I Paid for the Woman Who Stole My Man

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I sponsored my best friend, Chloe Taylor, who came from a really tough background, through college.

I even helped her become a teacher at a private school.

She'd always been incredibly grateful, saying I was the most important person in her life.

Until one day, when I was helping Chloe fix her laptop, I saw the photos inside.

Chloe and my fianc, Ethan Carter, were sitting side-by-side on a ski lift.

She was snuggled up on his shoulder during a late-night movie.

They were kissing in a sunset on a tropical island.

I'd been so swamped with hospital work, constantly postponing our dates.

Turns out, she'd gone on all of them for me.

There were even their SnapChat messages from today. Ethan had sent:

"She's sleeping at the hospital tonight, so bring a few extra boxes of condoms when you come over, baby."

My hand trembled as I closed the laptop.

I grabbed my car keys and sped all the way to our shared apartment, the place we called our wedding home.

The moment I pushed open the door, the heavy scent of smoke and something else, something cloying and intimate, hung in the air.

The two on the bed didn't even have time to pull apart.

Chloe saw me first. She shrieked, her face going white as a sheet.

"Sophie..."

Ethan turned, glanced at me, and instinctively shielded her behind him.

The clothes and wrappers scattered all over the floor made me freeze in disbelief, forgetting to even breathe.

I just stood there, watching Ethan pick up the clothes from the floor, helping Chloe dress, piece by piece. His movements were practiced and gentle.

He walked her to the door, whispering reassurance. "Someone's waiting downstairs for you. I'll handle everything."

I hadn't done anything yet, but he already feared I'd lash out like a madwoman.

The spot in my chest felt hollow, like everything had been ripped out.

Only he and I remained in the room, facing each other.

I stared at the face I'd known since childhood.

We were childhood sweethearts, knew each other for over twenty years. He always said he'd be my shadow, always follow me.

But now, that face looked utterly foreign.

Ethan pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, took a drag, then looked at me.

"Don't you have anything to say?"

He was the one who cheated, so why was I the one standing here, helpless and questioned?

"Ethan, how could you two do this to me?"

He flicked the ash from his cigarette, his tone flat.

"I admit, I messed up. But Sophie, genuinely, what have you given me these past few years?"

"You always have something to do, a surgery scheduled. I ask you out to dinner, you're on rounds. I ask you to a movie, you're on call. I even had to schedule a fight with you three days in advance."

He said these words with a hint of grievance.

As if I were the one in the wrong.

As if I were the one who cheated.

"Chloe's different."

His voice softened when he mentioned Chloe.

"She cares about my feelings. She remembers what I say. She'll do the things I want to do with me."

"All those dates you missed, she went on them with me."

"In her heart, I'm the priority."

Every word was a knife, twisting in my heart, leaving me numb with pain.

"Ethan! You've known me my whole life, I've always been this way. I haven't changed one bit!"

He frowned, as if I were being unreasonable.

"Yeah, you haven't changed. But I'm tired of waiting."

I heard my own voice trembling.

"So you slept with my best friend?"

He was silent for two seconds.

"I told you, it's not her fault."

I took a deep breath and walked over.

My palm connected hard with Ethan's face.

"You're truly heartless, Ethan. How could you do this to me?"

He didn't dodge. The cigarette dropped from his fingers, sparks landing on the duvet.

He looked up, a flicker of emotion finally in his eyes.

"Enough? If not, do it again."

"Once you've vented, don't go looking for trouble with Chloe."

I opened my mouth to say something, but my phone suddenly rang.

It was the hospital.

"Dr. Miller, surgery starts in half an hour."

Ethan let out a soft laugh.

It was quiet, but it pierced my ears like a needle.

"Go on, Dr. Miller. Your fianc is sleeping with your best friend, and you still have to go perform surgery."

"You really are the most tolerant woman I've ever met."

I gripped my phone, my knuckles white.

Fearing tears, I turned and walked away.

The surgical lights were blinding.

I gritted my teeth, forcing back the tears, my hand steady with the scalpel.

No one could tell that just half an hour ago, I'd seen my fianc and my best friend intimately in my own bed.

When the surgery ended, my wrist ached so much I could barely lift it.

"Dr. Miller, congratulations are in order!"

The anesthesiologist, charting notes, smiled.

"I heard you're taking six months off for your wedding? Everyone in the department is saying that Dr. Carter, who sends you a bouquet every day, is finally marrying our 'Ice Queen' Dr. Miller!"

My grip on the paper cup tightened instantly.

For these six months of leave, I'd used all my accumulated vacation days and scheduled every possible surgery in advance.

I'd get so exhausted I'd faint from low blood sugar in the changing room, then pick myself up, chug a glucose drink, and go right back to it.

Ethan came to pick me up that day, and when he saw my pale lips, he actually frowned.

"Can't you be a little kinder to yourself?"

I smiled. "Are you worried about me, Dr. Carter?"

He pulled me into his arms.

"Sophie, I just want to marry you, take you home, and put you on a pedestal."

Now, looking back, his arms had already embraced someone else.

All my efforts these past months were nothing but a joke.

"Mhm."

I managed only one word, afraid that another would trigger my collapse.

I walked into the changing room.

The moment the door locked, I slid down the door panel to the floor.

My shoulders shook violently, tears streaming endlessly through my fingers.

I could never shake Ethan off, not since we were kids.

He was like my shadow, always tagging along wherever I went.

When I was nine, I snapped impatiently, "Can you stop following me?"

He looked down and said, "I want to be your shadow. Wherever you go, I go."

At eighteen, he handed me a note: "I don't want to be a shadow anymore. I want to stand beside you."

We started dating.

From eighteen to twenty-eight, a full ten years, he kept every promise.

He always picked me up when I worked late, he took time off to care for me when I was sick, he remembered every word I said.

Everyone said this was love at its best.

I believed them.

I pulled out my phone and saw a message from Chloe, sent two hours ago.

[Sophie, I know I've wronged you, but I truly love him. I'll do anything you want. Just let us be, okay?]

I stared at the words and suddenly found it hilarious.

Chloe probably didn't even remember how she'd gotten out of that miserable, dead-end town she came from.

That year, her grandma was critically ill, no money for hospital bills. Chloe knelt in the hospital corridor, sobbing uncontrollably, tears and snot streaming down her face.

I was the one who paid for her surgery, arranged everything.

I was the one who paid her tuition, encouraged her to get her teaching license.

She said I was her biggest benefactor, saying:

"Sophie Miller, you're the one person I'll never betray in my life."

But now?

She was sleeping with my fianc, and asking me to bless their "love."

But who would bless my ten years of youth?

The phone screen blurred. I wiped my tears, ready to stand up.

Just then, I heard nurses talking outside the door.

"Did you hear? We got a patient in the ER, pregnant, had intense sex, and hemorrhaged."

"The baby's okay. But her husband looks really powerful. When he came in, he said if we couldn't save the baby, he'd shut down the hospital."

"No wonder rich people are so arrogant..."

"That's not the point. The point is, the guy looks exactly like Dr. Miller's fianc!"

"Oh my god! She's pregnant! Is Dr. Miller, like, the other woman?"

The footsteps faded away.

I leaned against the door, my body ice cold.

My nails dug deep into my palms, drawing blood.

I pushed the door open abruptly and rushed out.

Through the glass window of the patient's room, I saw them.

Ethan's voice was gentle, like he was comforting a child: "Drink slowly, it's hot."

I pushed open the door.

Chloe saw me first. "So-Sophie..."

Ethan turned, and the moment he saw me, he instinctively shifted, shielding Chloe behind him.

He'd made the same move just a few hours ago in our apartment.

His voice turned cold. "I told you not to bother her."

I stared at Chloe's flat stomach.

"Pregnant?"

Chloe's tears fell, and she turned her face away, not daring to look at me.

"Yes," Ethan answered for her. "It's mine. Three months."

Three months...

Three months ago, Ethan went on a business trip, and there was an unexpected earthquake.

Messages, calls, all went unanswered.

I took leave overnight and drove there.

Halfway, an aftershock hit. I was thrown forward, my stomach hitting the steering wheel.

The child I hadn't even had a chance to tell anyone about, was gone in that chaos.

When Ethan arrived, he knelt by my bed, holding me, his voice trembling.

"I'm so sorry, Sophie... We'll have another child, I promise we will..."

It was the first time I'd seen him cry.

I stroked his hair and said, "As long as you're safe, we'll have more."

Turns out, he wasn't on a business trip at all. He was with Chloe.

They conceived a child at that time.

And I, on my way to find him, lost our child.

"Sophie..."

Chloe's voice pulled me back to reality. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked utterly pathetic.

"The baby can't grow up without a dad... Please, let us be..."

SMACK.

My palm connected hard with her face.

The patient room fell silent for a moment, then Chloe covered her face and began to cry.

Ethan shot up, grabbing my wrist.

"Sophie Miller! That's enough! Take it out on me!"

His eyes were filled with rage.

In twenty years, I could count the times he'd gotten angry with me on one hand.

Each time it was because I worked too hard, neglecting my own body.

But now, it was for the woman he cheated with.

"Take it out on you? Ethan, do you even deserve it?"

I yanked my hand free and stepped back.

Something slipped out of my pocket and clattered to the floor.

It was a tactical knife.

Ethan and I both froze.

Three years ago, on the day he proposed, he slid the ring onto my finger, then put a knife in my hand.

"Sophie Miller, you're the only one for me, forever. If I ever betray you, use this knife and stab me through the heart."

I looked down at the knife, my head buzzing.

Then I bent down and picked it up.

In that moment, a massive wave of resentment and fury surged from my chest, making my eyes burn.

I really wanted to plunge it in.

I wanted to press the tip against his heart and ask him why, and how dare he.

I wanted him to hurt, to taste the feeling of being stabbed in the back by the one he loved most.

Chloe screamed, spreading her arms to shield Ethan.

"Sophie! It's my fault, not his!"

I gripped the knife and took a step toward them.

Just one step.

Ethan's expression changed. He yanked Chloe behind him, then raised his hand and pushed me.

I went flying across the room.

My head hit the tiled floor with a sickening thud, and my ears were ringing.

When my vision returned, I saw him holding Chloe tightly in his arms.

His voice was soft, so gentle.

"Did I hit your stomach?"

Chloe shook her head, crying.

He never once looked at me.

The hallway was filled with people.

"Oh my god, is that Dr. Miller? She looks so miserable..."

"Dr. Miller usually seems so calm, why is she acting like a maniac?"

I lay on the floor, my head throbbing.

When I was eight, my mother left me with my alcoholic and abusive father. I knelt on the floor, clutching her hand, demanding to know why, crying until I fainted.

Since then, I had never broken down for anyone.

I didn't cry when a surgery failed, nor when I lost my child.

It was Ethan who slowly, painstakingly, chipped away at that protective shell.

He spent twenty years making me believe I could also be cherished.

But it was also him who turned me back into a maniac.

I pushed myself up, opened the door, and walked out.

It's okay. I only have myself, and that's enough.

Back at my desk, the whispers around me were constant, but I didn't listen.

On my desk lay the approved wedding leave form and an application for an overseas assignment.

Two months ago, my Head of Department had discussed it with me, saying it was a great opportunity, and I'd be promoted to Deputy Head upon my return.

When I told Ethan the news, he smiled.

"Sophie Miller, I support all your decisions."

He pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on my head.

"No matter how far you go, I'll always wait for you, always follow you."

I couldn't bear to leave Ethan, couldn't bear to let down his years of waiting.

So, I submitted the wedding leave form. My Head of Department, though reluctant, approved it.

"You two have been together for ten years. Choosing marriage over an overseas assignment is a good decision. I hope he doesn't let you down."

Now, his words had become a cruel prophecy.

I tore up the approved form and threw it into the trash can.

Slowly, deliberately, I filled out the deployment application form.

The moment I finished, I suddenly felt like I could finally breathe.

Chloe's laptop was still there. I clicked on her SnapChat, taking screenshots of everything.

Her feed was full of posts:

Photos of her and Ethan in the snow, hands intertwined at the movie theater, lavish dinners at couple's restaurants...

Every single post was hidden from me.

Mutual friends in the comments section were egging them on.

"OMG, you two are so cute! Just get married already!"

"Ethan's such a legend, even when his fiance's cold to him, he's got a girlfriend to comfort him!"

"Wonder what Sophie's reaction will be. She's always so serious, I'd love to see her cry!"

So everyone knew. Only I was just a fool, completely in the dark.

Made a fool of, a complete joke to everyone.

It was past midnight when I returned to the apartment Ethan and I shared.

I pulled out a suitcase and started packing.

Once I finished, I grabbed my phone and called a real estate agent, intending to sell our wedding home.

"Okay, ma'am, is the property title in your name?"

"Yes."

When we moved in, Ethan said he'd only put my name on the title, so I'd always feel secure.

I pulled the property title from the drawer and opened it. My hand froze.

The owner's name, at some point, had been changed to Chloe Taylor.

Even our wedding home, he'd given to her.

"Ms. Miller, are you in a rush to sell?"

It took me a long time to respond, my voice hoarse, like sandpaper.

"Sorry, I'm not selling anymore."

I hung up, stuffed the last few items of clothing into my suitcase.

Zipped it up, stood, and looked around.

I'd lived in this apartment for three years.

I picked out the sofa, chose the curtains, and Ethan had custom-ordered the painting on the wall from overseas.

He said, "When we get married, this wall will be covered with our photos."

The photo of us was still hanging there.

He had his arm around me, his eyes crinkled in a smile.

It was taken three years ago, on the first day we moved in.

He'd been so excited, spinning me around: "Sophie Miller, from today on, we have a home!"

I'd lived here for three years.

In the end, not a single brick in this place was truly mine.

I reached up and took down the photo frame.

Opened it, pulled out the photo.

On the back was a line of his handwriting:

"No matter how long it takes, I'll wait for you. C Ethan Carter"

I threw the photo into the trash can.

Dragging my suitcase, I closed the door.

A few days later.

My overseas assignment was approved: London.

Ethan sent a SnapChat message:

[Sophie Miller, Chloe's pregnant, I have to take responsibility. I'm giving the marriage certificate to Chloe, but the wedding can still go on as planned. I won't go back on my word; I'll still give you the most magnificent wedding.]

I stared at that message for a long time.

He wanted me to be his mistress, and Chloe his wife?

How laughable.

I didn't reply. I opened my laptop and exported all those photos.

One by one, I packaged and printed them.

Recipient addresses: The school where Chloe taught, the Carter family residence, Carter Industries.

Having done everything, I picked up my suitcase and headed straight for the airport.

Before boarding, my phone suddenly vibrated.

Messages flooded in like a broken dam.