Strings of Betrayal

My girlfriend, Aria, never had a nice look for me. When I gave her presents on her birthday, she called me a psychopath. Whenever I stepped up to pay the bill after our dates, she would lash out with venom: "You're just doing this because you want to get me into a hotel room tonight, aren't you?" I thought about breaking up with her more than once, but all our friends urged me to hang in there. "Aria just has an avoidant attachment style because of her messed-up childhood. She just doesn't know how to express her feelings." So we eventually got married. I paid for her to take the violin lessons she always wanted, spending year after year trying to teach her how to love. Until she hooked up with the very violin teacher I hired for her. She even put down my phone number at the abortion clinic and charged the entire procedure to my linked credit card. Only then did I finally understand. It wasn't that she didn't know how to love. She just took me for an idiot with a deep wallet. On the other end of the line, Aria's voice was dripping with impatience: "You were the one who wanted to marry me, remember? Are you calling right now because you're having second thoughts?" "Whatever. If you really love me, why can't you just turn a blind eye? It's not like I'm keeping the baby anyway. I'm getting rid of it." Before I could get a single word out, the line went dead, leaving only the droning dial tone in my ear. A suffocating weight stuck in my throat, choking the breath right out of me. In the end, all I could do was let out a bitter laugh and smash my phone against the floor. Aria didn't even bother to offer an excuse or a fake explanation. Not even a lazy, made-up lie about having too much to drink. A few days ago, when Aria started dry-heaving constantly, I had called a doctor over to our place to check on her. She ended up kicking the doctor out of the house. Back then, I just assumed she was being paranoid again, thinking I had "ulterior motives," so I didn't question it. Besides, before we tied the knot, Aria had laid down three ground rules. Rule number one was absolutely no kids. I had gotten a vasectomy years ago. A pregnancy was the absolute last thing that would have ever crossed my mind. Now I finally got it. I was just a blind fool. I was sterile, but that didn't stop her from stepping out on me. I tried to squeeze out a few tears, but my eyes stayed bone dry. A few days earlier, my mom's condition had taken a sudden turn for the worse. I pulled every string I had, calling every doctor friend in my contacts. Every single one of them told me the same thing: she didn't have much time left. They told me to stay by her side and make her last days count. I didn't even have the luxury of grieving. All my energy went into figuring out how to make her final moments peaceful and painless. And aside from me, the person my mom cared about most in this world was Aria. It was well past midnight. Worried about waking her, I opted to send a quick text instead of calling. Almost instantly, Aria rang back. In all the years we'd been married, the times Aria had actually called me could be counted on one hand. So the moment the screen lit up, a surge of raw, fragile hope nearly broke me. Standing in the sterile hospital corridor, phone pressed to my ear, I was just about to push open the door to my mom's room. "Aria, Mom's really bad. Can you come by tomorrow morning to see her?" Her response was nothing like what I had hoped for. Aria's voice shrieked through the speaker, venomous and loud: "Are you out of your mind, Henry? Why the hell are you sending me such depressing crap in the middle of the night?" Her tone was vicious enough to tear someone apart. "She's your mom, not mine. I don't owe her a deathbed vigil. Message me again and you're blocked." With that, she hung up. Inside the room, my mom lay pale against the sheets. The lights were off, so she couldn't see, but hearing the door open alongside the faint echo of Aria's voice, she struggled to push herself up. "Is that Aria? I knit you two some sweaters with my own hands. Come, take a look." The contrast between the screaming in my ear and the fragile woman before me was too much to bear. I lost control of my voice, managing only a weak, hollow, "Mom." Faint and drained, the sound must have struck her as disappointment, or maybe disgust. A helpless look crossed my mom's face. "I made them a while back. I was going to save them for Aria's birthday. Don't worry, they haven't caught any of my sickness or bad luck." "Did Aria come...?" I couldn't bear to hear another word. I rushed forward and wrapped my arms tightly around her. She needed her rest, so after holding her for a moment, I carefully tucked the blanket around her shoulders. I turned and lay down on the small cot beside her bed, spending the entire night staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell Aria and I had lasted five whole years. When we first started dating, we were college seniors. Aria confessed her feelings to me, and I said yes.That was probably the most normal chapter of our entire relationship. Back then, we mostly just hung out on campus like any ordinary couple. After graduation, we started going out on real dates—dinner, movies, the usual. At first, Aria was painfully reserved. The first couple of times she saw me outside of school, she literally turned around and ran away, only to text me an explanation later. [I'm sorry, Henry. I like you so much, but I'm terrified of messing this up.] [I'm such an awful girlfriend. Maybe you should just dump me and find someone better.] I chalked it up to first-relationship jitters. After all, I used to get nervous before dates, too. So I comforted her, validated her, and did everything humanly possible to communicate through our issues. Eventually, after a brief stretch of normal dates, her impatience began to show. At first, it was just subtle, passive-aggressive digs. "This is so boring. It feels like every time we hang out, it's just the movies, the mall, or the arcade." I had felt that way once or twice myself, but I always thought that after a long work week, just spending a quiet day with my girlfriend was nice enough. Over time, though, Aria's frustration grew blatant, laced with genuine malice. "Don't you actually find this boring? Are you just pretending?" "Do guys really spend years leading a girl on like this, or are you secretly texting someone else on the side?" Whenever she started on that, I'd immediately unlock my phone and hand it straight to her. "Go through it. Password is your birthday." Even that never satisfied her. She'd just slap the phone out of my hand with a deadpan glare. "Dual spaces and hidden apps exist for a reason. Besides, what's the point of checking? Who knows if you have a burner phone somewhere." "You're only showing me what you want me to see. Don't act like I don't know your game." I realized with a sinking heart that she simply didn't believe in love. Still, I spent more time trying to guide her through it, trying to prove myself. All that effort culminated in the day she finally laid her cards on the table. "Buying me birthday gifts, always rushing to pick up the tab..." "Henry, just be real for once. You only want to get into my pants, right?" "Your next move is dragging me to a hotel and feeding me some sweet-talk like, 'Doing it on your birthday makes it so meaningful.'" That day, it hit me that our views on love were fundamentally worlds apart. After that came a cycle of breakups and makeups, every single one initiated and then reversed by Aria. It was like she had two completely different personalities. As cold and ruthless as she was when dumping me, she was equally dramatic and poetic in her long apology texts. Yet I noticed a pattern. She only ever expressed anything through text messages. Never once did she talk things through face-to-face or even over a phone call; it was always a one-sided text notification. When it came to real emotions, the only words she could ever speak out loud were rejections. Yet around our mutual friends, she always put on that melancholic, wounded act. To the point where, whenever I seriously contemplated walking away, everyone would jump in to stop me. "Aria's parents were degenerate gamblers. Whenever they ran out of money, they'd smash up the house and beat her." "We can all see how much she loves you. You two really belong together; it's just her avoidant personality getting in the way." "She doesn't know how to express love, but you've been together this long. Just keep teaching her." Back then, those words moved me every single time, making me re-evaluate everything. I ended up treating Aria more like a fragile daughter than a partner. On our dates, if she knocked over a wine glass, I'd give her a warm smile and tell her accidents happen, that everything was fine. Every night before going to sleep, I'd send her a voice message, firmly telling her "I love you," asking her to send one back. Even if all I ever got in return was a flat, emotionless "k" or "fine." I tirelessly maintained that relationship, all the way to our wedding, and all the way to today. I always figured that eventually, I might just burn out first. But I never imagined this. Aria had cheated on me. And she was pregnant with someone else's kid. I didn't sleep a wink that night, but the next morning, my mind was terrifyingly clear. Only one thought remained: Aria and I should have ended a very long time ago.After sitting with my mom through lunch, I made a trip back to the house. The smart lock beeped, and as I pulled the door open, the sound of a violin drifted toward me. I knew the melody all too well—it was Aria's absolute favorite piece. God knows where she'd found the recording, but I had never been able to find anything similar online. Whenever I asked her what the piece was called, she'd give me a cryptic, evasive answer: "It sounds like love." Even though she took up the violin after we got married, she had never played a single piece just for me. Every time I brought it up, asking if she'd play something, she'd always make up some excuse to brush me off. Hearing it now as the melody neared its end, my heart was in a completely different place. The piece really did sound like love. It started smooth and lingering, building up to a crescendo that shook you to the core. Yet near the end, it felt as though the composer had rushed to finish it, cutting off abruptly at an awkward, forgettable note. The song ended. Aria lowered the violin from her shoulder and suddenly looked toward the corner, smiling. It was a genuine, radiant smile—something I hadn't seen on her face in years. A sharp, throbbing ache suddenly pulsed through my temples. A second later, Aria took two quick steps and jogged straight into someone's waiting arms. I shifted my footing slightly, getting a clear view. It was Julian, the violin instructor I had hired for her. The two of them couldn't wait, immediately locking lips in a feverish, breathless embrace, totally oblivious to my presence. Parting for air, they whispered in hushed, intimate tones: "Aria, you're so cruel. You won't even keep our baby." "You're the greedy one. Haven't I belonged to you since the day I turned eighteen? Who else do you want? I get jealous of our own kid, you know." Julian let out a low chuckle. "The violin you play is for my ears only." Their eyes locked, and they crashed together again in another desperate kiss. It felt like someone had shoved a filthy, soaked rag down my throat. Nausea and cold sweat washed over me instantly. My mind snapped back to the day I first met Julian. Aria had introduced him, insisting on hiring him as her tutor. Back then, before I could even ask him anything, Aria had hurriedly covered her tracks: "We're from the same hometown. It's just easier to connect with someone from the same background." She had been so terrified I would say no. The awkward looks they had exchanged back then hadn't been awkwardness at all—they were just trying to hide their secret. I stood there like a statue, mechanically glancing down at my right hand, which was holding my phone up, recording. I had started filming instinctively when she began playing. Instead, I had captured their dirty secret in full, HD detail. Ridiculous. Pathetic. Yet, strangely, something worth celebrating. My face hardened. I put away the phone, turned around, and slammed the front door shut, making it sound like I had just walked in. Stepping into the living room, the two who had just been wrapped around each other were now standing on opposite sides of the room. Real smooth.Aria dropped every trace of the softness she'd just shown, hurling a verbal dagger at me the second she saw me. "Why the hell are you back so soon?" Julian immediately broke into a fit of violent coughing. It looked like he was trying to break the tension of her inappropriate outburst, but it looked a lot more like he was choking back a laugh. I offered a practiced, polite smile, tossing a garment bag toward Aria. "Just dropped by. Go change your clothes, would you? You're coming with me to see my mom." Julian startled, and Aria froze for a fraction of a second, but she quickly went back to barking at me: "Who do you think you're talking to—" Her voice cut off. Ignoring her tantrum, I turned and headed upstairs to pack up a few keepsakes my mom treasured. I wanted to bring them to the hospital to bring a little joy to her day. And I wanted Aria to fulfill her final duty as a daughter-in-law, just to give my mom some peace of mind. Once I had everything packed, I carried the items downstairs. As expected, Aria wasn't wearing the sweater my mom had knit. Instead... Julian was standing there, wearing something that didn't belong to him. In that split second, I felt my heart plummet straight through the floor. Crossing the room in three strides, I threw a punch straight into Julian's face. Then another. And another... "Are you insane?!" Panicking, Aria lunged forward, clawing and hitting my back. In the chaos, a cold sting sliced across my cheek. I reached up and felt wet blood on my fingers. Aria froze, glancing down at the ring on her hand. It wasn't the ring I had bought her. A quiet laugh escaped my lips, growing louder and more unhinged by the second. I had originally planned to use that video or the divorce papers to force her compliance if she refused to visit my mom. At this point, clinging to her would just be pathetic. And yet... "Have you lost your damn mind, Henry?! It's just a sweater! What gives you the right to act like a rabid dog and attack him?!" Aria screamed at me, the exact same vicious woman she'd always been. I suddenly wondered what had been wrong with me all these years. Did I have some kind of humiliation kink? I didn't answer. I just quietly stared at the sweater Julian was wearing. Julian immediately put on a sanctimonious act: "I'll take it off right now..." "Don't bother." I waved a hand, reaching into my pocket for my lighter. I muttered, "Keep it on." The next second, I flicked the flame and touched it to the hem of the sweater. The knit fabric caught fire instantly. Aria shrieked, cussing me out at the top of her lungs. Julian struggled frantically to pull the flaming sweater over his head, burning his hands in the process before finally ripping it off, his lower back and waist blistered and bright red. Eyes overflowing with frantic concern, Aria sprinted to the kitchen for an ice pack, pressing it to his burns while screaming bloody murder at me: "You are a certified lunatic! Throwing a violent tantrum over some trashy sweater! How can a grown man be this petty?!" "Why can't you be more like Julian?! You beat the hell out of him and he didn't even fight back, and you have the nerve to—" Her voice died in her throat. I had bent down, picked up the other sweater—the one meant for Aria—and touched it to the smoldering pile on the floor. Aria gasped, her voice cracking: "What... what are you doing?"