Keith only had about 100 thousand dollars left to pay off. Freedom was right in front of him.
I didn't want to drag him down. I didn't want to become his burden.
I stared at the bottle of sleeping pills on the table. I was barely a minute away from swallowing them.
And now, I found out it had all been fake.
He had already wanted to get rid of me, the older woman who was a weight around his neck.
He never loved me the way I believed he did.
A metallic taste rose in my throat, and I spat up another mouthful of blood.
-
My phone buzzed with a video call. It was Keith.
I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and answered.
"Amanda, I picked up a shift at a private lounge tonight. I might be back late. Go to bed early."
His voice was gentle, just like always.
I forced a smile. "Okay."
"Why do you look so pale? Are you feeling sick? It's cold at home. Put on something warm."
He frowned, sounding genuinely concerned.
It almost felt like if I said I wasn't feeling well, he would drop everything and rush back.
We lived in the cheapest basement unit near downtown. It was dark and damp, with no heating. In winter, the cold sank straight into your bones.
He had sworn more than once that once he made money, he would buy us a bright place with real heating. It would look just like the space behind him on the screen now, warm, clean, and well-lit.
I answered vaguely, brushing it off.
Laughter broke through the call, a few men joking in the background.
"Keith, still glued to the phone with your old lady? Haven't had enough yet?"
A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face before he smoothed it away.
"I'll call you later," he said quickly, and hung up.
Old lady.
Back then, if anyone dared call me old, he would snap on the spot.
When did he start accepting it? Or worse, believing it himself?
When we first got together, I was insecure about the age gap, too.
He had looked at me with those bright eyes and said, "Amanda, I love you. You're not old at all. You're beautiful. Why else would I pursue you for over a year? I really don't care. Don't ever say you're old again."
I didn't believe him and teased him. "But I'm five years older than you."
He panicked, face turning red. "I swear, if I ever look down on you, I'll get hit by a bus."
The seriousness in that boyish gaze made my own face heat up.
My phone vibrated again. That post had been updated.
The poster uploaded a photo taken inside a luxury private room. The caption dripped with mockery.
[Didn't want to go home, so I said I was working. Actually just hanging out here.
[When I called to check in with the older woman, she even had blood at the corner of her mouth, trying to play the sympathy card. What an actress.
[My fiancée really gets me. The watch she gave me looks amazing.]
In the photo, a well-shaped hand rested casually on a table, an expensive watch gleaming on the wrist.
In the corner of the frame, barely visible, was a cheap watch tossed beside a trash can.
It was the birthday gift I bought for him last year.
I worked six months of night shifts, sweeping streets before dawn, saving every dollar for it.
The background of that lavish room matched exactly what I had seen on the video call.
The last bit of hope inside me was crushed into dust. An overwhelming sense of absurdity and grief surged up.
I looked up at the mirror.
My face was deathly pale, and a faint smear of blood still lingered at the corner of my mouth.
So he saw it.
He just didn't care.
He even thought I was putting on a tragic act.
Pain twisted through my stomach, sharp and relentless, like needles stabbing from the inside.
All of a sudden, I wanted to confront him face-to-face.
I washed the blood away, changed into something presentable, and took a cab to the private club.
Without a membership card, I was stopped at the entrance.
The wind cut across my face like blades. Snow piled up on my shoulders in no time.
Weather like this reminded me of the first time I met Keith.
It had been snowing just as hard. He wore a thin, worn jacket when he pushed open the door of my small corner store.
With a nervous look, he asked, "Ma'am, are you still hiring?"
That uneasy, careful expression reminded me of myself when I first came to this city, cautiously searching for work everywhere.
