She Built His Empire, Then Watched It Burn

1: 1

When Maxwell Dickerson proposed, he swore he would give me a fresh rose every single day.

It was supposed to mean his love for me would never wither.

He kept it up for 365 days.

On day 366, a plastic fake suddenly appeared in the vase.

I took a picture and sent it to him.

He didn't reply until eleven that night:

"Business dinner tonight, no time to hit the flower shop. The plastic one'll do for now, looks the same anyway."

I turned and looked at the lifeless little ornament sitting in the vase.

I knew it wasn't the flower he was willing to settle for.

But me, I've never been the settling type.

I sat on the couch and waited a long time.

At one in the morning, the lock clicked.

Maxwell came in reeking of alcohol, walked straight toward the bathroom without even taking off his shoes, and tossed out a single line:

"Grab me a set of pajamas."

I set down the medical report in my hands and got up to fetch his clothes from the bedroom.

As I passed the coffee table, his phone screen lit up.

A message from his childhood friend:

"Damn, Max, what were you even saying? You actually that drunk? Delete the messages when you get home, don't let your wife see."

I picked up the phone and unlocked it.

The chat was wiped clean, except for three messages Maxwell had sent five minutes ago:

"So sick of it. Come home every day and she's nagging in my ear like some old nanny. If I didn't live out here she'd be checking up on me. Honestly I don't even want to come home."

"I only married her because she was simple, and she could put money into my startup."

"Real talk, I can't even stand looking at her face anymore. Ruby's the only one who gets me."

I crouched by the coffee table and stared at the screen for a long time.

Three messages, like three slaps, left my ears ringing.

Four years dating, one year married.

I'd pinched every penny, quit my job at a multinational to be his unpaid support staff, and sunk my entire twenty-thousand-dollar dowry into his studio.

But in his eyes I was just a gullible sucker who was easy to control and good for money.

The water in the bathroom shut off.

Maxwell came out wrapped in a towel.

The second he saw me crouched on the floor with his phone, his face changed.

"You went through my phone?"

He rushed over, snatched it away, and swiped at the screen twice.

I looked up at him.

"Those three messages, were they from you?"

"Dave Renner grabbed my phone and sent that garbage. It was just messing around at the table, and you believe it?"

He shoved the phone into his pocket, his voice openly impatient.

Dave was his childhood friend.

Every time he said the wrong thing or screwed something up, Dave was always the one who took the fall.

Today, all of a sudden, I didn't want to believe it anymore.

I stood, handed him the pajamas, and spoke evenly:

"Those messages were sent five minutes ago. Your drive home takes at least twenty."

His brow knotted tighter.

"So? What are you trying to say?"

"Dave dropped me off. And he's the one who sent those from my phone. We had a bet on whether you cared about me, whether you'd check my phone after seeing his message."

"Clearly, I won."

I let out a soft laugh.

"Oh. Got it."

He probably hadn't expected me to be so easy to brush off.

He blanked for a second, then put that condescending look back on his face.

"Fine, stop overthinking. I'm tired. I'll sleep in the guest room tonight so I don't wake you up getting water."

He turned to go.

I stood there, watching his back.

On the coffee table, the wind flipped a page of the medical report.

Breast nodule.

The doctor said it was highly suspected to be malignant and recommended I be admitted for a biopsy as soon as possible.

The next morning, I didn't make breakfast.

When Maxwell got up, I was sitting at the dining table.

In front of me were my bank cards and a stack of transfer receipts.

He frowned as he pulled on his jacket.

"Why's there no food today? I've got a client meeting this morning."

"Maxwell, we need to talk."

"Whatever it is, tell me tonight. I'm in a hurry."

"That plastic flower will last at least a week. I've been busy lately, so I'm not going to the flower shop. Just make do with it."

He grabbed his keys, ready to leave.

"Let's talk about a divorce."

2: 2

His arm froze halfway into his jacket. He turned to look at me like he'd just heard the funniest thing in the world.

"Annette, are you done with this act?"

"Last night was just a few jokes, wasn't it? You're really going to make it into a divorce? And I already explained myself to you."

"Making it into a divorce, yes. And last night was only one of the reasons."

He frowned at me.

"Then what else?"

I pointed at the plastic fake flower in the vase.

He laughed, furious.

"Are you sick? I told you, I've been swamped with work lately and haven't had time to hit the flower shop. It's one flower, and you want a divorce over it? You're thirty years old. Can you stop being this childish?"

"Fine. Once I get through this stretch, I'll buy you a hundred of them, all right? You can stare at them every day until you're sick of the sight of them."

I knew there was no getting through to him, so I pushed the transfer records across to him.

"The two hundred thousand you used to start your business came from my dowry. Last year, when the studio couldn't cover its cash flow, I took another hundred thousand of my mom's retirement money. It's all there in the transfer records. You said at the time it counted as a loan."

His face darkened in an instant. He swept the records onto the floor.

"You're keeping accounts with me down to the last cent? Do you even want this marriage anymore?"

"No, I don't."

I looked him in the eye and said it word by word.

"And this apartment. I paid the down payment before we married, and the deed is in my name. Please move out before the end of the month."

He stared at me for a long moment, then suddenly laughed.

"Annette, will you wake up? You quit your job and sat at home for three years. I'm the one who's been paying your social security. Leave me and you'll be living on air?"

"While I'm still willing to humor you, don't push this until it gets ugly. If we really divorce, you're thirty, no job, no income. Who's going to want you?"

I didn't argue with him. I pulled an offer letter out of my bag and pushed it in front of him.

"My old company's director came to me yesterday. Project manager position, double the salary. I start Monday."

The smile froze on his face.

He picked up the offer, glanced at it, and slammed it down hard on the table.

"You lined up your next move a long time ago? You've been wanting to divorce me this whole time, haven't you?"

"No wonder you've been so passive-aggressive lately. Turns out there's someone else, isn't there?"

"If that's what you want to think, there's nothing I can do about it."

I stood up.

"Take your time reading the agreement. Sign it and get it back to me within three days, and wire the money over with it."

I turned toward the entryway to change my shoes.

Behind me came the sound of him smashing a cup.

"Annette! You walk out that door, don't you dare come back regretting it!"

I didn't look back. I pulled the door open and walked out.

3: 3

In the afternoon, I went to the hospital to pick up the results from my follow-up tests.

The moment I stepped out of the clinic, I ran into Maxwell in the lobby.

A woman in a white dress stood beside him.

Hair down to her waist, soft eyes.

It was Ruby Blaine.

His high school classmate, back for only two weeks since her divorce.

Ruby was clutching a medical file in her hand.

Maxwell had a hand on her arm, his head bent as he murmured something to her.

His back curved slightly, and his eyes held a tenderness I had never once seen.

I stayed behind a pillar and watched him guide her across the street with the greatest care.

He pulled the taxi door open for her, and even reached up to shield the top of her head from the car frame.

I didn't go over. I turned and left.

That night when he came home, he carried the faint scent of a white-tea perfume.

He loosened his tie as he spoke, offhand.

"Been talking with a client all day, I'm exhausted. What'd you eat tonight?"

I sat on the couch, not even lifting my head.

"I sent the digital copy of the divorce agreement to your phone. Take a look. If there's no problem, just sign it."

He blew up in an instant, hurling the tie down hard onto the couch.

"Annette, are you done or not? I told you, Dave just posted that garbage on his own. How long are you going to keep this up?"

His gaze fell on the medical file on the coffee table. He frowned.

"You went to the hospital today? Did you see me with Ruby?"

"She just got divorced. She's not stable right now, and she's sick on top of it. I looked after her a little as an old classmate. What's wrong with that? That's completely normal."

"Looking after her means holding her arm, opening her car door, shielding her head?"

Even now, he never once asked why I would have been at the hospital.

I raised my eyes to him, my voice cutting.

"Maxwell, when I had a stomach flu so bad I couldn't even stand, you couldn't be bothered to pour me a cup of hot water."

He froze for a second, then his voice climbed higher.

"How is that the same thing? Ruby's health has always been bad. You just get sick once in a while."

Right as he said it, the doorbell rang.

Maxwell went to answer it.

Ruby stood outside.

Her eyes were red, and she carried a soup thermos in her hand.

Seeing me there, she shrank back timidly.

"Max, I went home and thought about it, and I felt I really should come explain things to your wife. I was afraid she'd misunderstand..."

Maxwell immediately stepped aside to let her in, then shot me a hard glare over his shoulder.

I understood that look.

It meant: don't make a scene.

Ruby walked in and set the thermos on the table.

"Annette, this is soup I made for Max. He drank too much yesterday, his stomach's off, he can't have anything harsh on it."

"And, Max and I really are just old classmates. Please don't read into it."

My gaze stayed on the thermos for two seconds.

So Ruby had been at the drinking last night too.

No wonder he'd sighed the way he did on the drive home.

I smiled a little.

"Is that so? Running to someone else's home in a nightgown in the middle of the night to explain yourself. Are you afraid I'll read into it, or afraid I won't read into it enough?"

Ruby went white, and the tears fell at once.

"Annette, I didn't mean to. I was just scared you'd be angry, that's why I..."

"I'll leave right now. I'm sorry, it's all my fault..."

"Enough!"

Maxwell suddenly shouted, stepping forward to put himself in front of Ruby.

He turned and glared at me.

"Annette, can you not be so aggressive? She came to apologize on her own. What more do you want?"

I watched him shield her behind his body, and my chest ached like a needle driven into it.

"She comes into my home to show off, and you're calling me aggressive?"

"How is that showing off? She just came to explain!"

Maxwell's voice grew louder and louder.

"Ruby just got divorced. Do you have any idea how much she's suffered? Can't you be a little kinder, a little more gracious?"

4: 4

Kindness?

I repeated the word, and then a laugh broke out of me while the tears slowly filled my eyes.

I have a breast lump they think could be malignant. Next week I go into the hospital for a biopsy.

I was kind to her. Have you ever once been kind to me?

The doctor said the biggest cause of this condition is emotional stress.

I pulled the report out of my bag and threw it down in front of him.

The pages fanned open.

The words suspected malignant lesion were right there, plain to read.

Maxwell froze, his eyes dropping to it before he could stop himself.

My voice shook.:

I used to think that even if you didn't love me, there were still four years between us.

Now I finally understand. You don't just not love me. You don't have a shred of human decency left.

I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were sick. If I'd known, I never would have...

Ruby started crying again, reaching out to grab my arm.

Don't touch me.

I shoved her away hard.:

You don't get a say in this.

Annette!

He thought I was about to hit Ruby, and suddenly threw out a hand and shoved me.

Hard.

I stumbled back several steps, and the small of my back slammed into the corner of the coffee table.

A stab of pain went straight through me.

I braced myself against the table, barely staying upright, and tasted something salty and metallic in my mouth.

The soup thermos toppled over on the floor.

Brown broth washed over my slippers.

The tops of my feet flushed red in an instant.

Maxwell stood stunned for a second, as if even he hadn't expected to push me.

But only for a second, before he spun around to steady Ruby.

Are you okay? Did she scare you? Did you get burned?

Ruby leaned into his arms, shaking her head as she wept.:

I'm fine, I just don't want her getting so upset she makes herself worse...

It's all my fault. I shouldn't have come.

It's not your fault. She's just impossible.

Maxwell patted her back to soothe her, and from start to finish he never looked at me once.

Holding the coffee table, I slowly straightened up.

The pain in my back kept surging up in waves, but it was nothing next to the pain in my chest.

I looked at the tension in his profile, and all at once I went calm.

Maxwell.

My voice was very quiet, but very clear.

He didn't turn around, still coaxing the woman in his arms.

Maxwell.

I called out again.

He turned, impatient.:

What now?

This divorce is happening. I've decided.

The three hundred thousand you owe me, wired to my account within three days. If it's a cent short, I'm taking you to court.

This apartment is mine. Tonight, you and her, both of you get out.

Maxwell's face went white in an instant.

Are you insane? You'd back me into a corner over something this small?

I took a step forward and stared into his eyes.

It was never today's one thing that broke me. It's that you made me believe I'd found real love, and in the end I found out it was a scheme you'd planned out from the start.

And now, I'm done acting it out with you.

Ruby tugged at Maxwell's arm.:

Max, it's all my fault. Why don't I get down on my knees and apologize to her...

No need.

I cut her off coldly.:

If you like picking up trash, go right ahead. Just don't come to my home to put on your poor-little-victim act. You disgust me.

Watch how you talk!

Maxwell took a step forward and suddenly raised his hand.

I didn't flinch.

I just looked straight at him.

His hand stopped in midair, the knuckles white, and in the end it didn't come down.

But the very last thing I'd still been holding on to died completely the moment he raised that hand.

Get out.

I pointed at the door, my voice level.

Maxwell's expression shifted again and again.

Finally he clenched his teeth and forced out a single line through them.:

Fine, Annette, don't come crying to me. Without me, you'll be sick and in the hospital with no one to look after you. Let's see how you get through that!

He grabbed Ruby and slammed out the door.

The crash was loud enough to set the chandelier swaying.

In an instant the living room went silent, nothing left but the mess of spilled soup across the floor.

I stood there for a long time.

My phone rang, jarring in the quiet.

It was my lawyer.

Ms. Swanson, Mr. Dickerson just contacted me. He says he agrees to the divorce, but he wants the assets divided over again. He says... he says you were emotionally unstable during the marriage, that it caused the breakdown of your relationship, that you're the party at fault, and that you should walk away with nothing.

Whatever the lawyer said after that, I could no longer make out.

I looked down at my own hands. My fingertips were still trembling.

I walked slowly to the window and pulled back a corner of the curtain.

Under the streetlight, Maxwell had Ruby in his arms, comforting her.

His hand patting her back over and over, tender beyond belief.

I gave a small laugh, took out my phone, and dialed another number.

Hello, Lawyer Chavez, go ahead and file the suit for me.

Besides the money he owes and the apartment, every core project proposal his studio put out this past year, I wrote all of them. The original drafts are with me. He has no idea.

I want him to have nothing.

I hung up and leaned against the window.

The night wind slipped in through the gap, cold enough to cut.

The phone screen lit up. A notification from the hospital.

I could complete my admission paperwork tomorrow morning.