The holiday ended, and Mike returned to work.

More than a year had passed, and he had slowly learned to live with his tangled reality—accepting Amanda’s demands, leaning on Lotus’s comfort, without the sharp pangs of guilt that once haunted him. He no longer obsessed over the past or daydreamed about the future; instead, he told himself to live in the moment. Like a tightrope walker in a circus, he moved carefully forward—focused, but always on edge.

Yet this so-called “enlightenment” brought no true peace. The mask he once wore in public had now shifted inward, clamping down on his own heart. Even in anonymous forums, he could no longer speak freely. He felt himself hardening into a cocoon, alive but trapped. The only change was that his days grew ever busier.

That afternoon, as he scanned an industry report, the phone rang.

“Darling,” Amanda’s voice came through, unusually soft, even tinged with sweetness.

Mike paused. Perhaps because she now controlled his entire salary, her tone carried an almost girlish charm.

“What is it?” he asked flatly.

“I found a house—downtown. Four bedrooms, two living rooms, and a huge walk-in closet.”

“How much?”

“Just over two million.”

“What? Way too expensive. Forget it.”

Amanda pressed on, undeterred:

“I took our son to see it today, and he loved it. You know, they say cramped spaces can limit a child’s development. With a bigger home, he’ll have room to grow, to thrive.”

The child—her sharpest weapon—slipped neatly through the cracks in Mike’s armor.

“And the loan? Thirty years—how do we pay it back?” His voice softened despite himself.

“The house will appreciate in value. Savings will only depreciate. Thirty years isn’t so long if we start now. Besides…” Amanda’s tone turned pointed. “I’ve lived in that tiny place with you for years without complaint. But our son? Do you want him trapped in that shabby little box forever? Look at our neighbors—everyone else has moved into bigger homes.”

Then, with a final thrust:

“I’ve already paid the down payment. Come back and sign the loan with me.”

Mike’s stomach dropped. Thirty years… a lifetime of risks she hadn’t even considered. What if he lost his job? What if the world shifted in ways no one could predict? But Amanda had already sealed the deal, dragging him into it without hesitation.

Restless, he picked up his phone and called Lotus.

“Amanda wants to buy a house. Two million. What do you think?”

Her surprise was obvious. “You didn’t discuss it beforehand?”

“No. She already paid the down payment.”

A pause. Then Lotus’s voice, light and casual: “Honestly, it’s not a bad idea. If it’s in the city center, the value will go up. Location is everything.”

Her easy tone was like a balm. For a moment, Mike’s anxiety dulled, smothered beneath her calm dismissal.

—

By the time he rushed home, night had fallen. Amanda greeted him with a radiant smile, slipping her arm into his:

“Darling, you’re back! Our son kept talking about the new house—he’s so excited about his big room.”

The boy looked up, eyes shining. “Daddy!” The sound melted Mike’s heart; he scooped him up and kissed his cheek. For a fleeting instant, the heaviness lifted.

The next day, they went to the sales office. Bright lights, polished floors, and a sales manager in a sharp suit rushed over with a practiced grin.

“Mr. Mike, Ms. Amanda! Congratulations—this unit is in the city’s golden zone, a prime investment. Low loan rates, special first-year discount, 30-year term with manageable monthly payments. An opportunity you can’t miss!”

He flipped open the floor plans, tapping at the glossy page with theatrical excitement.

“Look at this walk-in closet—perfect for clothes, bags, shoes! With your taste, Ms. Amanda, it’s just right for you.”

Amanda’s eyes sparkled, vanity blooming. “Exactly! I was just worrying about space for all my outfits.” She turned to Mike, her gaze pleading yet edged with unspoken threat. Refuse, and she would corner him with the son—or with love itself.

Mike scanned the contract. He knew the risks—hidden clauses, the uncertainty of markets over three decades. Yet surrounded by his wife’s anticipation and his son’s innocence, he found no strength to resist.

Pen met paper. With his signature, another shackle locked into place.

Outside, Amanda hugged him tightly, eyes glowing with triumph.

“Thank you, darling! You’re the best!”

Mike forced a smile. Later, on the plane, he gazed at the neon blur of the city below, a bitter thought cutting through him:

Women lose themselves in dreams. Men compromise in reality. This house isn’t a home—it’s another impossible triangle: wealth’s shackle, love’s test, and the silence of the self.