The winter morning was bitterly cold.
Tristan had gotten up early, dressed, and pressed a deep kiss onto the sleeping Jasmine before heading to the airport.
My phone buzzed nonstop.
[Celine, are you awake?]
[I had an urgent business trip today, so I didn't wake you. The ointment you need is in the usual place.]
Expressionless, I unlocked the screen.
His "update messages" popped up one after another. But he wasn't good at hiding things.
On his neck—barely concealed beneath his collar—was a red mark. A mark that pierced through me like a needle.
My gaze fell onto the medication he had prepared for me in advance.
There was even a small note taped to the bottle.
I no longer needed it. Just like I no longer needed him.
...
At the visa center, only a few people were waiting in the hall.
"Hello, I'm Celine Mendoza—the one who called yesterday."
I handed all my documents through the glass window.
The staff member worked efficiently, but her expression tightened as she flipped through the papers.
Outside, the morning sun was warm. Inside me, everything was frozen and still.
Ten minutes later, she handed me a confirmation form.
"Ms. Mendoza, if you are sure about immigrating, please sign here."
My phone vibrated again—Tristan's updates.
He had just landed.
"It's cold today. I asked my assistant to deliver a mink coat to the house. Don't catch a cold, Celine."
I switched on Do Not Disturb.
Just as I picked up the pen, a familiar voice called out.
"Celine? What are you doing here?"
I looked up, and saw Maureen. She was there to apply for her honeymoon visa.
We were childhood friends, and even held our weddings on the same day.
She saw the grief between my brows, snatched the form from my hands, and screeched, "Immigration?!"
Her voice echoed through the hall; people turned to stare.
I took the form back silently and signed my name.
A new life deserves a new world.
That was the only thought in my heart.
"Alright, miss. Everything will be processed within seven days," the staff member said.
I turned to leave, Maureen walking quietly beside me.
From behind the counter, whispers drifted into my ears:
"Are you sure that's her? Attorney Martinez's wife is immigrating? He'll definitely lose his mind."
"Even if they fought, isn't this too extreme? Everyone knows Attorney Martinez puts Ms. Mendoza first in everything."
"Exactly. I heard that three years ago, someone hit her with their car—she was bedridden for three months. It's not serious, but Attorney Martinez still spent millions to put the guy in prison..."
I bit my lip, a bitter smile forming.
Ten years of unwavering love from him.
So why... why could he still fall for another woman?
No answer came, only emptiness.
Maureen took me to a café.
"Tell me what happened, Celine. Did someone bully you? I'll go confront Tristan myself!"
My phone lit up again—the assistant had delivered the coat.
I forced a smile and showed the screen to her.
[Have you put on the coat? Don't catch a cold.]
...
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, Tristan had already begun work the moment he stepped off the plane.
The thick stack of documents reflected how severe the case was.
Throughout his career, he had handled bizarre, dangerous, and brutal cases—nothing could shock him anymore.
The junior assistant, Philip, murmured as he read, "It's hard to believe a biological father could do something that cruel to his own child..."
Tristan didn't speak. But the corners of his eyes were already damp.
