Funeral for Our Love

Keeping myself together, I softly denied it and hung up.

As it turned out, the ring had been custom-made for Natalie from the start. The one I received was just the defective version.

At that moment, it felt like someone had wrapped a hand tightly around my throat. Pain and suffocation came all at once.

Just as I was at the end of my rope, Michael called. His voice was frantic. "Honey, Natalie's covered in red rashes, and her lymph nodes are swollen. What's going on? "You're a doctor. Should she go get checked?"

Listening to him, I became even more certain that Natalie hadn't taken any medication to control the virus after being infected.

Based on her symptoms, this wasn't just late-stage AIDS. There was a strong chance she had other infections as well, like syphilis.

On the other end of the line, Michael pressed impatiently, "Honey, say something. I need an answer!"

I clenched my teeth and replied evenly, "It's probably a common complication. She just needs to rest for a few days."

With that, I hung up.

Outside, the night was heavy.

I put on gloves, carefully gathered Michael's clothes, and brought them to the balcony before setting them on fire.

I knew very well that his infection was only a matter of time. As we lived under the same roof, one careless moment could put me at risk, too.

To avoid alerting him, all I could do for now was keep my distance.

…

Early the next morning, I packed my bags and left.

Only after that did I message him, saying I had gone out of town on a work trip and wouldn't be back for two weeks.

After settling into the hotel, I opened the surveillance app on my phone that I had never used.

A few months earlier, the neighborhood had upgraded its security system and installed cameras in every unit. Michael hadn't been home, and I'd been so busy that I forgot to mention it afterward.

Before long, the bedroom feed flickered to life on my screen.

What I saw made my blood freeze.

I'd been gone less than half a day, but Michael had already brought Natalie home.

She was wearing my nightgown, sitting at my vanity with her legs crossed, twisting open a face cream worth thousands of dollars.

She wasn't using it on her face. She scooped out a large amount and slowly rubbed it onto her feet. Then, apparently finding it inconvenient, she shoved her toes straight into the jar and stirred.

Michael lay nearby, watching without a hint of concern.

"Mike, Josephine's skincare isn't cheap. Won't she be upset if she finds out?" Natalie asked, though her movements never stopped.

He got up lazily, wrapped an arm around her waist, and smiled indulgently. "Her face is a waste of good products anyway. You might as well use it on your feet."

As he spoke, he hooked a finger through the strap of her nightgown.

"It's the same nightgown, but when you wear it, you look sweet and tempting. You're nothing like that old hag. Everything looks like a sack on her."

Natalie leaned into him, laughing uncontrollably.

The moment they rolled onto the bed, I shut off my phone. If I kept watching, I was afraid I'd catch something just through the screen.

…

Soon, two weeks passed.

I took preventive medication in advance, put on a mask, and steeled myself to go home.

I told Michael ahead of time and assumed he would at least send Natalie away.

But when I opened the door, she was still there, lounging on the couch and snacking on my top-grade caviar that cost 300 dollars a gram.

I suppressed my anger and looked at Michael. "Michael, you brought an outsider into our home. Did you not think to discuss it with me?"

Before he could answer, another voice came from the kitchen.