, but Greg stood up and followed me. He wrapped his arms loosely around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

I froze under his touch. "What do you mean?"

"Are you throwing a fit because I didn't go to the clinic with you?"

His tone was breezy, patronizing, like he was pacifying a petulant child.

"Today was a big deal, Mona. It marked exactly ten thousand days since Sasha and I met. She's sentimental about those kinds of milestones. It had to be celebrated today, not tomorrow. I couldn't just walk away from that."

It took me a second to realize he was referring to the text I had sent before blocking him.

He genuinely believed I had just gone for a routine checkup, and that my threat of divorce was nothing more than a childish tantrum because he was spending the day with Sasha.

"I'm not throwing a tantrum, Greg. I've already drafted the separation agreement"

"I've got a lot on my plate at work right now, Mona. Don't start acting like a dramatic teenager," Greg interrupted, his voice instantly turning cold.

He walked back to the sofa, gathered his papers, and spoke without looking at me. "There's still stuff I need to handle at the office tonight. I went out of my way to come home and check on you. You're a grown woman. I don't mind indulging you once in a while, but don't push it."

He snapped his car keys off the entryway table. The heavy front door clicked open and shut, and he was gone.

I stood in the quiet hallway and laughed softly to myself.

To him, every ounce of my pain, my loneliness, and my desperation was reduced to "throwing a fit."

He hadn't taken the divorce threat seriously. He never took anything I said seriously. My needs were just background noise to his life.

I went to the bedroom and opened my laptop. My attorney was incredibly efficient; after I laid out my terms, she didn't take long to draft a fair, standard divorce agreement.

I reviewed the document carefully, signed my portion, and emailed the digital file directly to Gregs personal account.

Not even a minute after sending it, a text popped up on my phone from Greg's number. It was Sasha.

Mona, if you're trying to get Greg's attention, this isn't the way to do it. He absolutely despises these kinds of loyalty tests!

A while back, I lost a bet and had a guy friend pretend to be my boyfriend just to see how Greg would react. Greg was furious. Once he found out it was just a joke, I had to apologize for days before he'd even speak to me. Trust me, you don't want to play this card.

I didn't bother replying.

A few minutes later, an email notification chimed. I opened the attachment. Greg's signature was scrawled elegantly across the bottom of the divorce papers.

Then came a voice note from Sasha, her tone light and deceptively innocent.

"Hey Mona, Greg trusts me with his paperwork, so he signed it without really looking. Do you want me to explain to him what he just signed, or should we keep it between us?"

I stared at his signature for a long time.

I had guessed correctly. Sasha could pretend to play the peacemaker all she wanted, but her actions were thoroughly efficient at clearing her path.

A bitter smile touched my lips as I forwarded the fully executed document back to my lawyer.

Just then, a sharp, cramping pain bloomed in my lower abdomen, radiating through my body. The physical toll of the hemorrhage and the abortion was catching up to me. Exhausted, I curled into a tight ball on the bed, closed my eyes, and drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

In the middle of the night, a sharp ringing woke me.

The moment I answered, a panicked voice cried out, "Mona! You need to get down here right now! Something bad happened!"

My instincts kicked in before my brain could process the pain in my stomach. I threw an oversized coat over my pajamas and drove to the shared location.

It was a high-end private lounge downtown. I walked down the dimly lit hallway to find the VIP suite door slightly ajar. Inside, glasses clinked, and laughter filled the air.

As I pushed the door open, a loud cheer erupted from the group. "Your turn, Sasha! Tell us a secret no one in this room knows!"

Sashas cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes glazed with alcohol. She tilted her head, looked directly at Greg, and let out a coy laugh.

"Oh, I have a good one. Greg and I have slept together."

The room froze.

Every eye in the suite turned to look at the doorwayat me, standing there in my slippers, a faded coat thrown over my pajamas, my face completely devoid of color.

In that split second, the pieces fell into place. The late-night phone call hadn't been an emergency. It had been Sasha's carefully staged show, timed perfectly so I would walk in on that exact sentence.

Sashas eyes lit up when she saw me. She stood up, swaying slightly, and stumbled over to grab my hands.

"Mona! You're here! You seriously need to reign Greg in. Hes absolutely relentless. Every time were in bed, he completely wears me out and still wants more. How do you handle him at home? Come on, share your secrets!"

A suffocating silence descended on the room.

The looks on their colleagues' faces shifted from awkward shock to pity, all of them staring at me to see how Greg's discarded wife would react.

A loud buzzing filled my ears, drowning out the ambient noise of the lounge. Before I could consciously register my anger, my hand flew out and struck Sasha across the face.

The force of the slap sent her stumbling back, crashing onto the carpet.

I took a step forward, grabbed a handful of her blonde hair, forced her face up, and delivered another sharp blow to her cheek.

"Mona!"

Greg surged to his feet. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbing my wrists and dragging me back with enough force to throw me off balance.

He pinned my arms to my sides, his grip like iron. His eyes burned with an icy, suppressed fury. "Sasha is drunk and talking nonsense! Do you really have to be this dramatic and get violent?!"

I struggled against his grip, but he didn't budge.

"Is she talking nonsense, Greg, or is she finally telling the truth because she's drunk? How many times have the two of you slept behind my back? Its disgusting!"

"If you hate me so much, why didn't you just sign the papers and let me go?" My voice cracked, tears finally spilling over my burning cheeks. "Why do you both get to humiliate me like this?!"

A couple of people rushed over to help Sasha up. She clutched her cheek, sobbing hysterically. "My face... it hurts..."

That was when we noticed a thin, jagged cut on her right cheekbone, likely from the sharp edge of the glass table she had tumbled against. A mixture of blood and tears began to trickle down her jawline.

Seeing the blood, Greg's self-control shattered.

"Mona. Apologize. Now."

A white-hot rage flared in my chest. I had spent years avoiding conflict, swallowing my pride, and keeping the peace, but I was done being the victim.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I ripped my wrists from his grip, grabbed a half-empty bottle of Cabernet from the table, and threw the dark red liquid directly into Sasha's face.

The alcohol stung her raw cut. She screamed, recoiling in agony.

Greg went rigid. "You are completely out of your mind! Someone cool her down!"

Before I could even blink, a bucket of ice watermeant for chilling champagnewas dumped over my head.

The shock of the freezing water hit me like a physical blow. My thin pajamas clung to my skin, and the biting cold seized my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

Before I could gasp for air, two of the venue's security guards stepped forward and pinned my shoulders. A second bucket of ice water was poured directly over me.

My body, already fragile and recovering from a major hemorrhage, shut down under the freezing assault. A sharp, blinding pain tore through my abdomen, and my vision swam with dark spots.

Greg stood before me, looking down at my shivering form with complete detachment. "Are you clear-headed now? You can leave as soon as you apologize."

I stared up at him, unable to comprehend the cruelty of the man I had loved.

Sasha was the one who had dragged my dignity through the mud in front of his colleagues. Yet my own husband stood there, defending her, demanding that I bow my head.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words were drowned out by a third cascade of ice water.

I couldn't even scream this time. The agony in my uterus was so intense that my legs gave out. I collapsed onto my knees, my head hanging low. Through the puddle of melting ice on the floor, I saw a faint pink swirl beginning to spread.

Blood. It was trickling down my inner thigh, mixing with the frigid water.

As a guard lifted a fourth bucket, my survival instinct finally overrode my pride. I couldn't take any more.

"I'm sorry..." I whispered, my teeth chattering violently. "I'm sorry. I was wrong."

The guard paused and set the bucket down. The hands holding my shoulders released me.

Greg didn't even look at me. He turned around, peeled off his jacket, wrapped it securely around Sasha's shivering shoulders, and guided her out of the room.

Only after his footsteps faded down the hall did anyone in the room dare to move.

A few panicked hands reached down to pull me up from the wet floor. Someone looked down at the dark red stain spreading across the carpet and gasped. "Oh my god, there's so much blood! Call an ambulance!"

My vision blurred into a gray haze. The voices around me became muffled, echoing as if underwater, before the darkness finally swallowed me whole.

When I woke up, I was back in a sterile hospital room, the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor echoing in the quiet space.

My OB-GYN walked in, holding a clipboard. Her expression was grim as she scanned my chart.

"You were supposed to be resting, Mona," she said, her voice heavy. "How could you let your body be subjected to freezing temperatures in your condition? The internal shock and trauma to your reproductive system are severe. I'm so sorry, but the damage is likely permanent. Its highly improbable youll be able to carry a child in the future."

I stared at the wall. A single tear rolled slowly down my temple, dampening my hair.

The door clicked open, and Greg walked in, looking slightly rumpled but composed.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking between us.

The doctor turned to him, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. "Are you her husband? How could you let this happen? She just had a miscarriage and a severe hem"

"Doctor," I interrupted, my voice flat and hollow. "I understand the situation. Thank you for your help."

The doctor looked at me, then at Greg, sensing the suffocating tension in the room. She sighed, gave a few standard recovery instructions, and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

It wasn't that I wanted to protect Greg.

It was just that I had already told him. I had texted him when I was pregnant. I had texted him when I decided to terminate it. He had never read those words because he had handed his life over to Sasha. And even if I spelled it out for him now, he would just see it as another drama, another "fit."

I didn't have the energy to beg for his basic humanity anymore.

I kept my face turned away from him. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be comforting Sasha?"

Greg frowned, clearly irritated by my tone, but he chose not to argue. "My mothers chronic condition flared up again. Once youre discharged, I need you to go over and look after her. Honestly, Mona, as my wife, youve spent less time visiting her lately than Sasha has. Take this opportunity to make up for it."

I stared at him, momentarily speechless.

His mother had been in and out of hospitals for years, and I was always the one who spent sleepless nights by her bedside, managing her medications and dealing with her difficult temperament.

Yet in Gregs eyes, Sasha was the attentive one.

I remembered how his mothers face would fall every time I walked into her hospital room, her first words always being, "Where's Sasha?"

I remembered how Sasha would send a single flower arrangement, and his mother would sigh, praising her thoughtfulness. Meanwhile, I had once stayed awake for three consecutive nights in the ICU, only for his mother to wake up, see Sasha standing there for five minutes, and thank her for taking such good care of her.

To his family, Sasha was the beloved daughter-in-law they actually wanted. To them, I was barely status-equivalent to a hired nurse.

But it didn't matter anymore.

The divorce papers were already signed. The duties, the expectations, the thankless title of being Greg's wifeSasha could have it all.

Once I felt physically strong enough to stand without my knees buckling, I drove over to the Mercer estate.

Jude was scheduled to pick me up tonight. I wanted to use this final visit to let Greg's mother know about the divorce. Despite everything, I had spent five years as her daughter-in-law, and my upbringing wouldn't allow me to just slip away without a proper goodbye.

When I arrived, Mrs. Mercer was sitting on a wicker lounger on the patio, holding her phone up for a video call.

"Mrs. Mercer," I called out softly as I walked over.

She gave me a cool, dismissive nod, barely glancing up before returning her attention to her screen. Her face instantly softened into a warm, doting smile.

"Auntie! Greg told me you weren't feeling well. I'm almost there!" Sashas voice chimed from the speaker, sweet and sugary.

Mrs. Mercer beamed. "Oh, wonderful sweetie! I know how much you love those almond shortbread cookies. I'll have the housekeeper put a batch in the oven right now so they're warm when you get here."

Sasha squealed with delight, and the two of them chatted with an easy warmth that made them look like actual mother and daughter.

The moment she hung up, Mrs. Mercers smile vanished. "Black tea, as usual?"

Before I could answer, she gestured to the maid standing nearby.

Within minutes, a cup of hot black tea was placed in front of me.

I hated black tea.

I had mentioned it gently during every single visit over the past five years, but Mrs. Mercer always served it to me anyway.

I had once complained to Greg about it, trying to laugh it off, but he had dismissed me immediately. "My mothers memory is failing, Mona. Besides, you're there to take care of her, not to be pampered."

Her memory was failing, yet she remembered Sasha's favorite cookies and ordered them prepared in advance.

I visited three to four times a week, taking care of her through major health crises, and she couldn't remember that I didn't drink black tea.

"Mona, lets be honest with each other," Mrs. Mercer said, adjusting her shawl.

I looked up at her.

"Sasha and Greg grew up right in front of my eyes. Theyve always been close, and they understand each other perfectly. Youve been a dutiful caregiver these past few years, and youre a decent woman, but youre just so... rigid."

She took a sip of her own drink. "Ive never really understood what Greg saw in you, but a marriage takes effort. Sasha has such a bright, lively personality. Greg always smiles more when shes around. You really ought to learn from her. Maybe ask her for some advice on how to keep your husband happy."

My fingertips grew cold against the warm porcelain cup.

My mother-in-law was telling mewith absolute sincerityto ask another woman how to please my own husband.

It was beyond absurd. It was insulting.

I left the teacup untouched. "You don't need to worry about that anymore, Mrs. Mercer. Greg and I are getting a divorce."

"Auntie!"

A high-pitched, sweet voice echoed from the foyer, completely cutting off my words.

Sasha came jogging out onto the patio, carrying a designer shopping bag, and immediately leaned down to hug Mrs. Mercer. "I just got here! Look what I found for you!"

Mrs. Mercers face lit up instantly. "Oh, you sweet girl, you didn't have to buy me anything!"

After a few minutes of pampering, Sasha suddenly tapped her forehead. "Oh, I totally forgot! The firm were partnering with is hosting a major networking gala tonight, and Greg needs a plus-one. I have to run and get ready. Ill make it up to you next time, Auntie!"

Mrs. Mercer waved her off warmly. "Go, go. Business always comes first."

Sasha turned around, finally pretending to notice me sitting there. "Mona! I didn't see you."

She stepped forward and slipped her arm through mine, her expression melting into a look of deep regret.

"Mona, I feel absolutely terrible about what happened the other night. I was so drunk, and I said some really stupid things. Please don't hold it against me. Let me make it up to you. Come to the gala with us, and I'll clear the air with everyone. Please?"

Before I could even voice a refusal, she practically dragged me toward her waiting car.

When we arrived at the corporate headquarters downtown, Greg was standing near the entrance of the lobby.

His eyes scanned me, and his brow instantly furrowed.

"Aren't you supposed to be looking after my mother today?" he asked, his tone demanding.

Sasha playfully tapped his shoulder. "You said you needed a date, didn't you? Since Mona was already there, I brought her along!"

Greg didn't say a word. He gave me a cold, critical sweep from head to toe, then turned on his heel and walked inside. He didn't slow his pace, nor did he look back to see if I was keeping up.

Sasha offered a sympathetic smile. "He's just stressed. Don't take it personally, Mona."

She practically pulled me through the glass doors. It wasn't until we entered the venue that I fully understood the meaning behind Gregs dismissive look.

The gala was held in the penthouse ballroom. The citys business elite moved through the crowd, dressed in tailored tuxedos and elegant evening gowns, their makeup flawless under the crystal chandeliers.

I, on the other hand, was wearing a faded cotton t-shirt and jeansthe clothes I had thrown on hastily after leaving the hospital. My hair was tied up in a messy bun, and my face was entirely bare.

Sasha had disappeared for a moment, only to return in a stunning, form-fitting cocktail dress and designer heels. She glided past me, offering a remorseful look.

"Oh, Mona, I am so incredibly scatterbrained. I completely forgot to have a dress sent over for you. You don't mind, do you?"

I looked her dead in the eye, refusing to play along. "You brought me here on purpose just to humiliate me, didn't you?"

Sasha froze. She clearly hadn't expected me to call her out so bluntly. Her practiced smile faltered, and her eyes instantly welled with tears.

"Mona, that's enough."

Greg stepped between us, having overheard my remark. He instinctively shielded Sasha behind his broad shoulders.

"You didn't give us any warning that you were coming. How was Sasha supposed to prepare a dress for you? Stop assuming the worst of her, and there's absolutely no need to make a scene here."

My chest tightened. I didn't want to come. Sasha had literally forced me into her car.

Greg let out an irritated sigh. "You're still holding a grudge over what she said when she was drunk. If you came here tonight just to show off and stake your claim in front of my associates, fine. Lets get it over with."

Before I could protest, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the center of the ballroom.

Out of polite professionalism, a few associates walked over to greet us despite my wildly inappropriate attire. Since my body was still healing and I couldn't touch alcohol, I politely raised a glass of water instead. After a few minutes of superficial small talk, I slipped away and hid in a quiet corner of the terrace.

I was scanning the room, looking for a way to leave quietly, when a sudden commotion broke out near the bar.

I turned to see Greg fiercely gripping a middle-aged man's wrist. With a sickeningly calm twist of his arm, he forced the man's shoulder out of its socket. The dull pop of the joint dislocating was lost beneath the man's agonizing scream.

Sasha stood beside him, clutching her arm, her eyes wide and tearful. "Greg, please stop... he just... he touched me a little, but I'm fine. Really. You should go back to Mona..."

But Greg didn't let go. His jaw was clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck strained, his eyes burning with a primal, protective rage.

I stood a few yards away, watching him, feeling a strange sense of detachment.

The last time I had seen Greg this angry was when we were first dating. Some drunk guys had cornered me outside a diner, shouting crude things. When Greg arrived, he had merely stepped between us, his face cold, and delivered a calm, measured warning.

He was a Mercer. His upbringing demanded absolute restraint, decorum, and poise. He prided himself on never losing his temper in public.

Yet tonight, he had completely abandoned his precious decorum. In front of his most important business partners, he had physically mutilated a man for touching Sasha.

Security quickly rushed in to handle the screaming man and quiet the crowd.

Greg kept a protective hand on Sasha's back as he led her away. As they passed my corner, he stopped.

The residual anger was still visible in his eyes, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Did you do this on purpose?"

I blinked, genuinely lost. "What?"

"You knew exactly what would happen if you left her alone in a room like this. A young woman standing by herself is an easy target for predators."

He glared at me, his disappointment palpable. "Sasha is naive. She doesn't know how to handle aggressive men. Because I had to stay by your side to keep you happy, I couldn't watch over her. You should have known better, Mona. This was incredibly selfish of you."

I stared at him, really stared at him.

The sharp jawline, the dark eyes that had once held my entire worldhe looked exactly the same as the man I had fallen in love with years ago.

But as I looked at him now, I felt absolutely nothing. The love hadn't just faded; it had been completely hollowed out.

"I never asked you to stay by my side, Greg."

My voice was quiet, steady, and entirely devoid of emotion. "In fact, I didn't want to come here at all. Sasha practically forced me into her car. She brought me to a black-tie gala without even offering to let me change. I should be asking her what her intentions were. Was she trying to make me a laughingstock?"

A few nearby guests began to whisper, their eyes darting between us.

Sasha let out a soft sob, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in Gregs chest.

"Mona... how can you lie like that? You were the one who insisted on coming along. I told you I didn't have an extra gown on hand, and I asked if you mind. You literally told me it was fine..."

My chest tightened.

I couldn't believe the ease with which she twisted the truth. She had physically pulled me into her vehicle, leaving me no room to refuse. I had never said it was fine.

Before I could open my mouth to defend myself, Sasha raised her voice, ensuring everyone around us could hear.

"I didn't want to say anything! I didn't want to cause a scene! But I don't understand what I did to make you hate me so much, Mona. Did you seriously pay that man to come over and harass me?!"

A collective gasp rippled through the nearby crowd. Gregs face darkened, turning almost predatory.

"Mona," he growled. "How could you do something so malicious?"

I looked at him.

The words I didn't do it caught in my throat, refusing to surface.

Did it even matter if I denied it?

The truth didn't exist in Greg's world. Only Sasha's tears did.

I could have presented a mountain of evidence, and he still would have found a way to dismiss it in favor of Sasha. A single tear from her carried more weight than my entire existence.

The difference between being loved and being tolerated was stark.

I lowered my gaze, letting my eyelashes shield the exhaustion in my eyes. After a long, quiet pause, I spoke. My voice was incredibly calm.

"What do you want from me, Greg? An apology?"

Greg didn't say a word. He just stared at me with cold, unyielding judgment.

I turned slowly to face Sasha. Under the watchful eyes of dozens of wealthy strangers, I bent my waist and bowed deeply to her.

"I'm sorry. Is that enough?"

The room went dead silent. No one had expected me to capitulate so easilyno tears, no screaming, just a clean, immediate submission.

Sasha froze, a tear still wet on her cheek, completely caught off guard by my