The Crescent Heir

By the time I returned home, it was already late into the night.

The pale moonlight spilled into the living room, casting a cold, desolate glow over the space.

Exhausted, I dragged myself to the bedroom, only to be greeted by the sight of the colorful wedding decor on the walls.

How ironic, I thought to myself.

The festive ribbons on the bed hadn't been cleared away, but I was too worn out to care. I lazily swept them off the bed and collapsed onto the soft mattress, feeling the weight of the day press down on me.

As I plugged my phone in to charge, a notification "coincidentally" caught my eye—a post from Susie McKinney on her social feed.

"Grateful for your presence, not a moment wasted" was the caption.

The attached photo showed Hank holding her in his arms, the two of them gazing into each other's eyes, barely a centimeter apart, lips on the verge of meeting. Matching couple rings gleamed on their fingers.

If it were in the past, I would have stormed over and demanded an explanation from him.

But now? I just quietly turned off my phone, rolled over, and went to sleep.

The following days passed in silence. I didn't receive a single message from Hank.

Instead, my feed was constantly flooded with Susie's updates—photos of them kissing, shopping, laughing together, as if flaunting their happiness for the world to see.

I didn't react, didn't feel anger or sadness. Instead, I contacted a lawyer and began preparing for a divorce.

Hank Dawson and I had been together for eight years, since our university days. Although we had only recently hosted our wedding ceremony, in actuality, we had sealed our marriage legally right after graduation.

It was a quiet, impulsive moment. No ceremony, no bridal gifts, no jewelry—just the reckless passion of two young lovers.

But now, that passion had long since faded, leaving behind nothing but a mess to clean up.

*

Nearly two weeks later, I was sitting at home, reviewing the draft my lawyer had prepared for the divorce.

The house was quiet, but suddenly, the sound of a key turning in the lock broke the silence.

I looked up, and there they were—Hank walking in, hand-in-hand with Susie.

Our eyes met, and I saw a flicker of awkwardness flash across his face. He quickly let go of her hand, his voice strained as he tried to explain.

"Susie's never been to the beach before, so I took her. Besides, you're pregnant... didn't the doctor say you should be careful…"

Before he could finish, I looked away, my eyes drifting back to the legal document in front of me.

I nodded, barely interested.

"Mm. Okay," I replied, dismissive.

"Go ahead..."

Whatever else he was about to say caught in his throat. Seeing me sit there, calmly focused on the computer screen, completely unbothered, seemed to anger him even more.

His voice grew cold, and he lashed out, "Do you have to be like this? I already told you, Susie's never been to the beach—that's why I took her! It's not a big deal. And why are you making a scene? It's not like we can't go on the honeymoon anytime! What's your problem?"

He kept rambling, the frustration clear in his voice. "And how many times do I have to tell you, there's nothing between me and Susie—"

I cut him off mid-sentence, tired of the same old lie.

"You and her are just like brother and sister. Yes, I know."

I looked at him, my expression calm and indifferent. There wasn't any trace of anger.

Hank's face, however, grew colder, his brows furrowed in frustration. His voice, laced with helplessness, cut through the room.

"Then what are you upset about this time?"

"I'm busy," I replied, my attention already back on the draft in front of me, completely uninterested in meeting his gaze.

Seeing the tension, Susie quickly stepped forward, gripping Hank's wrist with a performative air of concern. She added fuel to the fire with her sweet, saccharine tone.

"Please, Pearl, don't be mad. You mustn't argue with Hank because of me. Hank may not have taken you with him this time, but he bought you a special gift from the beach!"

She turned to him, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "Hank, hurry and show her the present!"

Hank, eager to please, fished out a small box from his pocket. He opened it and pushed it toward me as if he were presenting a grand gesture.

"I bought it just for you. Go on, take a look at it."

His face gleamed with smug satisfaction, as if he expected me to be overwhelmed with gratitude.

I glanced at the box. Inside was a simple pair of floral-shaped earrings, the edges lined with tiny diamonds, and the petals crafted from blue gemstones. They were dainty, delicate.

I took one look, then pushed the box back toward him without a second thought.

"No need. I'm not interested in collecting trinkets."

The room fell into an awkward silence. The atmosphere thickened with tension as Hank's face darkened.

"What do you mean by that, Pearl Jennings?"