"Miss Robert, I appreciate your kindness, but I can't eat the cake," Amber said firmly, refusing to take the plate Calvin was pressing into her hands.
Her refusal seemed to strike a nerve. Calvin's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. Without a word, he grabbed her wrist, forcefully placing the plate back into her hand. His grip was unrelenting, leaving her no choice but to hold it.
The sudden pressure on her hand caused the half-healed wound from earlier to reopen. Fresh blood seeped from the cut, dripping onto the pristine white hospital floor, stark against its sterile backdrop.
"Blood!" Iris exclaimed, her voice tinged with alarm. "Driver lady, your hand is bleeding!"
Amber looked up at Calvin, her gaze pleading, her lips trembling as if begging for him to show mercy. But his cold, unyielding expression offered none. The man she had loved for a decade stood before her, oblivious to her pain, both physical and emotional.
Amber's heart twisted painfully in her chest. She didn't want to eat the cake, not because of the taste, but because she knew the agony that would follow. Mangoes weren't just a mild irritant for her; they were a torment. An allergic reaction would leave her body covered in angry red welts, the itch unbearable, often driving her to scratch herself until her skin broke and bled. She didn't want their last wedding anniversary to end in such humiliation.
Yet, Calvin's grip only tightened, his eyes daring her to disobey. He left her no escape.
Her breath hitched and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She refused to cry in front of him, not again. Amber steadied her trembling hand, picked up the fork and speared a piece of mango coated in cream.
She forced the fruit into her mouth, chewing slowly, her stomach rebelling with every movement. The sweetness of the cream mixed with the sharp acidity of the mango, turning the bite into an unbearable bitterness. She swallowed, the action painful, as though each piece dragged down her pride along with it.
"Is this enough now?" she asked silently, her heart screaming the words Calvin would never hear: "Is this what it takes for you to finally let me go?"
Calvin said nothing, watching as she continued to eat piece after piece. His silence was heavier than his words ever could be.
Amber's hand trembled so violently that the fork clattered against the plate. Her face was pale, her body visibly shaking, but she didn't stop. She didn't dare.
Finally, the grotesque scene jolted Calvin back to his senses. He stepped back, releasing her wrist abruptly as if scalded. Amber cradled her hand against her chest, tears pooling in her eyes but refusing to spill. The blood dripping from her wound was stark against the yellow of the mangoes.
"Why would you force her like that?" Iris's voice cut through the heavy silence, filled with genuine concern.
Amber didn't stay to hear Calvin's reply. She bent down to wipe the blood from the floor, ignoring the sharp sting in her hand. Straightening up, she clutched the cake tightly in one hand and turned to leave, her movements robotic, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I still need to get my wound treated, so I won't disturb everyone anymore."
Her words reached Calvin, soft and trembling, laced with the kind of pain that made even the air seem heavier. For a brief moment, Calvin frowned, unsure of what exactly she had to feel so aggrieved about. Was this another act, a show to earn his sympathy?
All this over a piece of cake? he thought.
Amber didn't wait for further humiliation. On her way out, she dumped the uneaten cake into a trash bin. The act felt like a small victory, though it did little to ease the sting of her humiliation.
Back at home, the mansion was silent. Florence greeted her hesitantly, sensing the storm brewing in Amber's expression. Amber walked past her without a word, heading straight to the kitchen.
The vegetables she had painstakingly prepped for their anniversary dinner were still waiting on the counter. With methodical precision, she began packing everything back into their containers, her movements eerily calm.
"Mrs. Amber, should I finish preparing dinner?" Florence asked tentatively.
Amber didn't answer right away. She stared at the ingredients, her fingers brushing the cool surface of the cutting board. Finally, she shook her head.
"No, Florence. There's no need."
Florence nodded, sensing it was best not to press.
Upstairs, Amber opened her wardrobe and pulled out three large cardboard boxes. She placed them on the bed, her mind clear for the first time in weeks. She wasn't just packing her belongings—she was erasing every trace of herself from this house.
One by one, memories were pulled from their hiding places.
The beautifully bound notebooks filled with unsent love letters to Calvin—trashed. Pages upon pages of words written in hope, in yearning, in heartbreak.
The adhesive bandages Calvin had grabbed for her during their college military training—meticulously preserved for years but never truly used—trashed.
The expensive wristwatch she had spent months saving up for, working part-time jobs to buy him a meaningful gift for his 20th birthday, only to have him dismiss it because Iris had already given him something better—trashed.
Each item tossed into the box felt like ripping a piece of herself away, but Amber didn't stop. By the time she was finished, the room looked emptier, cleaner, as though her presence had already begun to fade.
Amber pulled open the bottom drawer of her nightstand, retrieving a worn leather folder. Inside were neatly arranged documents: her finalized contract with a company in Hong Kong, a work visa and her one-way plane ticket.
She was finally letting him go.
