I knew Bradley wouldn’t take it lightly. Of course he wouldn’t. I was no longer the quiet little wife ironing his shirts and hiding behind drawn curtains. I was a woman sipping wine at a bar, dressed in a red dress he told me never to wear, breathing in freedom he never thought I’d claim.
And just like I expected–My phone began to ring.
Again. And again.
His name didn’t show, of course. I blocked him. But I knew it was him. That same entitled rhythm. Like the world had owed him something and it wasn’t arriving on time.
Eventually, I picked up.
His voice exploded through the speaker.
“Joyce! What the hell are you doing?”
I held the phone away for a moment, watching the wine swirl in my glass before I replied, “Good evening to you, too.”
“Don’t play smart with me!” he barked. “I left the black card for you to buy some stuff for the house. Towels. Groceries. Detergent. Not-” he growled, “-not to party at some bar and post pictures like you’re some teenager!”
I raised an eyebrow, cool as ever. “I thought you said I should ‘have fun.”
“Not like that!” he roared. “What, are you trying to embarrass me? You think men are really interested in a woman your age? You’re turning fifty soon, Joyce! This isn’t cute–it’s pathetic.”
“Funny,” I replied, my voice steady, “I thought I was just doing what all of you are doing. Having fun.”
“Oh, so now you’re making me feel guilty?” he sneered. “You think I should’ve brought you with us? Is that what this is? Guilt–tripping me? Instead of being grateful you get to rest at home while we’re out here handling business, you decide to post a picture and make me look like the bad guy?”
I didn’t say a word. I let him spiral.
“Go home,” he snapped. “Delete the post. Stop making a fool of yourself. And don’t embarrass me again.”
Then, in the background, I heard it–Maine’s voice.
“Bradley,” she said softly, like she always did when trying to calm him, “Don’t be too harsh on my cousin. She’s just enjoying herself. Let her.”
“Let her?” Bradley’s voice snapped back. “She’s wasting my money drinking. She should be more like you–knows how to act, how to look good. Joyce doesn’t get that. She’s too busy trying to relive something that’s long gone.”
His voice turned cold again.
My Husband of Twenty–Five Years Married My Cousin
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His voice turned cold again.
“Go home, Joyce. And I expect something prepared for us when we come back. Enough with that fun.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone. My hand tightened around it, nails pressing into my palm. My chest rose and fell slowly.
That man. That spineless, selfish man.
He never even wanted me. He just wanted someone to serve him. And now that I wasn’t playing housemaid anymore, he didn’t know what to do.
A few minutes later, my phone lit up again. I nearly ignored it, but this time, it was Maine.
I answered. Silence stretched before her voice broke through.
“Hey… Joyce?”
I didn’t answer.
She continued, voice careful. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what Bradley said earlier. He’s stressed about work. That investor deal nearly collapsed this morning. I think he just snapped.”
“Sure,” I said flatly.
“I mean it,” she insisted. “Don’t take it personally. And hey… when we get back, I’ll bring you something nice, okay? Maybe that scarf you liked from Italy?”
I faked a small laugh. “You’re too kind.”
But deep inside, my hands clenched.
Maine. The perfect cousin. Always charming. Always sweet. But beneath that soft–spoken voice was a girl who always knew how to get what she wanted–and who she needed to step on to get it.
She was the one they all preferred. Even when we were young.
I remembered when we were seventeen and she got caught cheating on her college entrance exam. She cried to me in the bathroom, begged me to take the blame, to protect her spotless image.
“Please, Joyce,” she had said/tears streaking her perfect face, “I can’t have this on my record. If they know it was me, my whole future’s gone. Just say you handed the wrong paper. Please… please, you’re the only one I trust.”
I remember staring at her, my fists clenched at my sides.
“No,” I told her. “I can’t do that. I want to get into the university too. I’ve worked hard. I earned this.”
Her expression shifted–desperation bleeding into something colder.
“But Joyce… You’re the top student. If you make a mistake, they’ll belleve it was just carelessness. You’re brilliant–they’ll still want you.”
2/3 8.9%
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her spotless image.
“Please, Joyce,” she had said, tears streaking her perfect face, “I can’t have this on my record. If they know it was me, my whole future’s gone. Just say you handed the wrong paper. Please… please, you’re the only one I trust.”
I remember staring at her, my fists clenched at my sides.
“No,” I told her. “I can’t do that. I want to get into the university too. I’ve worked hard. I earned thi
Her expression shifted–desperation bleeding into something colder.
“But Joyce… You’re the top student. If you make a mistake, they’ll believe it was just carelessness. You’re brilliant–they’ll still want you.”
“And you?” I asked bitterly. “You’re not even close to the top ten.”
“Exactly,” she whispered, voice trembling. “If they find out it was me, I’ll be blacklisted. They’ll think I lied my way through everything. But if it’s you, they’ll forgive it. You’ll bounce back. I know you will.”
She was pleading, begging like her life depended on it.
And I? I was stupid enough to believe her.
I agreed.
I told the board I had mixed up the answers, submitted someone else’s work, made a dumb, careless mistake. I took the suspension. The shame. The stain on my name. But they let me in. Both of us, eventually.
They still wanted me–my grades, my intellect. But from that point on, it didn’t matter how high I scored or how hard I tried.
Because once we were in that university, no one saw me as the smartest anymore.
They saw me as the cheater who got lucky.
The fraud who slipped through because she cried for leniency.
People whispered in lecture halls when I raised my hand.
They glanced sideways when I topped an exam.
As if I didn’t belong.
As if every achievement was stained with doubt.
And Maine?
She played her role perfectly. Whenever someone snickered near me, she would gently say, “Hey, don’t be like that. Joyce didn’t cheat. She just made a mistake. She’s still brilliant.”
They’d look at her with admiration.
“Wow, Maine’s so loyal.”
“She’s so sweet for defending her cousin.”
But she never once told the truth.
Chanson 1
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19:53 Sat, 24 May And Maine?
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She played her role perfectly. Whenever someone snickered near me, she would gently say, “Hey, don’t be like that. Joyce didn’t cheat. She just made a mistake. She’s still brilliant.” They’d look at her with admiration.
“Wow, Maine’s so loyal.”
“She’s so sweet for defending her cousin.”
But she never once told the truth.
And every time she did that–defended me for something she had done–my resentment deepened. I became the shadow, the one people distrusted. The one they tolerated but never applauded.
She took my future, my identity, my light… and painted over it with her lies, smiling sweetly while I disappeared.
