I hung up the phone. The tears came before I could stop them.
That old house—my parents had scraped together every penny to buy it. After my father died, my mother could never bring herself to let it go.
She said it was the last thing she still shared with him.
I sold it.
For Eustace.
Had I lost my mind?
Maybe.
But I loved him.
The day I married him, I made a vow: for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, I would never leave.
He needed me now. How could I not help?
I wiped my eyes and went back to the next proposal.
The next day, the client called—the proposal had been approved.
Three hundred thousand wired to my account.
I stared at the bank notification, my heartbeat slowing from a hammering rush until it settled into something quiet.
Still not nearly enough.
I sent the listing for the old house to the real-estate agent.
Then I texted Eustace：“The house sold. I put together eight hundred thousand from that, plus three hundred thousand from this job. Use it to pay off the debt first.”
He replied instantly：“Gayle, thank you. I'll remember what you've done for me for the rest of my life.”
Remember what I'd done for him for the rest of his life.
Gratitude was never what I wanted.
I just wanted him to be okay.
That evening Eustace came home early, carrying a bouquet.
Not roses. Lilies. My favorite.
He put them in a vase, then walked over and wrapped his arms around me from behind.
“Gayle, I want to show you something.”
He pulled out a small box and opened it. Inside was a necklace.
“That brand you said you liked—I could never afford it before, but now……I finally bit the bullet.”
I lowered my head and let him fasten it around my neck.
The chain settled against my collarbone, cool against my skin.
“Does it look good?” he asked.
“It's beautiful.”
“You're more beautiful than the necklace.”
Eustace kissed my earlobe.
For one moment I believed every bit of it had been worth it.
I was so wrong.
The necklace was fake.
I found out later that the one he bought for that woman was a limited-edition piece set with real diamonds. Mine was a knockoff.
Ninety-nine yuan. Free shipping.
But the necklace wasn't the only thing he lied about.
That night, Eustace went to shower and left his phone on the nightstand.
The screen lit up.
A message popped up from a contact saved as “Livvy”.
“That necklace today was so pretty. Thank you.”
My finger hovered above the screen.
I didn't tap it.
I set the phone back exactly where it had been, same angle, same position.
Not out of respect for his privacy.
Out of fear.
I was afraid that if I opened it, I'd have proof of everything I'd been trying not to see.
I wasn't ready.
I would never be ready.
Another week passed.
I added it all up. Between everything, I had wired Eustace close to two million.
Savings, project fees, the money from the old house—every source I had, scraped clean. And thirty thousand my mother had slipped to me in secret.
The money she had set aside penny by penny over years, I handed straight to Eustace.
I didn't know how I'd let myself go this far.
Probably because when I love someone, I don't keep count.
Day ten.
I took on another project, a mixed-use commercial complex, with a deadline of just twenty days.
The client pushed hard. I barely closed my eyes.
On the thirteenth day, I coughed up blood for the third time.
This time I didn't wipe it away.
I went to the hospital.
The doctor studied my CT scans, frowning.
“Have you been pulling all-nighters regularly?”
“Yes.”
“Severe anemia on top of pneumonia, and your heart is already showing early signs of failure. You need to be admitted right now. You keep this up, you're going to die.”
