Divorce After the Five-Million Deception

He said he owed five million to loan sharks. Said if he didn't pay up, they'd break his legs.

I worked my day job, then stayed up all night drafting plans for him, selling them one by one.

The day I coughed blood, he showed up with ginseng soup. Mouth full of how much he ached for mephone still open to another woman, the two of them picking a honeymoon destination.

Later I collapsed outside the emergency room, and a message from him lit up my screen

If you don't come back and sign the divorce papers, I'll let her have the baby in the apartment you paid for.

I gripped the phone as they wheeled me through the doors into emergency resus.

The nurse saidStop looking. Your hands are shaking.

When Eustace Delgado dropped to his knees in front of me, it was already past one in the morning.

I'd just gotten home from overtime. Hadn't even finished changing my shoes before he threw himself forward, kneecaps cracking against the tile.

Gayle, please. I've never begged anyone in my life. I'm begging you.

I froze, then crouched down to help him up.

He wouldn't move. His fingers locked around my wrist, nails digging into skin.

Five million. Loan sharks. Due next Wednesday. If I can't pay, they'll break my legs first, then show up at the company, then

His voice broke.

Then I'll have nothing left.

I'd known Eustace for six years. Married for two.

He was the kind of man who kept his back straight in front of anyone. Never softened his words. Never bowed his head.

Now he was on his knees in front of me, shaking all over, like a cat pinned by the throat.

How did you end up owing that much?

Cash flow at the company dried up. I took out a bridge loan, but the project fell through, and the interest kept compounding

He buried his face against my knees. I was afraid to tell you. Afraid you'd worry. But I've run out of options.

My mind was a wreck.

Five million. Everything we had saved together came to less than four hundred thousand. The apartment still had a mortgage. Even selling it wouldn't be enough.

I'll figure something out.

I heard my own voice, dry as sandpaper.

Eustace lifted his head. His eyes were rimmed red.

Really?

Really. Get up first.

His legs buckled when he stood, and he nearly went down again.

I caught him and felt the trembling running through his entire body.

It wasn't fake.

At least in that moment, I didn't think it was fake.

That night Eustace didn't come to bed. He tossed and turned on the living room sofa.

I lay in the dark, listening to him on the phone outside, his voice pressed low, drifting in broken fragments through the wall.

Just a few more daysmy wife's working on itwe're not running

I pressed my face into the pillow.

What could I even do?

I drew buildings for a living. A little over twenty thousand a month. Even without eating or drinking, that was twenty years.

The only option was freelance work on the side.

The next day, I started picking up outsourced architectural design jobs online.

Houses, offices, small civic projectswhatever came in, I took it.

Eight hundred per rendering. Twenty thousand for a full set of construction drawings.

Clients pushed for tight deadlines, so the only way through was pulling all-nighters.

The first night, I worked until three a.m.

The second night, four a.m.

The third night, I fell asleep at my desk. When I woke up it was already light out, drool all over my keyboard, my neck so stiff I couldn't turn it.

Eustace brought in a cup of honey water and set it beside my hand.

Gayle, don't push yourself so hard. Your health matters more.

He stood behind me, rested his hand on my shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

I caught a scent on him. Not our body wash. Something sweet and cloying, like perfume.

I didn't remember anything in our apartment smelling like that.

Did you switch body wash?

His hand paused.

No, nothing like that. Probably picked it up from someone at the office.

I didn't think much of it.

The client was pushing harder and harder for drafts. A developer wanted a full master plan for a villa district, fifteen-day turnaround, three hundred thousand.

I took it.

Fifteen days. Three hundred thousand.

That meant at least sixteen hours a day at my desk.

I used a week of annual leave and locked myself in the study.

Eustace brought meals every day, left them outside the door, knocked twice, and walked away.

Sometimes I heard him on the phone in the hallway, voice low, too soft to make out the words, but the tone was easy. Smiling.

The same kind of smile he'd had when I first knew him.

Light. Happy. Unburdened.

He hadn't smiled like that in front of me in a long time.

Day seven.

Past midnight.

I stared at the dense web of lines on the screen, eyes so dry they felt scraped raw with sandpaper.

Then my throat went hot and metallic all at once.

I clamped a hand over my mouth and coughed.

My palm came away red.

Blood.

I stared at it for a few seconds, blank.

The first thought in my head wasn't What's wrong with me but Eight days left. Can't fall behind.

I pulled a tissue, wiped my hand clean, and kept drawing.

Two more hours. The blood came again.

More this time. It splattered across the keyboard and seeped into the gaps between the keys.

I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes for a while.

My heart was hammering, so fast it felt like it would punch straight through my throat.

I picked up my phone, meaning to message Eustace.

In the chat window, a text from him an hour agoHey, I'll be back late tonight. Something came up at the office.

I didn't think about it. Typed two wordsOkay. Went back to drawing.

The next morning I collapsed on the bathroom floor.

By the time Eustace came home I was already conscious, crouched on the tiles scrubbing at the bloodstains.

He rushed over and caught my arm, his face white as paper.

What happened to you?

It's nothing. Just my gums bleedingI've been run down.

He didn't believe me. But he didn't ask again.

I brought you congee. Eat, then rest for a bit. Stop drawing.

It was century egg and lean pork congee. I got two spoonfuls down before my stomach heaved and all of it came back up.

Eustace watched me retch, one hand rubbing slow circles on my back.

I heard his phone ring. He glanced at the screen and silenced it.

It rang again. He silenced it again.

The third time, he picked up and stepped out onto the balcony, voice pressed low.

Didn't I say I'm at homeYeah, I'll come laterDon't start.

I'll come later.

Where?

To see who?

I didn't ask.

Because I was afraid to.

Afraid to hear the answer.

Afraid the worst answer was the real one.

Day fifteen.

I sent the final version of the plan to the client.

When I lifted my hand off the mouse, my whole arm was numb.

I stared at the screen and waited for a reply.

Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.

A message came throughPlan received. Review meeting tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

If it passed review, the three hundred thousand was mine.

Add the hundred-odd thousand I'd saved, sell the little apartment my mother left me, scrape everything together, and maybe it would be enough.

I called my mother.

Mom, I want to sell the old apartment.

Sell the apartment? What's happened?

Nothing's happened. I justwant to trade up to something bigger.

My mother was quiet for a long time.

Gayle, don't lie to your mother. You don't sound right.

Just a cold.

All right. I'll go list it with the agency tomorrow.

I hung up the phone. The tears came before I could stop them.

That old housemy 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 calledthe 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 EustaceThe 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 instantlyGayle, 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 likedI could never afford it before, but nowI 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 houseevery 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.

Do I have to be admitted? I've got a project I need to finish.

The doctor looked up at me. I will never forget that look as long as I live.

How old are you?

Twenty-seven.

Twenty-seven years old. Heart failure, pneumonia, severe anemia. Do you understand what that means? It means if you keep pushing yourself like this, you might not make it to thirty.

I lowered my head.

I owe money.

What kind of money is worth more than your life?

I didn't answer.

I got the prescriptions, paid for the medicine, and walked out. No admission.

At the register, my card had just over two thousand left. Eight hundred for the drugs. I gritted my teeth and paid.

The rest, I transferred to Eustace.

This month's pay. Use it for the interest first.

He took it.

Didn't even ask is that enough for you to get by on.

Sometimes, not asking is the answer all by itself.

But I refused to believe it.

The night I came home from the hospital, I took my temperature. 38.7C.

Burning all over, yet shaking with cold. I curled up under the blanket, teeth chattering.

Eustace wasn't home. He'd been out every night that week for business dinners, never getting back before the small hours, reeking of alcohol and perfume.

I called him.

It rang a long time before he picked up. The background was loud on his end. Music, laughter, a woman's voice.

Hello? Gayle?

I have a fever.

Did you take your medicine?

Yeah.

Then get some rest. I'm not done here yet. I'll be back later.

He hung up.

Right before the line went dead, I heard a woman next to him sayWho was that? God, it's the middle of the nighttotal buzzkill.

I didn't call back to ask who she was.

Because I already knew.

I just didn't know how much strength I had left to face it.

A little after two in the morning, Eustace came home.

I heard the door open, heard him change his shoes, heard him walk into the bedroom and stop beside the bed.

He looked at me for a while.

Then he reached out and touched my forehead.

You really do have a fever.

He said it the way you'd note the weathersomething that had nothing to do with him.

Eustace.

Hm?

Are you hiding something from me?

His hand pulled back from my forehead.

No. Don't overthink it.

Then why do you smell like perfume?

Silence.

Four or five seconds of it.

Business dinner tonight. A client brought a date. Must've rubbed off.

I opened my eyes and looked at him in the dark.

His outline was blurred, but I knew he was looking back at me.

We held each other's gaze for a few seconds.

Eustace looked away first.

I'll go with you to the hospital tomorrow.

Don't bother. I'll go by myself.

Gayle, don't you trust me?

You want me to trust you? Then do one thingonethat's actually worth trusting.

I didn't say it out loud.

I turned over, putting my back to him.

Eustace didn't say anything else.

A long time later, I heard him go to the living room. Then the click of a lighter.

He never used to smoke.

When did that start?

I didn't know.

It felt like I didn't know anything anymore.

The answer came faster than I expected.

I didn't go looking for it. It came to me.

It was a Saturday. Eustace said he had to work overtime and left early in the morning.

I slept until noon, woke up so dizzy I had to brace myself against the wall just to make it to the bathroom.

The person in the mirror made me flinch. I'd lost at least ten poundscheekbones sharp under the skin, eyes hollow, lips cracked and peeling, dried blood crusted at the corners of my mouth.

I stared at the person in the mirror for a long time.

Who was that?

Not me.

I had never been this person.

I splashed water on my face, changed into clean clothes, and headed out to buy fever medicine from the pharmacy.

Passing the mall, I saw Eustace through the floor-to-ceiling glass.

He wasn't working overtime.

He was sitting in the ground-floor caf, a woman across from him.

White dress, long hair, a sweet smile.

She placed her hand on his, and he didn't pull away.

He was smiling at her. A kind of smile I hadn't seen from him in a long time.

Easy. Happy. Unburdened.

A smile that had nothing to do with me.

I stood outside the glass, separated from them by a world I wasn't part of, watching.

The woman rose, walked over to him, bent down, and kissed his cheek.

Eustace put his arm around her waist.

They looked like a couple.

A real couple. One not crushed under five million in loan shark debt. One that didn't need a wife selling her apartment and grinding herself to death to pay it off.

I didn't charge in.

Didn't cry.

Didn't call to confront him.

I turned around and walked away.

Into an alley beside the mall. I crouched down.

My stomach turned itself inside out. I retched and retched, brought up nothingthen blood.

Blood again.

Apparently my blood wasn't worth much. So much of it spilled, and nobody cared.

I wiped the corner of my mouth with a tissue and stood up.

A street sweeper at the mouth of the alley was watching me. He held out a bottle of water.

Miss, are you feeling all right? Want me to call an ambulance?

No, thank you.

I took the bottle and drank.

Cold. Cold all the way from my throat down to my stomach, like a signnothing warm could reach you anymore.

Eustace came home a little after eight that night.

I was sitting in the living room. The lights were off.

He flipped the switch and flinched.

Why are you sitting in the dark?

Waiting for you.

Waiting for me for what?

Where did you go today?

His hands stalled for a beat as he changed his shoes. Then, casual as anything, he set them in the rack.

Working late, like I told you.

In a caf?

His hand stopped on the shoe rack.

You followed me?

No. I walked past and saw you.

Eustace was silent for a few seconds. He walked over, sat down beside me, and sighed.

Gayle, she's my client's assistant. Project stuff. You're reading too much into it.

She kissed you.

Foreign etiquette. She just got back from abroad.

He didn't even bother making his lies sound plausible.

Right. So what's her name?

Margaret.

I couldn't help but laugh.

Not because it was funny. Because it was absurd. He couldn't even be bothered to make up a convincing fake name.

Eustace. I'm going to ask you one question. Answer me honestly.

He looked at me.

The five million you owe. Is it real?

His expression shifted.

Just for an instant. But in that instant, I saw it.

Guilt.

Panic.

Everything he'd been hiding behind that innocent face.

Of course it's real. You don't believe me?

Then tell me. Who's the creditor? Which company? Where's the loan agreement?

Ilost it.

You lost a promissory note for five million?

It wasn't a promissory note, it was a contract. It probably got mixed in with some old books when we moved and thrown out.

The longer he talked, the smoother it got. Every loose thread in the lie tucked itself neatly away, like he'd done this a hundred times.

Gayle, did someone say something to you? Don't let people get in your head. There are so many people out there who can't stand to see us doing well.

So many people who can't stand to see us doing well.

Who couldn't stand it?

I'd nearly killed myself paying off his debt, and apparently someone out there couldn't stand this kind of doing well?

I didn't ask anything else.

He thought he'd smoothed it over.

How did he do it so naturally?

How long had he been lying to me?

Three months? Six months? Or was it a scam from the very beginning?

I went back to the bedroom, lay down, and my mind went blank.

Not because I didn't want to think.

Because I couldn't anymore.

I was too tired.