I’m Here to Bring You Home

1 The plane landed in Dubai at 8:30 PM, the sky behind me alight with gunfire. I texted my husband, Justin Vane: [I'm here. I've come to bring you home.] He didn’t reply. I called his assistant, Blake Miller. Blake stammered, “You actually went to the UAE?” An explosion rumbled nearby. My eyes stung. “Which district is he in?” A pause. “He never left the country.” Wind cut through my collar. Blake’s voice fell. “The business trip was a lie.” A picture came through—dated today. Justin, smiling, arm around a woman blowing out candles. Cathy Evans. The woman he swore three years ago he’d never see again. He’d also forgotten—today was my birthday. Another text: “Autumn, Justin never stopped seeing her. I didn’t dare tell you.” I looked at my phone. That message—I’ve come to bring you home—was never sent. If that was how it was, I’d stop waiting for him to come home. … “Madam, please use the evacuation route and do not linger here.” The airport announcement sounded again. I took a step, then my legs buckled, and I fell. I don’t know how many places I drifted through. Finally, the moment I boarded the plane back home. I couldn’t help but cry aloud. Back home, looking disheveled and exhausted, I headed to a law firm. In the elevator, I heard someone behind me playfully complaining on the phone. “Who stole that lace thong from my pocket? I came here commando, it’s all your fault.” “Alright, I’ll wait. Let’s see how you punish me later.” I turned around, incredulous. It was Cathy. She was still on the phone. “Do you have enough condoms in your drawer?” The elevator doors closed, reflecting two faces in the mirror. One was delicate, with exquisite makeup, and a playful sparkle in her eyes. The other was smudged and gray, with sunken eyes, chapped lips, and frizzy hair tied loosely. No wonder she didn’t recognize me. After the smoke and fires of war, I barely recognized myself either. A low chuckle came from the other end of the phone. “Depends on who it’s for. For you? Never enough.” She pouted playfully. “If your wife heard that, she’d be filing for divorce again.” “Let her. So what if we divorce again?” The elevator was ice cold, but I felt as if someone had seized my throat. My entire body trembled, but not a single word would come out. “You, you’re trying to make me jealous, aren’t you?” She lowered her voice, the end of her sentence rising in a flirtatious tone. “Be careful, I might just scream later and let everyone at your firm know that Attorney Vane is cheating again, and with me.” He laughed again. “If you dare to scream, I’ll break the news to her right away.” The elevator doors opened. Justin, impeccably dressed in a suit, stepped forward and wrapped his arm around Cathy’s waist, lowering his head to kiss her. He was as impatient as a fish starved for water, finally finding a spring. Cathy laughed, trying to shy away, but he pulled her back, deepening the kiss. She punched his chest playfully, mumbling, “There are other people here…” Only then did Justin lift his head. My hands and feet fumbled as I spun around, my eyes instantly moist. “Let her look. I’m kissing the woman I love most. What’s there to hide?” Cathy nestled into his embrace, giggling, her whole body shaking. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. “If I didn’t have urgent business back at the firm to retrieve some documents, I wouldn’t want to be apart from you for a second.” He sighed. “I’m just afraid that if I show up at the firm now, my wife will find out tomorrow.” Cathy playfully purred, “Alright, I’ll let you have your way tonight. Consider it my comfort to you.” The elevator quickly descended to the second basement level. I followed mechanically. Then, I watched them get into the luxury car whose license plate was my birthday. Soon, the car began to subtly rock. I stood rooted to the spot, a chill creeping up my spine, freezing me to the bone. No one knew. Justin and I’s first time had also been in a car. He was so nervous his palms were sweating, constantly asking if it hurt. When I said no, he would smile and say, “You’re so wonderful, Cathy.” “Cathy, don’t worry, I will never let you down.” Afterward, he wrapped me in his coat and turned the heater up full blast. I leaned on his shoulder and teased, saying that when we were rich, we’d buy the most luxurious car. He said, “Okay, and I’ll put it in your name.” Later, his career flourished, we naturally married, and lived three happy years. Until I found him in bed with his secretary, Cathy Evans. I was willing to leave with nothing just to divorce him. The day we got our divorce papers, he jumped from a third-story window. He didn't die, but he broke a leg. Lying in the hospital bed, he confessed his wrongdoings and begged me for another chance. My heart softened. I cared for him for six months until he fully recovered. After we remarried, he was even better to me than before. He swore he would never do anything to betray me again. But now. This heart, bruised by him, had just begun to heal, only for him to brutally tear it open once more. Bleeding profusely. 2 I don't know how I got home. Looking at the woman before him, with her messy hair, several band-aids on her face, and a gaping hole in her clothes, the security guard couldn’t believe I was Justin Vane's wife. He hesitated, then called Justin. Hearing Justin’s voice, I instinctively snatched the phone and threw it to the ground. I turned to leave, but I was penniless. When I heard Justin might be in trouble, I spent all my savings on a ridiculously expensive return ticket. One and a half million dollars. No hesitation. My thought was simple: I wanted him back, safe and sound. Tears streamed down my cheeks. My phone rang. My mother was calling. “I just found out you went abroad to find Justin. You scared me to death! Are you both alright?” My nose stung, but I tried to sound calm. “Mom, I’m fine.” “Thank heavens! And you, you’re not even three months pregnant, going to such a dangerous place. You worried me sick. Thank goodness you’re okay.” I hung up the phone and gently touched my lower abdomen. Justin still didn’t know that after his “business trip,” I found out I was pregnant. My reckless journey abroad was, in truth, a desperate suicide mission. No matter what, my family of three would be together. A throbbing pain spread through my chest. Looking up again, a pair of arms enveloped me. The familiar scent of tobacco. It was Justin. “Where have you been? Why do you look like this?” Our eyes met. Justin’s were filled with genuine concern. It was as if the man in the elevator, who had looked at me with such indifference, wasn’t him at all. I forced a smile. “I stumbled, then I fell again trying to get up.” Just like this marriage. I believed him once, and I was deceived again. “The plane ticket back must have been expensive, right?” Justin froze for a moment, then tenderly scooped me into his arms, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes. “It’s worth it. My wife was waiting for me to come home.” He spoke with such sincerity, his eyes welling up with tears. Justin knelt, and without a word, began applying antiseptic to my wounds. Seeing the cuts and bruises on my body, his handsome brows furrowed in concern. “Darling, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left you alone at home.” He was about to say more when his phone suddenly rang. After answering it, Justin apologized to me. “I have to go out for a bit. I’ll be home later.” I said nothing, just watched him put on his jacket. How many times had I sat by the door, silently waiting for him to come home? How many times had I reheated the dinner, over and over again? My eyes reddened. The tension that had held my nerves taut for days suddenly snapped. I abruptly stood up and pushed him away. “Go. And don’t come back.” Justin bent his head, intending to kiss me, but I turned away. He sighed. “Don’t be angry. I’ll make it up to you tonight.” He left in a hurry. The exhaustion of recent days pulled me into bed, only for a nightmare to jolt me awake. I dreamt of bombs falling around me. Waking, I saw the huge wedding photo on the wall. I remembered the first time I found out about Justin’s infidelity. He and Cathy had pressed four wet handprints onto our wedding portrait. I went insane and smashed everything in the house. Justin had knelt and begged me, saying that a second wedding would be the rebirth of our love, a monument to our mended relationship. Those vows still echoed in my ears. To this day, I still couldn’t understand. Why would he choose to hurt me again? Scrolling on my phone, I typed Cathy Evans’s name. After Justin fired her, her reputation in the legal world was ruined. No one dared to hire her. But surprisingly, she had become a popular social media influencer, with one of her casual videos getting tens of thousands of likes. She never showed her face, only videos of her holding a man’s hand. I clicked on each one. The man’s fingers were long and slender, tracing, kneading, intertwining with hers. Every video was like a knife. One hand rested on her waist. The little finger had a faint scar. An icy coldness spread through me. That scar. He got it when he was eighteen. A punk had cornered me, demanding I be his girlfriend. Justin had rushed over, shielding me. A beer bottle had grazed his head, splattering blood on my school uniform. He had quickly covered his head with his hand, gasping in pain, but still comforting me. “It’s okay. Even if I’m disfigured, you still have to keep me.” I found the contact number in her profile bio. I dialed it. Justin’s clear, cool voice came through the receiver: “Who is this?” 3 A cold dread settled in my heart. Justin had an exceptional memory, but he didn’t even recognize my phone number. “It’s me.” I paused. “I’m looking for Cathy.” “She’s in the shower.” He didn’t seem to recognize my voice either, his tone as flat as if he were dismissing a telemarketer. The sound of running water came through the receiver. Cathy’s voice floated over: “Honey, can you grab me a towel—?” The phone was carelessly put down. Footsteps receded, then returned. “Here.” “You dry me, won’t you…?” she cooed. “I need to get back early tonight.” “Are you… unable?” He laughed, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You really don’t know if I am?” Cathy giggled, then gasped as if she’d fallen onto the bed. I almost hung up the phone. But my finger trembled, unable to press the screen. Half an hour later, she updated her video. A large hand massaged her lower leg, his thumb tracing circles up her ankle. The Patek Philippe watch on his wrist gleamed. The comments section exploded: [Sister, please make a tutorial! How do you get such a high-quality man to serve you?] She replied: [True love comes naturally. If a man truly loves you, he’ll give you everything.] I clutched my phone tightly. That Patek Philippe watch shimmered on the screen. In the early days of his startup, money was tight. He had admired that watch for three years but couldn’t bring himself to buy it. I secretly sold the house my mother had given me, flew abroad, and bought it for him. The day I found out about his cheating, I smashed it. Justin specifically flew to Switzerland to find a craftsman to repair it, then knelt and presented it to me, saying that broken pieces could still be made whole. But the tiny crack on the watch face, it could never be completely removed. The comments section was awash with envy. Some complimented, others questioned: [Why won’t she show her face? Is she a mistress?] Soon Cathy posted a voice message. I clicked on it. Justin’s voice came through the receiver, deep, clear, every word distinct: [She’s not a mistress. She’s the woman I love most.] I clenched my lips. I turned off the video. I dialed his number. “Let’s get a divorce.” Justin paused for two seconds. “What’s wrong? I’ll be right back.” “No need. The previous agreement template will do.” His voice deepened. Through the receiver, I heard the creak of a spring being heavily pressed down and then bouncing back up. “I’m genuinely busy with something important. I’ll be back right away.” A woman’s languid moans were faintly audible in the background. I laughed, tears welling up. “You keep busy.” He seemed to be restraining something, lowering his voice. “No matter how angry you are, don’t mention divorce again. That was our agreement.” On his end, he seemed to have intensified whatever he was doing, and Cathy’s moans ceased. I hung up, my trembling hand pulling out that old written promise. The edges of the paper were curled. On it, he had written: a lifetime, growing old together, never again. He said a signature wasn’t sincere enough. He bit his finger and pressed a bloodied handprint onto the paper. He had bitten so hard that year, blood beaded up, and I watched, feeling the pain myself. He had smiled and said, “The pain will make me remember.” I found the divorce agreement and emailed it to him. His call came immediately. Justin’s voice was laced with anger. “Cathy Hayes! Half the assets are yours. Just stop this, okay?” Tears suddenly streamed down my face. I bit my lip and spoke: “The money, I want it.” “The divorce papers, I want those too.”