Cicely didn't come home until the next morning.
She offered an apologetic explanation, but I just nodded, not really taking it to heart.
I packed up all my belongings and booked a flight for the next day to the city where Samuel was based.
Then I went to the office to wrap up the final details of my project and submitted my resignation.
I took a cab to the cemetery and sat quietly by my grandmother's grave for the entire afternoon.
I was about to leave this city, yet my heart felt strangely calm—not a trace of reluctance.
Maybe I'd been hurt enough that I'd gone numb.
I leaned against the headstone, talking to Grandma about nothing in particular, watching the clouds drift and reshape themselves overhead.
I didn't head home until the sky had gone completely dark.
When I opened the door, the house was unexpectedly lively.
Balloons everywhere. Flowers and gift boxes scattered around. A banner on the wall read "Happy Birthday."
I stood there, confused.
"Morton! You're back!" Harry appeared with a grin. "It's my birthday today. Cicely said the house was big enough to throw a party here!"
He smiled at me, but his eyes slid toward the dining table.
I followed his gaze. The table was covered with dishes.
"Cicely said she wanted to show off her cooking skills for me. She made all of this herself. She's so beautiful and kind—I really envy you!"
His words dripped with self-satisfaction, barely concealing how pleased he was that Cicely had gone to all this trouble for him.
I forced a thin smile, completely uninterested in his games, and turned to head to my room.
Then my eyes caught something in the corner, and I froze.
Harry noticed my reaction and laughed right in my ear, not bothering to hide his amusement.
"Oh, that? I accidentally knocked it over while we were decorating. Cicely said it was no big deal—she'd just sweep it up and throw it away later. Sorry, Morton, I'm so clumsy. Don't hold it against me, okay?"
On the floor lay my grandmother's portrait—the one I'd carefully framed myself. Now it was shattered into pieces.
And on her smiling face in the photograph, there were unmistakable black footprints.
The carelessness in his voice made my blood boil. I couldn't hold back anymore. I spun around and slammed my fist into his face.
My mind went blank. Pure rage took over.
A faint smirk flickered at the corner of Harry's mouth before he started yelling.
My fists rained down on him. He let out heavy grunts with each blow.
"Morton! What are you doing? Stop it!"
Cicely rushed out of the kitchen, screaming. She slapped me hard across the face and shoved me away, then helped Harry to his feet.
My eyes were red as I stared at the two of them.
"It's just a photo! Why are you making such a big deal out of it? Look what you did to Harry! You're deaf, so what—you can't stand seeing healthy people? What the hell is wrong with you?"
Cicely screamed at me, then helped Harry limp out the door.
My nose stung. A sharp pain twisted through my chest.
With trembling hands, I carefully gathered the pieces of my grandmother's portrait. I wiped the dirty marks off with my sleeve and placed it gently in my suitcase.
Cicely didn't come home that night.
I didn't sleep either.
Before I left, I took one last look around the house. I set the divorce papers on the table, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out without looking back.
From now on, I would never stand in the way of Cicely and Harry again.
