Chapter 4

Grow up.

Over the past ten years, I had heard that phrase more than anything else.

When I worked two jobs and threw up blood from exhaustion, Ethan's mother told me:

"Ethan has a lot of academic pressure. Grow up, Ava. Don't bother him with your minor illnesses."

When I lay in the hospital bed after losing half my uterus, Ethan said:

"Thank you for being so grown up, babe. I'll make it up to you when I graduate."

And now, because I wanted to leave, I was being childish.

I looked at the elegantly wrapped cake box.

It was from an upscale bakery downtown. A single slice cost thirty dollars.

It would take me three hours of scrubbing floors to earn that slice.

"I'm allergic to strawberries, Ethan. I break out in hives. Did you forget?"

Ethan went rigid.

His eyes flickered with guilt. He had obviously forgotten.

"I'm sorry, babe. Work has been so crazy lately. My mind is all over the place."

He pushed the cake aside.

"Forget the cake. Let me take you out for Korean BBQ."

"Haven't you been wanting to try that new spot down the street?"

I didn't move.

"Ethan, you replied to a comment on that Instagram post."

I looked at him, my voice completely flat.

"You wrote: 'Every time I go home and see her rough, calloused hands, I lose my appetite.'"

Ethan's face turned incredibly pale.

"Do you have to make things this ugly?"

He yanked his tie loose, his voice rising with anger.

"Fine! Yes, I wrote it!"

"But I was just venting online! I didn't actually break up with you, did I?"

"Look at yourself!"

He gestured at me, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust.

"You always wear cheap, thrift-store clothes. You never style your hair. When I brought you to my company mixer, everyone thought you were my maid!"

"Every day, I deal with sophisticated executives and elite clients. Then I come home to face your plain, worn-out face."

"Do you think I don't feel the pressure?"

I stood there quietly, listening to him spit out those words.

Strangely, I didn't even feel pain anymore.

Just an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

"If you feel so miserable, why didn't you just ask for a breakup?" I asked quietly.

Ethan frustratedly ran a hand through his hair.

"Because I knew you couldn't handle it!"

"Your health is ruined, and you don't even have a college degree. How are you going to survive in this city without me?"

He stepped closer, his voice softening again.

"Ava, I admit I had a momentary lapse in judgment."

"Victoria, my manager, can really help me with my career."

"But that doesn't mean I don't love you."

"The wedding will go on as planned. I will give you the status of being my wife."

"Just stop making a scene, okay? Be a good girl and stay home as a full-time housewife."

He spoke of marriage as if it were a generous charity.

I picked up my duffel bag.

"I have a night shift at the mall."

Ethan let out a sigh of relief, thinking I had submitted yet again.

"Go on then. Don't stay out too late. I'll take you to another bridal shop tomorrow."

He leaned in to kiss my forehead.

I didn't dodge it.

As I walked out of the apartment building, the cold night wind blew against my skin, and I realized I was drenched in a cold sweat.

I didn't go to the mall.

Instead, I took the bus to the city hospital.

My latest medical report showed that my uterine fibroids were showing signs of precancerous changes. I needed surgery immediately.

But Ethan hadn't even looked at the report. He had simply taken a photo of it to gain sympathy points from strangers online.