The road of my suffering began the moment Jemma moved into our home.
I later found out that her cosmetic brand had gone bankrupt. Life hadn’t been kind to her; she was struggling, truly drowning.
And then came the bigger revelation—Jemma was sick. Not just any illness, but a rare disease that was slowly taking her life away. She came back here after leaving Lucas.
Lucas told me he couldn't bear to leave her. He said Jemma was going through so much, and he was the only one she could turn to.
As if that made it okay to push me aside.
Now, today of all days, I’m coughing violently, my chest aching with every breath. I feel like I’m burning up. Fever is taking over my body, and it’s a struggle just to keep myself standing. Every inch of me feels like it’s about to collapse.
“Priscilla, can you get me some fresh water from downstairs?” Jemma's voice pierced the room. “I need water. I just finished eating.”
I wanted to scream. Lucas saw me, saw the way I was coughing and trembling, barely able to stand. But he said nothing. Nothing.
“Priscilla, did you hear me?” she called out again, louder this time.
I clenched my jaw. I wanted to yell, ‘Do you not see what’s happening to me right now?’ But instead, I shook my head, swallowed the pain, and forced myself up.
I went to the kitchen and got the water. Lucas, as usual, had an excuse, he had a call to take. “Just bring it to her along with her meds,” he said casually, as if I didn’t matter.
I gripped the glass and her medication tightly, my knuckles whitening. He didn’t know, I had my own meds hidden from him. Pills I took in secret because I knew he wouldn't care to ask. Because how could I tell him when it’s so clear he cares more about Jemma than me?
He doesn’t even ask. Doesn’t even pretend to care. Or maybe he’s just pretending not to see…blind to my pain.
I headed to Jemma’s room, but before I could knock, I heard her voice on the phone.
“My plan is working. Don’t worry, I’ll take him back. As soon as I get everything I want…” she paused, then laughed. A cold, heartless laugh, full of life, not someone who’s dying.
I must be hallucinating. I shook the thought away and knocked again. “Jemma, here’s your water.”
“Just come in,” she called out sweetly.
I entered the room and walked toward her…but then everything spun. My body gave in. I lost my balance and fell forward, the glass slipping from my hand and shattering across the floor.
“Oh my God, what are you doing? You’re so clumsy!” she screamed.
Lucas rushed in, alarmed. “What’s going on in here?!” he shouted, eyes darting between us.
“Are you okay?” Lucas immediately rushed to Jemma’s side as she let out a faint cough, her body appearing weak on the bed. She looked up at him with teary eyes, her voice trembling.
“I’m fine… I just got hit by some broken glass. It was your wife’s fault,” she whispered, gesturing weakly toward me.
Lucas turned his eyes toward me, his expression cold. “Priscilla, you should watch where you're going! You should be more careful whenever you’re near her!”
He raised his voice, and it stung deeper than any wound ever could.
I stood up in silence, trying to clean the shattered glass on the floor. As I reached down, a sharp piece sliced my finger. Blood trickled down my hand, but I ignored it.
Lucas’s face softened just for a moment. “Wait… Are you hurt?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.” I cleaned up the mess and left the room quietly, unable to hold back the tears anymore.
That day, I nearly collapsed. My vision blurred, and my body begged me to stop. But I forced myself to move. Not in front of Lucas. I couldn’t let him see me fall…because if he did, he wouldn’t care anyway.
That day, I knew… he truly didn’t care about me anymore.
Days passed, and my condition only worsened. I didn’t even know if I could survive the week. But Lucas’s attention remained fixed on Jemma. Always her.
“Priscilla… you look thinner,” he asked one day, a hint of concern in his voice.
“I haven’t had much appetite,” I replied simply.
My body was giving up. I had stopped taking the medicine Dr. Romano gave me. And despite knowing I had a fever, Lucas still treated me like a servant, asking me to cook and run errands for Jemma.
And Jemma? She carried on like nothing was wrong. A part of me started to suspect she was faking her illness. But I had no proof, until one day.
Lucas told me to bring food to Jemma. As I approached her room, I froze. She was standing, tall and strong, speaking cheerfully on the phone.
No sign of illness. None.
“I know he’s falling for me again,” she laughed. “He thinks I’m sick. I only faked it because I couldn’t stand seeing him married to someone else.”
My hand trembled. I dropped what I was carrying and stormed in.
“You!” I screamed. “How dare you lie like this?!”
She jumped, eyes wide. “How did you get in—?”
I slapped her hard across the face. Just then, Lucas burst into the room.
“Priscilla!” he shouted, rushing forward and pushing me. I hit the wall, stunned.
“Why would you slap her?! She’s sick!”
“No, Lucas, she’s lying! She’s not sick!” I cried.
“She’s manipulating you! You don’t even love her anymore, right?!”
Lucas stared at me. I tried to speak again, but another cough choked my words.
“Lucas, help me!” Jemma feigned her sickness again as she dropped to the ground, crying.
Lucas glared at me the moment he saw that Jemma was hurt.
“I’ve had enough,” he said coldly. “You’re the one pretending now, aren’t you?”
He turned to Jemma. “I got you.”
And at that moment, I knew, I no longer had a place in Lucas’s life.
That night, I packed my things.
