Married to a Jinn

When the final song ended, thunderous applause filled the concert hall.

Zander Stafford, who was seated in the front row, was the first to stand. He went onstage and presented Roxanne Towne with a bouquet of flowers.

The crowd around them immediately erupted.

"That's the CEO of Stafford Group. He actually went onstage to give Roxanne flowers? That's unbelievable!" someone exclaimed.

"What's so surprising about that? Ms. Towne was Mr. Stafford's first love," another person replied. "She left the country without a word to study abroad, and Mr. Stafford never held it against her.

"Every year, he pours tens of thousands into her orchestra just to keep her on as its featured pianist.

"Now that Roxanne is finally back, of course our devoted Mr. Stafford is practically glued to her side."

Mr. Stafford, the CEO of Stafford Group—so that was how my husband was addressed in a world I could never have access to.

I crushed the recital ticket in my hand.

200 dollars was enough to cover one night in the hospital. That was also the price I had to pay to see Roxanne in person.

I laughed bitterly and got up to leave the concert hall.

Outside the venue, luxury cars filled the area.

I couldn't get through the crowd, so I had to stand by the roadside and wait for everyone to disperse.

When I looked up, I saw Zander shielding Roxanne as she got into her car. He kept her excited fans from bumping into her.

"Zander, thank you for coming to my recital. I'm so happy," she said.

Roxanne wrapped her arms around his neck. Ignoring all the flashing cameras, she rose onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

Zander didn't pull away. Instead, he smiled helplessly and held the car door open as he helped her inside.

The car drove away, and the crowd dispersed.

I looked at the 20 dollars left in my account. Then I opened a map and got directions to the nearest subway station.

It was three miles away and took me two hours to walk there.

By the time I reached the subway station, my clothes were soaked with sweat.

Zander called just as I got home.

The old electric fan crackled as it ran.

"Sabina, why haven't you replied to my message?" he asked. "Are you upset? Are you mad that I haven't been home for two months?"

Zander always spoke in a deep, serious voice around others, making them feel a little nervous.

But whenever he was with me, his tone was always especially gentle.

"Don't be mad, okay? I'll be home in two days," he continued. "How's Summer doing? Is she feeling better? Will it be a few more days before she can leave the hospital?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, but I couldn't keep my voice from trembling when I finally asked, "You actually still care about how Summer is doing?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"Of course I care. Summer is our little girl. I wouldn't want anything to happen to her," he replied. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you both this time.

"Next time, I promise I won't let this happen again."

He thought I was angry because he hadn't been there when our daughter, Summer Stafford, got sick.

But this wasn't the first time he had been busy.

I used to excuse his absences because I thought he was busy with work.

When Summer got sick, I was the one who took her to the hospital and handled everything myself.

There were times when I was so busy I barely had time to use the bathroom, but I never blamed him. I thought he was working hard for our family so that Summer and I could have a better life.

That's why I never blamed him.

But it turned out he was busy doing it all for another woman.

He was standing up for Roxanne, going to her recitals, and making sure the whole world knew that the woman he truly loved had finally come back to him.

"There won't be a next time," I replied hoarsely.

Summer was already gone. How could there be a next time?

Zander froze for a moment, then quickly replied, "You're right. There won't be a next time. Summer will always be healthy from now on. She'll never get sick again."

I laughed bitterly and ended the call.

My phone screen was still showing the message I had just received from the cemetery.

It read, "Ms. Judd, we've reserved the spot for you. When would be a convenient time for you to come by?"

That short message made my eyes sting.

I rubbed my swollen, red-rimmed eyes. Ten minutes later, I finally typed a reply.

"I'm sorry. I'm planning to take Summer back to my hometown. The burial plots in Jinton are still too expensive. I can't afford one."