Chapter 4

Stephen caught her before she fell and glanced down at the label on the cup in her hand.

His head snapped up toward me, his eyes full of fury.

“Delia's allergic to almonds! Why did you give her the one with almonds in it?!”

I opened my mouth to say she'd taken that cup herself.

Before I could get a word out, Stephen had already bent down, scooped Delia up, and rushed out of the restaurant without a backward glance.

I looked at the plates and the bubble tea in front of me, and a sudden sadness settled over me.

When someone doesn't want you, even your breathing is a mistake.

The next second, a sharp pain tore through my stomach.

Then I slid off the chair and hit the floor hard.

Before I blacked out, I saw the restaurant staff rush over to me.

“Ma'am, are you all right?”

When I woke again, I was already lying in a hospital.

The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant.

The doctor flipped through my chart, his tone grave.

“You just went through a miscarriage. Your body is at its weakest right now. How could you let yourself get this exhausted?”

I bit my lip and said nothing.

The doctor sighed.

“You have to rest properly. No matter what, your health comes first.”

Just then, a few young nurses passed by the door.

“Oh, did you see that handsome guy earlier? The one carrying the girl who had the allergic reaction.”

“First thing he did was ask for the best VIP room. Money's no object.”

“That girl is so lucky.”

I lowered my eyes.

All these years I was with Stephen, I covered most of our expenses.

His salary at the Research Institute was actually high, but he'd barely spent a cent on me.

Every time he said the money should be saved for later, I believed him.

Now, thinking back, it wasn't that he was thrifty. It was just that I wasn't worth it.

For the next two days, I stayed in the hospital.

Delia's social media feed never stopped.

Stephen took her shopping at the mall and bought her all kinds of gifts.

The two of them went to see the latest movie again too. She posted the ticket stub with the caption, “Second time watching it with my big brother, still so moved.”

I read through them one by one, then set my phone by my pillow.

It was as though my heart didn't hurt so much anymore.

The day I was discharged, I took a car home to get my things.

The moment I walked in, I saw Stephen sitting on the sofa, his expression grim.

Delia sat beside him, eyes red, still dabbing at her tears.

When Stephen saw me, his face darkened.

“Delia's social media account is getting slammed. She says you were one of the people who viewed her page.”

I frowned.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

There was a trace of irritation in his voice.

“Someone saw her feed and posted about it. They dug up all our information, laid out the timeline, and said she was the other woman.”

“So her account got mobbed.”

He paused for a few seconds, his gaze landing on me.

“You shouldn't have done that.”

“There's nothing between me and Delia.”

I looked at him, my voice as calm as still, dead water.

“You think I did it?”

“So what do you want now?”

Stephen thought for a moment.

“Delia has a lot of followers now, and quite a few brand deals.”

“There's nothing going on between us, but……Alberta, why don't you register an account and post a statement, explain that Delia isn't the other woman.”

Something inside my head snapped clean through.

I was so angry I almost laughed.

“She's not the other woman. You mean you want me to admit that I'm the one who was?”

Cold sweat broke over me in waves, but I could no longer tell whether it was the pain or the chill.

Delia suddenly stood up.

“Forget it, forget it. I'll post an explanation on my account. Even if they curse me to death, I'll take it.”

Stephen's face changed.

“Don't talk nonsense.”

Delia ran out crying, and Stephen went straight after her.

The moment the door slammed shut, the apartment fell silent.

Ten minutes later, an account under my name posted a message.

“I really am the other woman. Delia and Stephen are the ones in a normal relationship.”

My phone exploded in an instant.

Former coworkers and friends called one after another to ask what was going on.

Countless unknown numbers rang through, and message after message poured in.

“People who steal someone else's man are the lowest of the low! I hope you rot!”

“Have you no shame? A sweet young couple, happy together, and you wedge yourself in the middle?”

“Posting a fake timeline too? Good thing we have eyes and know Delia would never lie.”

I read through every one of them, and all at once I felt exhausted.

I didn't reply to anyone. I only called my closest friend and told her a few things, quickly.

After I hung up, I switched off my phone and dragged out the suitcase I'd packed long ago.

I looked around the apartment I'd lived in for five years.

I'd chosen the sofa, picked out the curtains, bought the wall clock.

The cups on the table were a matching pair, but his had shattered a long time ago, and he'd never bought a new one.

I closed the door, didn't look back, and headed straight for the airport.

A week later.

Stephen came back from a trip to the beach with Delia.

He pushed open the door and called out from habit.

“Alberta!”

The apartment was empty.

There was a note on the coffee table.

He picked it up. There was only one line on it.

“These five years, I'll just call them wasted on a dog.”