I couldn't wait to share my excitement with Marvin.

When I did, he held me close, his gaze filled with pride.

"Freya, I knew you could do it," he said, beaming.

"You're just going to have to step up your game," I teased, running my fingers along his jawline.

"Don't worry, I'll match your brilliance," he replied, his expression turning serious. "I have to be worthy of you."

Now, he had built an impressive career for himself, shining like a star. Maybe in his eyes, I no longer measured up.

Exhausted, I lay on the couch, drifting into a restless sleep. In my dreams, I was still coughing, my body pushed to its limits, desperately trying to grasp something, anything.

The next morning, I woke up to find my pillow stained with alarming blood.

Panic gripped my chest, and I felt a wave of dread wash over me. The thought that I might leave this world at any moment was unbearable.

I climbed the stairs to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Before I fell ill, I had been a radiant, beautiful woman. Now, I appeared gaunt and hollow, as if a decade had slipped away overnight. The dried blood on my lips and the vacant look in my eyes made me look like a specter haunting the night.

When I arrived at Marvin's place, I entered the code for the door, but it flashed an error.

He had changed the password. It was clear he didn't want me back.

The door opened, revealing the housekeeper.

"The trophy is on the coffee table. You can go grab it," she said.

I slipped on some house slippers and walked in, spotting my trophy sitting quietly on the table.

As I picked it up, tears welled in my eyes.

I traced my fingers over its surface, remembering the girl I once was—the one everyone envied.

"Is Marvin home?" I asked.

"Mr. Bogart is upstairs. Would you like me to get him?"

I shook my head. "No, that's alright."

It was better to avoid awkwardness.

I tucked the trophy into my bag, ready to leave, when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

I hesitated, telling myself to just take one last look.

"Marvin, we..."

And there she was, the other woman, always by his side.

My grip tightened on my bag as I made a hasty retreat toward the door, but he called out to me.

"Wait."

I stopped but didn't turn around.

"What's wrong? Afraid to see me?"

Slowly, I turned to face him, forcing a wry smile.

I didn't need a mirror to know how twisted and awkward my expression was.