My Alter Ego

In the KTV private room, the guys were yelling and chugging drinks. My phone suddenly vibrated, the screen lighting up with "Daniel Jones". "Mia, where are you? I made lotus root pork rib soup, waiting for you to come home for a late-night snack." His voice still held that clear tone from back then. I held my cigarette on speaker, laughing, "I'm playing games, what's it to you?" The music cut off suddenly, and everyone went silent right away. The next second, the door slammed open with a bang. Daniel stormed in, suit sharp, eyes bloodshot. "Mia Lewis!" He grabbed my wrist tightly, the pain sharp. "Let go." I said it flatly, calm and steady. "Are you really that low? Hanging out with those no-good people!" He shouted, spitting onto my face. "Look who's talking." I took a drag, exhaling smoke in his face. "What about you messing around with Lydia Miller? Didn't that make you just as low?" He swung his hand and slapped me—the sharp smack echoed through the room. "Daniel Jones, you actually hit me?" I touched my burning cheek, my eyes going ice cold. "So what if I hit you?" He was gasping, veins bulging at his temples, "You're drunk, partying with random guys—unworthy of Mr. Jones's status!" "Then get a divorce." I stood up and smoothed my skirt. "Want a divorce? No freaking way!" he snapped, "You'll never get away from me!" I pulled free and walked out, my heels clicking sharply and decisively. "Mia Lewis, you dare walk out on me!" Behind me, I heard glass shatter as he yelled, "If you leave, don't ever come back!" I didn't even look back. "Who cares." Walking out of the KTV, the cold wind stung my face, and tears fell—salty and burning. This eight-year campus marriage has long since completely fallen apart. In the taxi, I stared at 'Daniel Jones' on my phone, memories rushing back. Freshman year, at the basketball court, he came running over with a basketball, sweat soaking his white T-shirt: "Mia Lewis, I like you. From now on, I'll treat you right for the rest of my life." I smiled and nodded. "Alright, I believe you." He scratched his head and grinned, "From now on, you'll come watch my games. If I win, I'll buy you ice cream. If I lose, I'll go to the library with you." "Deal." I reached out and high-fived him. On graduation day, W Road was blanketed with yellow leaves. He knelt on one knee, clutching a silver ring in his trembling hand: "Mia, marry me. I'll work hard to give you the best life and make you happy every day." I cried as I slipped the ring on: "I do, Daniel Jones. I just want you to be good to me." He pulled me into his arms: "I promise, I'll treat you well for the rest of our lives." But when exactly did everything change? "Don't call me, I'm busy with a project." He didn't come home that night for the first time, and sounded annoyed on the phone. "Can't you just try to understand me?" I said, feeling hurt, "I waited for you until three in the morning." "Mia Lewis, can't you be a bit more mature?" He hung up; the busy signal rang sharply. Later, when I wore the dress he once praised, he frowned and said, "You changed it—it looks so tacky. Wearing that to the gala would embarrass me." "This is what you said was pretty back then." I clenched the hem of my skirt. "That was before, now I'm Mr. Jones. You need to act like Mrs. Jones." He turned and walked away. I had a 39-degree fever and messaged him, "I'm hurting, can you come back and be with me?" He replied, "How can you be so clueless? I'm in the middle of closing a multi-million deal, go to the hospital on your own." The taxi pulled up to the villa's doorstep. I pushed the door open—the living room was empty, the crystal chandelier glaring bright. I walked to the bedroom and opened the bedside drawer. The silver ring lay in the corner, oxidized and dull. I picked up the ring, my fingertips tracing the engraving "L&J": "Daniel Jones, you said forever—so why doesn't that mean anything anymore?"