Chapter 1 The Fake Assignment
"Honey, the company's sending me overseas for a year," my husband Miles Jensen told me shortly after our wedding. "Once I come back, we'll finally have enough saved for the down payment on our own house."
Right after saying that, he brought his bedridden grandmother Martha Cole and younger sister Zara Jensen to our apartment.
"Grandma and Zara will have to stay with you for now," he said apologetically. "Sorry for putting all this on you."
Then he left in a hurry.
From that day on, I became Martha's full-time caregiver while also taking responsibility for Zara's daily routine. I woke up before sunrise to cook breakfast, rushed home after work to make dinner, handled school drop-offs and pickups, and stayed up late helping with homework. My days blurred together in endless exhaustion.
At first, my husband still called often, asking whether I was tired and reminding me not to overwork myself. But gradually, the calls became less frequent. Then they disappeared altogether.
After enduring an entire year like that, I finally received another message from him:
Miles: Work still isn't finished here. I may need to stay another year.
It wasn't until Zara's birthday that I discovered a message from Miles on her smartwatch.
Miles: Friday I'll pick you up at the usual spot with Yasmin. We'll celebrate your birthday together.
Another message followed immediately after.
Miles: If Zara asks, just tell her you're sleeping over at a classmate's house Friday night and you'll not come home.
And then came the final line.
Miles: Don't let her find out.
Only then did I realize that my husband's so-called overseas assignment had actually been right here in the same city all along.
I scrolled through the chat history on Zara's smartwatch, my fingertips trembling slightly against the cold screen.
I scrolled through the chat history on Zara's watch, my fingers trembling against the icy screen.
No wonder she sometimes came home barely hungry after school. I used to think my cooking simply didn't suit her taste, but the truth was that Miles had already bought her snacks and desserts long before dinner. She was full before she even got home.
I suddenly remembered last autumn, when Zara came bouncing through the door holding two cups of pumpkin spice latte with a huge grin on her face.
"Zara! Miles bought us the first fall drinks of the season!"
Back then, I'd laughed and teased her about how Miles had suddenly learned to follow trendy holiday traditions. Now I finally understood.
Miles hadn't bought them at all.
That woman, Yasmin Carlisle, had. She had even thoughtfully bought one for me too.
A weak voice suddenly drifted out from the bedroom. "Zoe…"
I snapped back to reality immediately and locked the watch screen. All the anger, humiliation, and suffocating heartbreak crashing through me had to be buried instantly beneath the calm expression I wore every single day.
I stood up quickly and walked into Martha's room. With practiced movements, I changed her soiled diaper, wrung out a warm towel, carefully wiped down her body, and slowly massaged her stiff limbs one by one.
Every movement was gentle and familiar. Over the past year, these routines had repeated so many times they felt carved permanently into my bones.
Martha was old now, bedridden and barely able to speak clearly anymore. She looked at me with cloudy eyes and murmured weakly, "You've worked so hard… Zoe…"
I forced a faint smile despite the ache in my throat. "It's nothing, Grandma. I should be doing this."
A while later, the bathroom door opened and Zara returned to her room in her pajamas. Not long after, she ran over excitedly, her face glowing with anticipation.
"Zara! I need to tell you something!"
"What is it?"
"Friday is my classmate's birthday party, and she invited me for a sleepover. Can I go?"
For a brief moment, I said nothing. My fingertips tightened unconsciously before slowly relaxing again.
Then I smiled gently and nodded. "Of course. But remember to be polite at your friend's house and listen to her mom, okay? Don't cause trouble."
The moment Zara heard me agree, she cheered happily and nodded over and over again.
I stood there staring at her closed bedroom door afterward, feeling as though every ounce of strength had been drained from my body. Exhaustion and heartbreak swallowed me whole.
That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling until dawn.
