A heavy silence settled over the group.
Samuel didn’t say much. After turning off my phone, he reminded the intern nurse to keep a close eye on my condition. The nurse nodded and murmured something I couldn’t quite make out, but I heard the stifled giggles around the room. Samuel’s face turned crimson, and he hurriedly left.
This private room was usually empty except for me. Occasionally, the intern nurse would check in, but most of the time, I was left alone with the beeping machines, even on my birthday.
That day, my condition took a turn for the worse, and I was rushed into emergency surgery.
Liam Harrison sent me a red envelope in the morning with a simple “Happy Birthday” and then vanished again. His social media had nothing but a blank line.
I spent the whole day in the ICU. Samuel kept stopping by, his face showing the kind of worry I’d never seen before. When I finally regained some awareness, I saw him standing outside the glass window, holding a cake, mouthing slowly, “When you get better, come out and have birthday cake. Happy birthday, Jessica.”
He paused after each word, making sure I understood.
I managed a weak smile and nodded.
By midnight, my condition had stabilized, and I was finally wheeled out. Samuel lit the candle on the cake and asked me what I wished for.
Without hesitation, I replied, “Divorce.”
He hesitated, then blew out the candle for me. “The heavens say it’ll come true,” he murmured.
I didn’t eat the cake, but the fact that Samuel remembered was enough.
The next day, when I felt a bit better, I picked up my phone to request leave from work. That’s when I saw Amber Thompson’s birthday message.
It was a video.
A dazzling seaside fireworks display, with drones spelling out “Happy Birthday.”
Her caption read: “Oops, wrong chat, sis! Liam booked this for my celebration. Pretty, right?”
She even sent me a whole album.
It was the maternity boudoir photos Liam had arranged for me when I was pregnant. He’d told me they were to preserve the memory, that my body wasn’t something to be ashamed of but something beautiful.
So, I agreed.
But Amber had submitted those private photos to a photography contest, and not the modest ones. She picked the most revealing shots, all with my face clearly visible.
“Congrats, sis, your set won an award! Though some people said your stretch marks were gross. They just don’t appreciate art.”
Then, as if by accident, she sent a voice message.
Liam’s voice came through clearly: “Honestly, those comments aren’t wrong. Sometimes when I see her stomach covered in stretch marks, it makes me sick too.”
Not only did Amber win the contest with those photos, but she also received a hefty cash prize. Liam, who’d been silent on social media for days, suddenly reactivated his account.
Their entire friend group congratulated Amber, reposting my photos, none of them blurred.
After I liked one of the posts, Liam finally reached out.
He said he’d be back soon to visit me and our child, then immediately followed up with, “You should be discharged by now. Perfect timing to go home and take care of Amber’s cat for a few days.”
All I replied was, “Okay.”
A few days later, after recovering further, I contacted a divorce lawyer, drafted the papers, and liquidated every asset under my name, including everything Liam had ever given me.
I created a personal video account, posting daily clips of my life with Liam, branding myself as “the subject of Amber’s maternity boudoir photos.”
The backlash was immediate.
The photography association even invited me as a special guest to Amber’s award ceremony.
As for Liam? He never showed up, not even on my discharge day. His excuse? “The hospital’s too busy.” But Amber had already spilled the truth: he was holed up in a hotel with her, prepping for the ceremony.
On the day of the awards, the venue was packed. My photos played on loop across the giant screen.
Liam sat in the family section, gazing adoringly at Amber, wearing the tie I had gifted him.
Amber raised her trophy triumphantly. “My biggest thanks go to my dearest, most beloved friend, Liam Harrison. Without his constant care and support, I wouldn’t be standing here today.”
Liam walked up with a bouquet, and the two embraced tenderly. Just as his lips brushed the corner of her mouth,
The doors burst open.
“Mr. Harrison, Ms. Thompson, you’ll need to come with us.”
