The Don Shaved Me Bald for His Dying Lieutenant

On Thanksgiving Day, I woke up to find that my husband, Don Moretti, and his lieutenant Vivian had shaved my head completely bald. Vivian stood at the bedside, doubled over with laughter. "It's overcast tonight—no moon. But Claire, your head is so perfectly round, all shaved clean like that. You'll make a lovely moon for everyone to admire." I didn't break down screaming the way I used to. I didn't smash anything or demand answers. I just calmly picked up my phone and held a transfer request in front of Adrian's face. "Fifty thousand dollars. Pay up." This was the seventh time this month. Ever since Vivian had been diagnosed with cancer, Adrian Moretti had treated her "bucket list" as the most important standing order in the entire Moretti family. Vivian was his most trusted lieutenant, and she had once been my closest friend. She said she wanted to experience being a bride, so Adrian—right there at our wedding, in front of every relative, ally, and guest—ripped the gown off my body and let her wear it to finish the ceremony. She said she also wanted a honeymoon, so Adrian locked me on the rooftop and flew off with her to a private island. In the beginning, I did break down. I confronted him. I begged him through tears to come to his senses. All I got in return was his cold, cutting rebuke. He called me heartless. He said Vivian was dying—why couldn't I just let her be happy? After that, I started putting a price tag on everything. Shaving my head: fifty thousand dollars. Giving up my wedding: one hundred thousand dollars. Giving up my honeymoon: two hundred thousand dollars. If my suffering had no value in his eyes, then I'd turn it into an invoice. At the dinner that evening, Vivian deliberately picked up a dessert, one she'd packed full of wasabi, and shoved it into my mouth. The burn shot straight through my sinuses, and I choked until tears streamed down my face. Adrian frowned slightly but did nothing to stop her. Vivian held up her phone and snapped a photo of me in that wretched state, laughing without a shred of restraint. "Is tonight’s moon even as bright as Claire's bald head? Forget moon-gazing tonight—just look at her." I wiped away my tears and held my phone in front of Adrian again. "This time it's a hundred thousand." The smile froze on Adrian's face. "Claire, have you lost your mind over money?" I didn't argue. What he didn't know was that with this hundred thousand, I would have recovered the exact two million dollars my father had left me in my wedding trust—just enough to buy my way out of this joke of a relationship for good. I held up the phone and repeated myself. "One hundred thousand. Transfer it." Adrian's brow furrowed deeper. Vivian immediately softened her voice, as if stepping in to smooth things over on my behalf. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have insisted on moon-gazing tonight." She looked at me with reddened eyes. "I'm sorry, Claire. Once I'm dead, your hair will grow back..." Adrian's gaze melted instantly. He sighed and approved my transfer request. "Vivian doesn't have much time left. Do you really have to measure everything in dollars? When did you become so cold-blooded?" Cold-blooded. Last month, during a camping trip, Vivian suddenly announced in the middle of the night that she wanted to watch the sunrise from the mountaintop. Adrian didn't hesitate. He packed her and all the gear into the car and drove off, leaving me asleep in the middle of nowhere with no cell signal. A storm rolled in that night. I spiked a fever, started hemorrhaging, and nearly miscarried. I was stranded in those woods for two days before a park ranger finally found me. And now, he was calling me cold-blooded. My phone chimed. One hundred thousand received. Adrian's voice dripped with disappointment. "This whole scene you've been making—it was always about the money, wasn't it? There's your money. Happy now?" About the money? He seemed to have long forgotten that when we got together, the Moretti family was drowning in a financial crisis, and he was nothing more than a broke college kid who couldn't even afford dinner. Later, when he wanted to build his own crew, when he wanted to launder the family's dirty money into legitimate assets—I handed over every last cent of the two million dollars my father had left me before he died. Now that money was fully recovered. It was time for me to go. Vivian suddenly picked up her phone and let out an exaggerated gasp. "Oh no, I'm so sorry, Claire." "I meant to send your bald photo to Adrian, but I accidentally posted it in our college alumni group." The group chat exploded instantly. "Oh my God, isn't that Claire Hale? What happened to her?" "Her head's so round and shiny—she really does look like the moon, hahahaha." The group admin, Mason, tagged Vivian. "Vivian, we've all heard about your illness. What else is left on your bucket list? Everyone's here tonight—let us help you figure it out." Vivian glanced shyly at Adrian, then typed with her head lowered. "Actually... there's one thing I've always regretted." "If it's possible, I'd like Adrian to be my husband for three days." The entire group erupted, tagging Adrian one after another. "Say yes! Say yes!" "You and Vivian were always the perfect match. If it weren't for Claire, you two would've been together ages ago." "Exactly. Claire was always the odd one out. What's the big deal about lending out her husband for three days?" Back in college, Adrian and Vivian had been everyone's idea of the perfect pair. Adrian hadn't yet risen to the seat of Don, but he'd already taken over most of the Moretti family's operations. Vivian managed his books and even helped him deal with difficult lawyers and family elders. They talked about routes, ledgers, territory, and protocol. I couldn't understand a word of it, couldn't get a word in edgewise. All I could do was trail quietly behind them, buying their coffee and saving their seats. Adrian looked at the messages flooding the group chat and let out a low laugh. Not a second of hesitation. "Alright. I agree." Vivian immediately posted a beaming emoji in the group. "Adrian said yes!" The chat was instantly flooded with "congratulations." I stood up, grabbed my bag from the couch, and walked toward the door. Adrian caught up and seized my wrist. "Where are you going?" I raised an eyebrow at him. "Since the two of you are together now, I can hardly stick around being the odd one out, can I? Wouldn't want to intrude." Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Will you stop making a scene? These three days are just to fulfill Vivian's wish. Move into the guest room for a few days—that's all." "She doesn't have much time left. Do you really have to begrudge her even this?" I turned my head and looked at the enormous wedding portrait hanging on the living room wall. The people in the photograph were Adrian and Vivian. Just because Vivian said she wanted a set of wedding photos taken, I'd had to surrender my place. Our marital home—she'd moved into that, too. Because she said she was afraid to be alone, Adrian spent every night at her side, coaxing her to sleep. I pulled my hand free and looked him in the eye. "Adrian Moretti, I'm not making a scene." "Let's get a divorce."

The words had barely left my mouth when Vivian burst out laughing. "Claire, you really are adorable. After all this time, you still haven't figured it out?" She walked up to me, pulled an official marriage certificate from her bag, and waved it like a trophy. "That marriage document you and Adrian filed? It was fake." My mind went blank. Vivian's grin widened. "Adrian married me—legally registered and everything—a long time ago, so he could make my wish come true." "Yours was just a counterfeit document he had someone throw together." The real marriage certificate gleamed under the light, stinging my eyes. I looked at Adrian in disbelief. He wouldn't meet my gaze. He didn't deny it. The day we'd gotten our certificate, Adrian had taken me to the cemetery to visit my father. He stood before my father's headstone and swore he would take care of me for the rest of his life. His eyes were red as he held me tight. "Claire, you're finally my wife." It had all been a lie. I stumbled back two steps, barely able to keep my balance. Adrian immediately stepped forward to steady me. "Claire, the document was fake—I know. But I had no choice. Vivian's condition was getting worse, and her greatest wish was to marry me." He tried to touch my face. I turned away. His hand hung frozen in midair. In the end, he could only sigh. "Claire, just wait a little longer. I promise I'll register our marriage properly and give you the grandest wedding." "Right now, the most important thing is to make Vivian happy." That line again. Every single time, he used the same excuse to force me to swallow every last grievance. At my birthday party, Vivian said the celebration wasn't lively enough—she wanted a bonfire. She had people carry out every painting my father had left me before he died, hauled them all into the yard, and set them on fire. I wept until I nearly passed out, throwing myself toward the flames to save them. Adrian grabbed me from behind and held me back. His voice was tender—but not for me. "Claire, they're just paintings. Vivian doesn't have much time. Her happiness is what matters most." That day, my mother suffered a stroke from the shock and was rushed to the hospital on the spot. She was still lying in the intensive care unit, unconscious. "There's no need," I said, pushing Adrian's hands away. The marriage itself had been a fraud. What was there to divorce? A clean break would do just fine. Adrian thought I'd given in. He exhaled with relief and guided me back to the guest bedroom. "Get some rest. You have a prenatal checkup tomorrow. Don't be difficult." I lowered my head and rested a hand on my belly. The baby kicked—just once, very gently. Like a goodbye. The next morning, before dawn had fully broken, Adrian knocked on the guest bedroom door. "Claire, I can't go with you to the checkup today. Vivian wants to spend the day at an amusement park." I didn't answer. There was a time when I'd begged him, over and over, eyes bright with hope, to take me to an amusement park. He always frowned and said he was too busy with work, that those things were childish nonsense. Refusal after refusal, disappointment after disappointment. Now, for a single word from Vivian, he'd cleared his entire schedule—even handed the family's regular meetings off to someone else. After they left, I put on a wig, called a car, and went to the downtown hospital alone. At the OB-GYN reception desk, the nurse didn't look up. "Here for a prenatal checkup?" I shook my head. "No." "I'd like to schedule a termination."

The nurse looked up, startled. "A termination? Are you sure? You're nearly four months along. A procedure at this stage carries serious risks to your health." "I'm sure." I looked at her and nodded firmly. Blood draw. Ultrasound. EKG. When the battery of tests was finished, I sat outside the operating room and waited. My phone screen lit up. Vivian had posted an update. The photos showed flowers, a diamond ring, a Ferris wheel. Adrian was down on one knee before her. The caption read: "He said he wanted to propose where we were closest to the sky, and promised me forever." The comments were already packed with people from the alumni group. "That's so romantic. I know it's just for the bucket list, but still—how beautiful." "If Claire has any sense, she'll stop bothering them during Vivian's final days and just bow out." "This is what real love looks like." I stared quietly at the proposal photo. Adrian had never proposed to me. Six months ago, on an ordinary evening, we'd been sitting in a cheap little sidewalk restaurant, splitting a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tomato soup. He'd said it offhandedly: "We've been together four years. Let's get married." No ring. No flowers. But that night, I'd cried tears of joy all the same. "Claire Hale, the doctor is ready for you." In the operating room, cold instruments tugged at my lower abdomen. I clenched my teeth until they ached. I could feel it clearly—my love for Adrian being stripped from my body, piece by piece. When the procedure was over, the sky had already gone dark. The city's neon lights flickered on. Adrian hadn't called. Not once. I dragged my weakened body, step by step, up to the intensive care ward. My mother lay in her bed, still unconscious. "Mom, I'm leaving." "I'm leaving Adrian." The moment the words left my mouth, the heart rate monitor spiked with a sudden, violent beep. I knew she'd heard me. On the day of the wedding, Adrian had ripped the gown off my body to fulfill Vivian's wish, then turned around and walked through the entire ceremony with her. They exchanged rings on stage. They kissed with feeling. And I stood there in nothing but my underwear, pushed aside. In a hall full of mocking laughter, only my mother had pulled off her coat and wrapped me in her arms, crying too hard to speak. My phone buzzed twice in my pocket. Adrian had finally sent a message. "How did the checkup go?" "Vivian's worn out, so I'm bringing her to the hospital for a follow-up. I'll pick you up while I'm at it." His concern was always an afterthought. I didn't reply. I was about to leave when the door to the room was pushed open from outside. "Oh my, is Auntie still sleeping?" Vivian strolled in like she owned the place. "Claire, with your mother in this condition, she's probably not going to wake up, is she? Poor thing." I looked at her coldly. "Get out. You're not welcome here." Vivian didn't leave. Instead, she thrust her hand in front of my face and flicked her hair aside for effect. On her ring finger, a familiar diamond ring caught the light. It was the ring my father had placed in Adrian's hands before he died. My father had said it was the token of love between him and my mother. He'd entrusted it to Adrian with one plea: take care of my daughter. I ground my teeth. "Where did you get that?" Vivian smiled triumphantly. "Adrian proposed to me. Of course he'd use the best ring." Rage shattered every last thread of reason. I lunged for it. "Give it back!" But Vivian shoved me—hard. I'd just come out of surgery. The force of it sent me crashing into the medical supply cabinet beside the bed. Searing pain exploded through my lower abdomen. But Vivian instantly dropped the smug expression. She raised her hand and slapped herself across the face—hard—then threw herself to her knees in front of me, clutching her cheek, wailing. "I'm sorry, Claire! It's all my fault!" "It's because I'm dying—I didn't mean to steal Adrian from you!" "Hit me, yell at me, whatever it takes to make you feel better..."