I tried to reach for my medication, but Faye grabbed my arm and held me back.
"I didn't even touch you! You're the one who hurt me. Why are you playing the victim?"
I shoved her off and stumbled toward the pills.
The second my fingers closed around the bottle, a hand shot out and smashed it to the floor. Pills scattered everywhere.
Caleb stood over me, a vein pulsing at his temple. "Sophie, she didn't lay a finger on you. Cut the act."
Without another word, he scooped Faye into his arms with exaggerated care. "I'm taking you to the hospital."
I grabbed the hem of his pants, my whole body trembling.
"The pills… my pills…"
He paused and looked down at me, something unreadable shifting behind his eyes.
"Pills? What good are they? You pop them and you're still the same. Can't even handle being touched."
He turned and strode away. His leather shoes ground the scattered tablets into powder.
My vision blurred. I crawled across the floor, fingertips searching for whatever remained, scraping up the crushed powder and licking it off my hands.
I lay there on the cold floor, consciousness fading in and out, but one thought burned with perfect clarity: divorce.
Through the haze, my memory drifted back.
Back then, I was an up-and-coming model, and he was a rising designer. I turned down every high-paying offer that came my way and worked exclusively for him.
Five years ago, on the eve of an international competition, a rival hired thugs to kidnap and destroy Caleb. I threw myself in front of him, shoved him out of the way, and they dragged me into the car instead.
Those men used the most vile methods imaginable to brutalize my upper body.
They sent the footage to Caleb. If he dared compete, the videos would be leaked across the internet.
He withdrew from the competition overnight.
Then he came for me alone, charging in single-handedly. Right in front of my eyes, he burned every tape, every negative, until nothing remained but ash.
In the glow of the flames, he held my shaking body against his. "It's just a competition. You're all I need."
After that, I developed a severe case of trauma-induced chest sensitivity disorder.
Any contact with that part of my body triggered a flood of negative emotions and searing phantom pain. I couldn't stop the tears, and in the worst episodes, the scenes of what they'd done to me would replay in vivid, suffocating detail.
I saw countless doctors. The medication only bought brief windows of numbness.
The night I insisted on breaking up, Caleb jumped into the river right in front of me.
When they pulled him out, his hand was locked around mine in a death grip. "Sophie, I'll die before I let you leave me."
Because of those words, I stayed. Devoted. Unshakable.
But the man who would rather die than lose me was gone now. Completely gone.
The medication took effect, and my breathing steadied.
I pulled out my phone and sent Caleb a message: Let's get a divorce.
Then I dialed an international number.
"Dad. Mom. I'm ready to come home and take over the family business."
Four years ago, my parents had found me and confirmed I was their long-lost daughter. But back then, all I wanted was a quiet life with Caleb, so I refused the inheritance.
Now I saw the truth. I'd given my heart to the wrong person.
I hung up. Caleb's reply popped onto the screen:
Sophie, are you a child? You want a divorce over something this petty?
You're an orphan. You have no one in this world. Without me, where would you go? Who would you turn to? Stop being ridiculous.
Tears welled in my eyes. I didn't reply.
I went to the hospital, then to the consulate to expedite a visa.
By the time I got home, it was the middle of the night.
I went upstairs to pack my bags.
Breathless moans seeped through the crack in the bedroom door.
I raised my phone and aimed it through the gap at the two of them, tangled together.
Faye spotted me and let out a shriek.
Caleb immediately wrapped the blanket around her.
He snatched up a bathrobe, threw it on, and grabbed the phone out of my hands, jabbing furiously at the screen. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
