Too Late to Repent

In our seventh year together, Asher’s private social media account was leaked. Post after post, it was a diary of his love life. 【The wife wore a pink sweater today. So cute! I just want to hold her and smother her with kisses!】 【Sang her my new song and she said she loved it! My heart is exploding!】 【Bought her a pink diamond, and the way she smiled… ahhh, I’d buy her the world! Anything my baby wants, she gets!】 【Day two of the concert tour. I miss my wife, ugh. No wife, no motivation. My sweet, soft wife.】 The comment section was a flood of fans swooning. 【OMG, Asher seems so wild and untouchable on the outside, but he’s a total simp in private.】 【LMAO, some people act all cold and indifferent to their S.O. in public, but inside they’re like: I AM MY WIFE’S DOG!】 My best friend forwarded the link to me with a playful jab. “Damn, you’re getting spoiled so much in private!” I scrolled through every single post, reading each one carefully. After a long silence, I replied to my friend. 【I’ve never owned a pink sweater.】

1. Actually, that’s a lie. I did, once. Back when I was chasing Asher, I’d heard a rumor that he liked the sweet, girl-next-door type. I’ve always hated the color pink, but I went out and bought a pink sweater specifically to wear when I brought him a home-cooked meal. It was the dead of winter, and I’d skipped a coat to look better. My face was pale from the cold. Asher finally emerged from the practice room, half an hour late. He looked me up and down, a slow, lazy appraisal. Then he crossed his arms and let out a short, sharp laugh. “Felicity,” he sneered. “You look like a giant pink pig.” The room erupted in laughter. I fled, my cheeks burning. I never wore pink again. My friend’s follow-up text was awkward, trying to smooth things over. 【Hey, don’t overthink it.】 【You know how he is. He probably loved it but just had to say something mean.】 【We all know what Asher’s like.】 She was right. In college, Asher was famous for his sharp tongue and permanent scowl. As my roommate used to say, “Such a handsome guy. It’s a shame he’s not a mute.” Nearly every girl who tried to get his attention was verbally shredded. But I was different. He criticized my clothes, my cooking, and the way I was always around him. But he was also the one who, at a party, would see me sitting alone in a corner and call out in his cold voice, “Hey. Come sit over here.” Later, he became a huge star. At his first stadium concert, he sang an entire love song looking directly at me. Then, the camera panned to my face. The young man on stage looked earnest, his features sharp and beautiful. “I want to introduce you all to someone,” he said. “The leading lady of my life.” The spotlights were blinding. All I remember is his smile cutting through the roar of the crowd. The second he got backstage, his manager tore into him. “Do you want to have fans? Do you want to have a career?” Asher just leaned against the wall, a careless smile on his face. “You don’t know her. She’s sensitive and high-strung. If I didn’t make it official, she’d give me hell for it later.” His career did stall for a few years after that. It only started to recover last year when his new single won a major award. But the person who presented the award to him was a junior artist who had once been far beneath him, a guy who had rocketed to fame after breaking up with his girlfriend of ten years to focus on his career. A reporter asked Asher if he regretted going public with our relationship. “No regrets,” he said, showing the camera the chain around his collarbone. It was the birthday present I’d bought him after working as a food delivery driver for five months. He once told me it was more precious than any trophy. But… In the most recent selfie on his private account, his face was hidden. And the chain around his neck had been replaced. In its place was a cartoon bear pendant from Hello Kitty. He used to say things like that were childish and girly. But now… The caption was ecstatic. 【Got matching necklaces with the wife!】

2. I sat in the living room all night, scrolling through his private account again and again. He said her desserts were delicious. I once spent a whole morning baking him a cake. He took one look at it and threw it in the trash right in front of me. He praised her for being lively, outgoing, and social. I once exchanged a few pleasant words with someone at a party, and he’d sneered, “There you go, showing off again.” He prepared elaborate gifts for her, marking the first day they met, their first week, their first month. This man, who had no patience for anything, would sit at a craft table for an entire day. 【I’m so happy just thinking about her face when she gets it! Her eyes will be sparkling. She’s so damn cute!】 Today was my thirtieth birthday. Asher didn’t even come home. I waited until midnight, then broke down and called him. It rang for a long time before he answered. The music on his end was deafening, a chaotic mix of male and female laughter. “I told you I’m busy, can you stop bothering me!” “What? It’s your birthday today?” “…I forgot.” I silently opened his private account. Ten minutes ago, he had posted: 【Don’t want to go home.】

3. Asher came home just before dawn. The sound of the door opening was followed by a wave of stale alcohol and heavy perfume. Then I saw him, leaning against the doorframe. He was typing on his phone. He noticed the living room light, glanced at me, then his eyes went straight back to his screen. “You’re still up?” “Yeah.” “Oh,” he mumbled, still engrossed in his phone. Someone on the other end must have said something funny, because an unconscious, gentle smile touched his lips. I just sat on the sofa, watching him. After three or four minutes, he finally seemed to register that I was still there. He put his phone away, rubbed his nose, and looked up at me with a frown. “Why aren’t you in bed?” “I…” “Good, you’re up,” he cut me off, plopping down on the sofa next to me. He issued a casual command. “Go make me some tea.” I had studied all sorts of herbal teas to help protect his voice. He always complained they tasted awful, but he would always drink them, grimacing the whole time. But not this time. I brought him the tea. He took one sip, then calmly poured the entire cup into a nearby potted plant. “Tsk. Your skills are really getting worse.” A sharp, searing pain bloomed on my fingers where the hot liquid had splashed. I kept my head down, silent. I thought of another post from his private account. 【The wife burned dinner today, but I ate every last bite!】 Suddenly, this all felt so pointless. “I’m going to bed.” “Hey.” Asher’s voice stopped me. I turned around. A small, palm-sized box hit me in the chest. I let out an involuntary hiss of pain. He frowned, annoyed at himself, then turned his head away. “Happy birthday.” Inside was a cartoon pendant, a matching one to his. A silly-looking teddy bear was grinning inanely.

4. “See? I told you he was talking about you on that account.” My best friend came over the next day. She saw the pendant and launched into a confident reassurance. “That’s just Asher. His bark is worse than his bite. If he really didn’t love you, would he have stayed with you for all these years?” “And look, he’s so careful not to worry you. During his performance the other day, he kept a whole galaxy’s worth of distance between him and his female dance partner.” “And what about his staff? Is there a single woman on his team? People in the industry say he’s sexist. His manager told him to hire a few women to quiet the rumors, but he refused.” “You’re just overthinking things.” I couldn’t find the words to argue. But a woman’s intuition is a powerful thing, and something felt deeply, fundamentally wrong. Like a childish, cartoonish pendant hanging on a fine silk nightgown. It just didn’t belong. My friend sighed at my expression. “Okay, how about this? Call him. Right now. See what he’s up to.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The refusal was automatic. Asher hated it when I “checked up” on him. I’d tried it a few times before when I was feeling insecure. Each time, it ended in a massive fight. He’d accuse me of not trusting him, of distracting him from his work. Once, he smashed a glass in a room full of people and screamed that I was a lunatic. “Felicity! Will you just get lost!” “It’s not like that,” my friend said, holding her phone up to my face. On the screen was one of Asher’s posts. 【The wife is checking up on me again!】 【She’s such a little dummy, she doesn’t believe how much I love her.】 【But I really love it when she gets all worried and insecure over me.】 【Praying my wife checks up on me every single day.】 The comments were a chorus of “I’m dying, this is so cute.” I hesitated, but finally took the phone and dialed his number. He picked up after the first ring. His tone wasn’t exactly warm, but he didn’t immediately hang up when I asked what he was doing. “Playing tennis with my assistant.” I could hear the thwack of a tennis ball in the background. Asher loved sports and always made time for a match a few times a week. I knew his assistant, Liam. A recent college grad, clean background, straight. “Oh,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed. I heard Asher’s signature scoff. “Feeling insecure again?” “You could always come down and see for yourself.” I immediately declined. “No, that’s okay.” I was terrible at tennis, and Asher played with a ferocious, competitive streak. I’d been on the receiving end of his brutal serves a few times and had no desire to repeat the experience. He let out another cold laugh. “By the way, I’m going out of town on business tonight. I won’t be home.” My concern was instinctual. “Is Liam going with you?” He grunted something noncommittal. “Well, tell him to be careful. Your throat needs to…” “Alright, alright,” he cut me off. “I’ve gotta go. My turn to serve.” He hung up before I could finish. My friend looked at me, amused. “Feel better now?” “Even if Asher were to cheat, I doubt it would be with Liam, right?” I managed a weak smile, but the uneasy feeling in my gut wouldn’t go away. I chalked it up to worry about his trip. The great artist Asher never concerned himself with mundane matters, so all the domestic duties fell to me. I washed his socks and underwear. I cooked his meals. In our toughest years, I worked two jobs a day and still came home to clean up the take-out containers he left on the table. My friend used to joke that I was more of a mother to him than a girlfriend. But that’s what love is, isn’t it? Giving a little more of yourself. I typed out a long list of instructions and sent it to Liam. Remembering he was on the court with Asher, I added another line. “No rush, you can read this after your game.” The next second, my phone was ringing. It was Liam. “Feli,” he said. “Didn’t Asher tell you?” “I quit two years ago.”

5. Asher had never told me. On the contrary, he mentioned his “assistant” all the time. A new tie clip in his jewelry box? A gift from his assistant. A photo of a beautiful meal on his social media? Had it with his assistant. Movie ticket stubs in his pocket? Saw it with his assistant. Even when he didn’t come home at night, the excuse was always the same… “I’m working late with my assistant.” “Don’t bother me.” So even when my fever spiked to 102 and I felt like I was about to pass out, I didn’t dare send him a single text. What was he really doing then? By the time I got to the tennis club, only Asher was left on the court. He looked startled to see me, then his brow furrowed in annoyance. “What are you doing here? Feeling paranoid again? Felicity, can’t you just for one day…” “Where’s Liam?” Asher’s tirade stopped short. He clearly hadn’t expected that question. He avoided my eyes, stammering, “He’s… in the locker room, changing.” Without a word, I started walking toward the locker room. “Felicity!” He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “What is wrong with you!” The movement pulled his collar open. On his collarbone was a red mark, angry and intimate. A scream tore from my throat as I started to struggle. “Let go of me!” The staff members turned to stare. Asher’s face darkened. He held my wrist tighter, dragging me toward the exit. “I told you, he’s changing! If you want to make a scene, do it at home!” Years of suspicion and anxiety finally exploded. I collapsed to the ground like a madwoman, letting him drag my dead weight. “I don’t believe you! I don’t believe you!” “Just let me see!” Someone recognized him and pulled out their phone. “Security!” Asher roared. Someone ran over and grabbed my shoulders. I fought and screamed. People were pointing, whispering. The world was a chaotic blur. And then it all went silent, broken by a single, soft voice. “Asher?”