Before Marriage I Caught My Fiancé Cheating, Sold Our Home Overnight

Antony Delgado said he had a severe sleep disorder.

By day, he was the gentle, attentive surgeon who gave in to my every whim.

But at night, he had to put on his earplugs and eye mask and sleep alone in the master bedroom with the door locked from the inside.

For his health, I moved into the guest room with my best friend, Gay Fox, and left him the quietest space in the house.

Then, one week before we were due to sign our marriage license, I got up in the middle of the night to grab my delivery order and found the master bedroom door left ajar.

I thought he'd forgotten to lock it and reached out to pull it shut for him, only to hear Gay's coy voice drift out from inside: "Calling me into the master bedroom in the middle of the night, right under your wife's nose. Doesn't that just make it more of a thrill?"

Then came Antony's familiar low laugh: "Enjoy this last week of living together while it lasts."

"Once we're married, I'll tell her my sleep disorder is cured. And that's when you'll have to move out."

I froze outside the door, the warm bowl of porridge in my hand turning cold in an instant.

Sleep disorder, locked door, all of it, nothing but a scam to make it easier for them to carry on behind my back.

I turned around without a word and went back to my room. That same night I canceled the couples' honeymoon package we'd booked and bought a single plane ticket instead.

And while I was at it, I listed this wedding home, the one I'd paid for in full, on an online resale site.

I set the bowl of oatmeal, now gone completely cold, gently back on the dining table.

The phone lit up silently in my palm.

Your honeymoon package has been canceled. Your refund will be returned via the original payment method within three business days.

A soft, intimate glow still leaked through the gap in the master bedroom door.

Antony's gentle voice drifted out, low and quiet.

"Does your stomach still hurt? Did the medicine help at all?"

"Stop eating such cold things from now on. Your stomach's bad, don't you know that yourself?"

A few seconds later, the door opened.

Gay came out.

She and I ran straight into each other in the hallway.

"Sam, you... why are you up?"

I looked at her, saying nothing.

She arranged her face into something guilty and pitiful.

"My stomach acted up again in the middle of the night. I was rolling around in bed, it hurt so much I didn't know what else to do, so I knocked on Antony's door."

"You know how it is, he knows medicine. I... I didn't mean to disturb his rest."

Just then Antony came striding out of the master bedroom in his silk pajamas.

The moment he saw me, his brow creased, his eyes full of a tenderness and worry that wouldn't dissolve.

His warm palm went to my forehead before anything else.

In that instant, I felt his fingertips go faintly stiff with guilt.

"Why are you up? Your hands are freezing. Aren't you feeling well?"

His voice was the same as ever, that reassuring, steadying warmth to it.

I stared at that flawless face of his, and the suspicion in me nearly came surging up out of my throat.

But I forced it back down.

Seeing that I stayed silent, Antony explained patiently: "Gay had a stomach cramp. The pain drained the color right out of her face. As a doctor, I couldn't just stand by and do nothing."

He sighed and rubbed the space between his brows without thinking, the same habit he had when he was under enormous strain after surgery.

He said it in a tone that was almost self-hypnotizing:

"Even though this is exactly my worst 'forbidden window' for an episode, a doctor's instinct kicks in. There was nothing I could do."

For three years, because of this so-called "forbidden window" of his, I'd tiptoed even when I got up to use the bathroom at night.

"I understand."

He took the cold takeout from my hand himself. "It's gone cold. How can you eat that? Let me heat it up for you."

The sight of his back as he turned toward the kitchen was still tall, still straight, still the shape I'd loved for three years.

Gay seized the chance to lean in close, dropping her voice into that intimate, best-friend tone to remind me.

"Sam, Antony's sleep disorder seems to have gotten worse lately. You should go along with him more during this time. Don't do anything to upset him."

When she was done, she hooked her arm through mine, all affection.

I sat at the dining table, waiting for Antony to bring the reheated porridge over.

"Eat up. It'll warm your stomach."

He handed me the spoon, his eyes so tender you could drown in them.

I lowered my head and brought the porridge to my mouth, one spoonful at a time.

By the bright light overhead, I saw it clearly: along the open collar of his silk pajamas, a faint, thin streak of shimmering pink.

That exact shade was the 'Mermaid' highlighter Gay had bought new just yesterday, the one she'd made a point of showing off in front of me.

Every last shred of luck I'd hoped for, every lie I'd told myself, shattered completely in that moment.

Just then, Antony's phone, left behind on the couch, lit up.

A special booking text from the Fairmont Hotel popped up, clear as day.

Dear Mr. Delgado, your reservation for the "Love of a Lifetime" couples' suite has been confirmed

Antony's phone buzzed against the couch cushions again, several times in a row.

The spoon in my hand trembled, just slightly.

He noticed me looking, walked over, and picked up the phone in the most casual way.

He glanced at it, then turned to me smiling, his eyes overflowing with surprise and doting affection.

"So you caught me."

"I was going to surprise you the day we signed for our license."

He gave the phone a little wave, a note of caught-out chagrin in his voice. "Let's celebrate right here that day, when we sign. How's that sound?"

Nausea churned up through my chest, but I forced a smile onto my face anyway.

"Sure. I can't wait."

I didn't ask him why this so-called "surprise" had been booked three days earlier, on the very day Gay Fox turned another year older.

The next morning, when I woke, a lavish breakfast was already laid out on the table.

A sandwich, fried eggs, warm milk.

And a bowl of red-date millet porridge, specially cooked for Gay Fox and her "stomachache."

Antony was in the kitchen with an apron on, moving around, busy.

He carried the porridge over to Gay Fox and told her, "Drink it while it's hot. It's good for your stomach."

Then he came to my side and straightened the collar of my pajamas.

"Baby, there's an extremely complicated neurosurgery at the hospital today. The director asked for me by name to be lead surgeon. I probably won't make it home tonight. I'll be on night duty at the hospital."

The moment he drew close, the nerves he'd strained through days of high-intensity work went loose.

That special calming scent I wore slipped in on his breath and settled deep in his lungs.

"Sam, be good and wait for me at home."

He lowered his head and kissed my forehead, his nose lingering a moment longer in my hair, drawing in a deep breath as if pulling some kind of energy from it.

I felt it clearly. The fingertips that had been trembling from exhaustion steadied against my forehead.

I nodded, rose onto my toes on my own, and fixed his tie for him.

"Take care of yourself. Don't push too hard."

I saw him to the door and watched as he and Gay Fox, who claimed she was off to "interview for a new job," stepped one after the other into the elevator.

The moment their car pulled out of the complex, I took out the spare key to the master bedroom.

This door, which Antony had bolted from the inside for three whole years because of his so-called "sleep disorder," opened.

I pushed it open, walked in, and crossed step by step to the bed.

I lifted the bottom-right corner of the mattress.

There, folded neatly, were several pieces of Gay Fox's intimate clothing.

Beneath them was pressed a pink notebook.

I opened it.

Inside, in two different sets of handwriting, were the dates and details of every one of their trysts.

The most recent page, in a delicate hand, was Gay Fox's.

"Sam bought him new sleep aromatherapy again today. It's honestly laughable."

"She'll never know that the real 'medicine' in this master bedroom is me."

"Being held in his arms in the master bedroom, right under her nose, is the most stress-relieving special remedy in the world."

I slammed the diary shut, my nails whitening from the force.

Suddenly I remembered how, back in college, Gay Fox had gripped my hand and said, half envious, half jealous:

"Sam, you're so lucky. You never fight for anything, never grab for anything, and yet you have it all. Not like me. I work myself to death and still can't reach it."

So from that very moment, she'd wanted to take everything of mine.

Just as I was about to throw the whole thing on the floor, I caught sight of a folded sheet of paper pressed under the nightstand.

I pulled it out and unfolded it.

It was a special registration slip for early-pregnancy screening at the city's top-tier hospital.

In the box for the patient's name it read: Gay Fox.

And at the very bottom, in the ordering physician's signature line, three characters swept out in a bold, flourishing scrawl I knew better than anything.

Antony Delgado.

I made it back to the guest room, shut the door, and slid down against it without a sound.

I bit down on the back of my hand until the coppery-sweet taste of blood spread across my tongue. Only that small pain made me feel alive again.

The face in the mirror was drained white, a stranger's face.

I looked at that mirror and tried to pull my lips into a smile, but I couldn't manage even one.

So I gave up trying to stand.

At seven that evening, the lock turned.

Antony and Gay Fox came home, one behind the other.

Antony was carrying a thermal container.

The chicken soup I always liked.

He came over, crouched down, tilted his head up to look at me, apology in his eyes.

"Baby, I'm sorry. The surgery ran late."

He opened the container, and the rich smell rushed out at once.

"I stopped and stood in line on my way home just to get this for you. To help you build your strength back."

"Call it an early apology for tonight, when I can't be with you because of my 'hospital shift.'"

Calmly, I took the bowl he held out and drank a mouthful of the soup.

"It tastes good, but my stomach's a little off. I don't want any more."

I pushed the bowl aside and picked up my phone.

Right in front of the two of them, I sent the photos of the house I'd taken yesterday, together with the pre-approval notice from the online resale marketplace, to a real estate agent I knew.

"Miss Pruitt, great location, and paid in full with no mortgage. I happen to have a few very interested clients right now."

"I'll bring the first group by tomorrow morning to see it, if that works? All cash buyers."

I watched the stunned looks on Antony's and Gay Fox's faces as my fingertips tapped out a few words on the screen.

"Anytime works. The sooner the better."

Once the message was sent, I got up and headed for the bedroom.

As I passed the couch, a small ring box tumbled out of the pocket of Antony's suit jacket. Inside sat the pink-diamond wedding ring I had drawn and designed myself.

He pulled me into his arms, tender and full of feeling. "I was going to surprise you with it after we signed the marriage license in a few days. Gigi, from now on I'll give you the best of everything in the world."

But the next afternoon, right after I finished the notarized home sale with the agent, I saw Gay Fox's post on social media.

In the photo, that pink diamond sat plainly on her hand.

The caption stung. "He says only the real wife is worthy of this one-of-a-kind pink diamond. A gift for the pregnancy. Love you, Mr. L."

I called to confront him.

Faced with my questions, Antony showed no panic at being caught. Instead, in his gentlest voice, with a reproach that looked down on me from above, he said:

"Gigi's fingers are swollen from the pregnancy, and this ring fits her just right, so I let her borrow it for a couple of days to keep her calm."

"Gigi, you're a reasonable person. Why fight with a pregnant woman? Just think of the ring as a gift to the baby in her belly, for luck. If you want one, I'll buy you a bigger one."

Calmly, into the phone, I said: "Fine, I won't fight over it. Take good care of her tonight."

Before Antony could say anything else, I cut off the call.

I looked down at what I'd just picked up, the expedited title-transfer receipt stamped in bright red, and the corner of my mouth curved into a cold smile.

Antony, you don't need to buy me a bigger one.

I tossed the pink-diamond purchase receipt into the trash and flagged down a taxi.

"Riverside Manor, please."

Tonight, it was time to go back and pack the last of my things.

I pushed the door open. Gay Fox's flats lay scattered across the entryway.

I ignored them and went straight to the guest room to drag out my suitcase.

Then a rich, unmistakable scent drifted through the half-open door of the master bedroom.

That was the rare premium agarwood. The last thing my mother left me before she died.

Normally I was afraid even to take it out and look at it in case it lost its scent. Normally I couldn't bring myself to breathe it in. Only when his head was splitting with pain would I shave off the tiniest bit of powder to save his life.

I shoved the master bedroom door open like a woman gone mad.

Gay Fox was propped against my pillow, scrolling on her phone, and Antony was holding that porcelain bottle.

He'd dumped every last piece of agarwood inside into a humidifier and was about to add water.

"What are you doing?" I rushed over and snatched the bottle from his hand. But it was already empty.

Antony blocked me steadily, his brow furrowed. "It was just sitting there collecting dust. Gigi's got morning sickness and can't sleep, so what's wrong with using a little? Samantha, when did you get so materialistic and petty?"

"That's the rare premium agarwood! It's what my mother left me!" My whole body was shaking, my nails digging deep into my palms.

"People matter more than things. If it comes to it, I'll have someone buy you more later. Don't ruin the peace over this." Antony sighed.

Then he turned around, and right in front of me, he flipped the switch on the humidifier.

I turned and went back to the guest room and kept packing.

Antony assumed I'd caved, the way I had for the last three years, and went off to the kitchen to cut fruit, satisfied.

Gay Fox came to the guest room doorway, looked at my suitcase with only a few old clothes inside, and let out a sudden snicker.

Her eyes went straight to the family photo of my parents sitting on top of the case, the one I'd just wiped clean.

She stepped forward, hooked it with her toe, and the frame hit the floor, glass cracking.

Her slippered foot came down squarely on my mother's face, and she ground it in.

"Samantha, what are you playing at, acting so noble? You're an orphan nobody wanted. Who are you trying to disgust, clutching a dead woman's photo?"

The malice in her eyes was no longer hidden at all.

"Get your filthy foot off." I raised my head and looked at her, my eyes cold.

"So I stepped on it, what of it?"

She didn't get to finish. The rage I'd bottled up to the breaking point exploded in an instant.

I shot to my feet, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and flung her aside.

Gay Fox slammed into the wardrobe, slid to the floor, clutched her stomach, and screamed, "Ah! My stomach! Antony, help me, Samantha's trying to kill our baby!"

Antony heard the noise and burst into the room. The moment he saw the scene, his eyes went red.

"Samantha, are you insane!"

He shoved me hard.

My head struck the sharp corner of the nightstand.

Warm blood ran down my forehead and blurred my eyes.

Antony didn't spare me a single glance. He scooped Gay Fox up off the floor in a panic. "Gigi, don't be scared, I'll get you to the hospital right now!"

To stop me from following him out, he actually locked the security door from the outside.

His cold voice came through the door. "You stay in there and think about what you've done! If anything happens to Gigi, I will never let you off!"

The footsteps faded away.

I pressed a hand to my bleeding forehead, dragged myself up off the floor, and held a wad of tissue against the wound however I could.

I walked to the entryway, picked up the solid dumbbell I used for workouts, and brought it down hard against that locked door.

The lock was ruined. The door opened.

I dragged that suitcase out and walked into the night without looking back.

Early the next morning.

Antony brought Gay Fox, who was only "shaken up," back to the apartment.

"Antony, Sam bled so much yesterday, she must be so angry with me" Gay Fox said timidly.

"She brought it on herself. Locking her in for one night was letting her off easy." Antony's face was cold as he pulled out his keys and opened the front door. "Today she has to apologize to you, or else."

His voice cut off.