He Committed Me to an Asylum, Now He’s Begging for Mercy

Five years after our divorce, I ran into my ex-husband at a 24-hour convenience store at three in the morning.

He was there to buy sanitary pads and painkillers for his wife. I was restocking the shelves.

He was in such a rush that he told me he didn't even need a black bag to cover them.

But when our eyes met, he froze.

"Chloe? How... how have you been?"

I instinctively pulled my sleeve down to hide the scars on my wrist. Without a word, I scanned the items and bagged them.

He didnt leave. His voice was hoarse as he asked, "Are you... do you still hate me?"

I shook my head.

Maybe I hated him back when he used his power as the countrys leading psychiatrist to lock me in a private asylum.

But now? I didn't care about him at all.

"Your wife is waiting for you at home. You should go," I said flatly. I turned back to organizing the shelves.

But Julian didn't move.

Watching my practiced movements, his voice trembled. "Chloe, if you need help, please call me."

"Take this card. The PIN is your birthday. Your health is fragile; you shouldn't be doing such exhausting work."

How ironic.

When we divorced, Julian forced me to sign a waiver leaving me with absolutely nothing.

Now, he was trying to buy his peace of mind with a credit card.

Seeing that I ignored him, Julian opened his mouth to say more, but a customized ringtone cut him off.

Tiffanys weak, whiny voice came through the speaker. "Babe, why aren't you back yet? I miss you so much."

"My stomach hurts..."

Julian gripped his phone tightly. "I'm on my way."

The call ended. He picked up his bags from the counter.

"Can I at least have your Snapchat?"

I remained silent.

His phone started ringing again. Julian had no choice but to head for the exit.

Before leaving, he slipped a business card onto the counter.

His voice sounded choked. "Call me. Please?"

The moment the door closed, I threw his card straight into the trash can.

Four years ago, when my dad was on his deathbed, I had called Julian. I begged him to help transfer my dad to a better hospital.

But Julian had hung up on me without hesitation and blocked my number.

Now, my dad had been dead for four years.

I had absolutely no reason to ever contact Julian again.

After finishing my shift, I did the handover with my coworker, Mia.

She sighed. "That guy in the custom designer suit... was that Dr. Vance? The one who's always on the news?"

"He didn't even care about the bag, he just rushed home. He must really love his wife."

I nodded. "Yeah."

He did love his wife.

At least during our five years of marriage, he had never let me shed a single tear.

Seeing my cold reaction, Mia quickly changed the subject. "Today is your last day, right? The boss told me youre heading abroad to study."

"I wish you all the best, Chloe."

"Thank you," I said with a smile. When I walked out of the store, the sun was just beginning to rise.

I walked back to my run-down, rented apartment and carefully wiped the dust off my dads portrait.

"Dad, I ran into Julian today."

"But don't worry. I won't let someone like him affect me ever again."

I poured a glass of his favorite whiskey and set it in front of his photo.

My hand shook slightly, and the picture frame next to it fell to the floor.

The faded photograph showed an eighteen-year-old Julian and me.

He wasn't looking at the camera. He was staring at me, his eyes full of pure adoration.

And on my other side was Tiffany, smiling shyly.

She was the scholarship student my dad had sponsored.

My former best friend.

And now, Julians wife.

Julian and I grew up together.

His parents were heavy gamblers who beat him whenever things went wrong.

My dad couldn't stand it, so he often brought Julian to our house for meals.

Julian was quiet, but he treated me like I was his entire world.

When my dad made fish, Julian would spend fifteen minutes picking out every single bone before putting the fish on my plate.

He would collect plastic bottles and cardboard to sell, saving every penny just to buy me the hair clips and plushies I liked.

I used to tease him and call him my silly boy.

He never got mad. He would just look at me and smile.

After his parents died in a drunk driving accident, my dad officially adopted him.

Over the next few years, Julian blossomed.

My dads business grew rapidly, too.

But both of them loved me just as much as they always had.

It wasn't until high school that my dad expanded his charity foundation to sponsor more students.

Tiffany was one of them.

She wore thick glasses and washed-out clothes.

Just like the old Julian, she was quiet and withdrawn.

A girl like her was an easy target for bullies at our private prep school.

Julian, who usually minded his own business, unexpectedly stepped in to protect her.

Only then did we learn about her life.

Her father was also a gambler, and her mother had abandoned her.

Her family valued boys over girls, and her father had almost sold her to pay his debts.

Their identical trauma triggered Julians savior complex.

I realized he wasn't just helping Tiffany; he was trying to save his younger self.

So, I reached out and became friends with Tiffany, too.

Whatever I bought for myself, I bought a copy for her.

I invited her to our house for dinner almost every weekend.

Gradually, the bullying stopped.

Until...

A knock on the door snapped me out of my memories.

I opened it to find Julian and Tiffany standing outside.

When Julian saw me, his eyes filled with pain and guilt. "Chloe... how can you live in a place like this?"

It was a sketchy neighborhood. The apartment was tiny and poorly furnished.

You could see the entire place in one glance.

There was a folding cot in the living room.

That was where my dad had slept after he got out of prison.

Even though his health had been destroyed by his time behind bars, he had insisted on giving the only bedroom to me.

I didn't want these people dirtying my dad's peace. I blocked the doorway, my face cold. "What do you want?"

Tiffany was dressed in head-to-toe Chanel, looking every bit the pampered wife.

She was unrecognizable from the timid girl she used to be.

"Chloe, why so cold?" Tiffany smirked. "If Julian hadn't run into you, Id still think you were locked up in the asylum."

She handed me a beautifully wrapped gift box.

It was a necklace from a luxury brand I had designed years ago.

Back then, I was hailed as a prodigy designer.

My brand was on its way to becoming a global luxury powerhouse.

But it was completely ruined the moment Julian personally signed the papers to lock me away.

Tiffany stared at me, waiting for me to lose my mind.

I just stared back at her, completely calm.

Before I could say a word, Julian looked down and noticed the photo in my hand.

A spark of hope lit up his eyes. "You still kept that photo? Does that mean..."

Only then did I realize I hadn't thrown the old photo away yet.

Without hesitation, I ripped the picture to shreds and threw it into the trash can.

Right on top of Tiffanys gift box.

"That brand used to be my hard work," I said, looking up with a faint smile. "And that photo used to be my favorite memory."

"But once something gets dirty, I throw it away."

Julians face went deadly pale.

It was obvious he knew that the "dirty things" I was talking about included him.

Tiffanys smile stiffened. She said petulantly, "We just came to catch up. You don't have to be so hostile."

She peered over my shoulder, and her eyes lit up when she saw my dad's photo. "After all, your dad was our benefactor. We should pay our respects."

Benefactor?

The man she personally framed and sent to prison was her benefactor?

After high school, Tiffany and Julian went to the same university.

I gave up my Ivy League offer to go to a local college just to be close to Julian.

Naturally, we got married.

But Julian became busier and busier.

Tiffany, who shared his major, was with him day and night.

Slowly, I found myself locked out of their conversations.

Even on our anniversary, Tiffany showed up.

"I'm so sorry, Chloe. Julian and I have a major research competition tomorrow," she had said, batting her eyelashes. "I had to come find him. I really didn't mean to crash your date."

She had ditched her glasses for contacts and styled her hair perfectly.

She looked more like the girlfriend on an anniversary date than I did.

They grew closer, but I kept telling myself that Julian was my husband.

Then came the day of our wedding.

My dad caught Julian cheating with Tiffany.

But because my dad knew how desperately I loved Julian, he privately confronted Tiffany and demanded she leave.

Tiffany refused. She tore her own clothes open and screamed.

She accused my dad of sexual assault.

Before our wedding reception even ended, the police dragged my dad away in handcuffs.

I knew my dad would never do such a thing.

I begged Julian to help me clear his name.

He promised he would, but behind my back, he destroyed the security footage that could have proven my dad's innocence.

"Chloe, you have money, you have status! But Tiffany has nothing!" Julian had yelled at me. "If people find out she lied, her life will be over!"

But what about my dads life?

Was it my fault she had nothing?

But the more I screamed and fought, the more disgusted Julian looked.

The final string in my mind snapped when I walked into our new house and found Julian and Tiffany in our bed.

Tiffany cowered behind Julian. "Julian has so much pressure as a psychiatrist. I was just helping him decompress."

I lost control. I smashed everything in sight and slapped both of them repeatedly.

I filed for divorce and posted the evidence of their affair on Snapchat and TikTok.

They became the most hated scumbags online.

But to save Tiffanys reputation, Julian used his credentials to diagnose me with severe clinical psychosis.

He had me committed.

"Just stay there quietly for two years," Julian had told me coldly. "Once the public forgets about this, I'll let you out. You'll still be my wife."

I was completely dead inside. All I wanted was a divorce.

Julian, who rarely lost his temper, said through gritted teeth, "Divorce? Only if you sign this waiver and leave with nothing."

I signed it.

But I didn't expect him to send me to a private, abusive asylum in the middle of nowhere.

It was a living hell.

If we didn't obey, we were electrocuted or whipped.

We had to beg for food like dogs. If we displeased the guards, we had to search the trash for scraps.

Tiffany would visit occasionally to brag about how much Julian loved her.

She showed off the designer bags he bought her and the magazines they featured in.

One day, she forced me to kneel and lick her designer shoes.

"I always hated your arrogant, rich-girl attitude," Tiffany sneered. "In high school, you acted like a saint, throwing your charity scraps at me. You thought you were so better than me just because of your dad's money?"

So that was how she viewed my kindness.

She took photos of my pathetic state and sent them to my dad.

Within a year, my dad died of a stress-induced heart attack in prison.

And now, the monster who killed my dad wanted to "pay respects."

What a joke.

I had no patience left for them.

"Get out."

I closed the door right in their faces.

I immediately called building security and had them escorted out of the complex.

Once Tiffanys muffled, angry screams faded from the hallway, I finished packing.

I only took a few essentials and my dad's photo.

I left everything else behind.

I took a cab straight to the airport.

As I was checking my bags, someone called my name.

"Chloe? What a coincidence."

I looked up and smiled. "Hey, Ethan."

Ethan Montgomery looked at my boarding pass and raised an eyebrow. "I'm flying to London too. Looks like we're on the same flight."

He suggested we walk together, and I didn't object.

On the way to security, he asked softly, "You missed your last therapy session. How are you feeling lately?"

After my dad died, I was in a dark place.

The day I found out Julian and Tiffany had gotten married, I walked to the edge of a bridge, ready to jump.

It was Ethan who grabbed my hand.

He had smiled warmly, though his hands were shaking. "It's my birthday today, and I have no one to spend it with. You look lonely too. Want to share a cake with me?"

I didn't know if he was lying, but I ended up crying and telling him everything.

Even though he wasn't my official therapist, he became my emotional anchor.

"Thanks to you, I think I'm finally healed," I told him.

He looked at me, a soft smile on his lips. "So... you don't need me anymore?"

Before I could answer, a familiar, breathless voice shattered the moment.

"Chloe! Where are you going? And who is he?"

Julian ran up to us, his eyes bloodshot, breathing heavily. He looked terrified of my answer.

I was exhausted by his persistence.

I reached out, locked my fingers with Ethan's, and said word for word, "This is my husband."