The Moon Never Bids Farewell

"Take off that ring."

Daniel walked in through the front door, dropping his briefcase on the entry table. His eyes landed on the tarnished band on my ring finger.

We had bought the pair eight years ago at a flea market for fifteen bucks.

He lost his on the day we moved into that cramped basement apartment.

Mine had weathered the years, leaving a faint green mark against my skin.

Daniel unfurled his necktie without bothering to look up.

"Mia's coming over for dinner tomorrow. If she sees you wearing that, she's going to overthink things."

He added coldly, "Besides, it's tacky. It makes us look bad. Just lose it."

I didn't argue. I simply twisted the metal off my knuckle.

"Where should I put it?"

"Wherever. Trash it for all I care."

I didn't throw it away.

Instead, I slid it deep into the guest room nightstand, tucked right beside my medical report.

By then, Daniel was already in the kitchen, warming up a glass of milk for Mia.

She hated cold drinks.

Years ago, he didn't even know where we kept the electric kettle.

I sat on the folding bed in the spare room, hunched over, waiting for the razor-sharp pain in my stomach to pass.

The spasms were getting worse.

It used to be once a day.

Now it hit three times a day like clockwork.

My phone buzzed with a text from Daniel.

“Get dinner outside tomorrow. Come back late. Mia and I need to talk.”

I typed back a single word, “Okay.”

Another text popped up.

“Don't forget the ground rules. Mind your place while she's here.”

Eight years ago, our basement room was sixty square feet.

He had a hundred-and-three-degree fever, shivering in the corner.

I held him all night while he sobbed into my shoulder, apologizing over and over.

I flipped the phone face down on the mattress.

---

By midnight, the stomach agony kept me wide awake. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Crossing the dark living room, I spotted a bottle of disinfectant spray sitting on the coffee table.

It was brand new.

The label bore Mia’s delicate handwriting.

“Sanitize the entire house daily.”

Next to it was a scribbled sticky note from Daniel.

“Focus on the maid's room and sinks.”

Those were all the places I had touched during the day.

Mia thought I was filthy. Daniel agreed.

I stood in the dark living room, staring at the spray bottle for a long time.

Then I pulled out my phone and booked a professional deep-cleaning service.

My hands shook as I typed.

It wasn't out of hurt.

My stomach cramps were so severe that my muscles wouldn't stop twitching.

---

The cleaners arrived the next afternoon.

When Daniel walked in after work, the harsh smell of disinfectant hit him immediately.

He froze in the entryway, then stormed straight into the guest room.

I was quietly folding clothes.

He grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight.

"Maddy, what the hell is this drama?"

His eyes were bloodshot, his voice a tense whisper.

"What drama?" I asked without looking up. "You wanted the place sanitized, so I had it sanitized."

"I only mentioned it because Mia has a severe phobia…"

"I know," I cut in calmly. I placed a folded sweater into the drawer. "That’s why I brought in professionals. They'll do a far better job than you with a spray bottle."

"It's not that I think you're..."

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Because he did think I was dirty.

His grip loosened, and he stepped back, completely speechless.

Later that night, I overheard him on the phone with Mia in the master bedroom.

"It's nothing. She's just throwing a little tantrum. She'll be over it in a couple of days."

His voice softened. "Don't worry about it. You know how she is, all bark and no bite."

He was convinced I would never leave him.

For eight years, he had always been right.

Except this time, he ran out of time.