A flicker of guilt crossed Gideon’s heart as he cautiously approached Sylvie.
"Sylvie, I'm sorry. I was too harsh last night. I was just worried about the baby in Ivy’s belly. Don’t take it to heart."
Sylvie turned to look at him, her gaze light and indifferent.
Her voice was as soft as the wind. "Forget it. No matter how much I suffer, in your eyes, it's just hypocrisy."
But instead of remorse, her words only seemed to ignite Gideon’s anger.
"What suffering?" His voice sharpened. "I just asked you to make a bowl of wontons! Was it really that serious? You're just being petty!"
Sylvie stared at him in disbelief.
The man in front of her… was he really the same person she had once loved?
Something inside her cracked. A storm of emotions—hatred, grief, and disbelief—rose in her eyes.
Then, after a long pause, she forced out a smile. A smile more painful than crying. It felt as if a thousand shards of glass had pierced her fragile heart all at once.
Gideon’s expression darkened further. "What’s with that look? If you don’t want to stay, then get out!"
His voice was laced with impatience, his anger seething just beneath the surface.
Just as he was about to explode again, his phone rang.
"Gideon! When are you bringing that girl back? Your dad and I can start discussing the marriage proposal. Your grandma even bought her a big golden bowl! That’s money she saved from her teeth!"
Naomi Clarke’s excited voice boomed through the speaker.
Gideon’s brows furrowed. "Mom, I told you—"
Before he could finish, Ivy snatched the phone and spoke sweetly, her voice filled with obedience.
"Auntie, I’ll discuss it with Gideon first. Mm-hmm… Thank you for your concern!"
Sylvie’s body trembled violently.
Her lips curled into a miserable, bitter smile.
"So… you’re going to marry her?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her gaze bore into Gideon, searching—begging—for a different answer.
A simple no would have been enough.
Even if he just turned around and looked at her, she might still have had hope.
But—
"I can't let the child in Ivy’s belly be without a father, so..."
Gideon lowered his eyes, his tone unnervingly calm, as if he were talking about something ordinary.
But to Sylvie, his words were like a thunderclap.
A deafening buzz filled her ears. Her mind went blank. It was as if the world had suddenly collapsed around her.
Her face turned deathly pale. Her entire body began to tremble.
"Okay… okay… congratulations, Mr. Clarke."
Her voice was so weak, so fragile, it was almost inaudible.
She closed her eyes, trying to suppress the overwhelming grief surging through her. But her lashes wouldn’t stop quivering, and her chest felt as if it were being crushed.
She could hardly breathe.
Three years ago, she had brought up marriage to Gideon so many times.
After all… she wasn’t young anymore.
Every time she brought up marriage, Gideon would always change the subject, hiding behind his so-called faith.
With unwavering confidence, he had once told her, "Sylvie, when my spiritual practice bears fruit, it won’t be too late for us to talk about it. You’ll support me, right?"
But now, those words felt like a cruel joke.
It was as if a sharp blade had carved countless scars into Sylvie’s heart, each one deeper than the last.
She allowed herself to drown in the pain, unable to resist, unable to escape.
Her entire being—her soul—plunged into an endless abyss of darkness, swallowing her whole.
Gideon opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could—
"Gideon, aren’t we going for a prenatal check-up later? Let’s go now," Ivy interrupted sweetly.
Without hesitation, she took his hand and led him out.
Sylvie’s world turned deathly still.
All the color drained from her face in an instant.
It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over her, freezing her to the core.
Her fingertips trembled.
She instinctively raised her hand—just a little—wanting to reach out, wanting to stop him.
But all she could do was watch his back disappear from her sight.
The swaying trees outside the window seemed to mock her, their rustling leaves whispering tales of her helplessness and cowardice.
At that moment, the last shred of hope she had been holding onto vanished.
Sylvie stared blankly at the open door, her eyes empty, her body motionless—like a lifeless husk, a shell abandoned by its soul.
She had no idea how long she stood there until the sharp ring of her phone jolted her back to reality.
"Ms. Harrington, don’t forget to arrive at the operating room on the third floor of the hospital at 2 o’clock this afternoon," the doctor’s voice from the plastic surgery hospital reminded her.
"Okay," she replied without hesitation.
Without a second thought, Sylvie booked her ticket, packed her things, and left.
She chose a sleeper train. The journey from the Scottish Highlands region to Westport took over ten hours.
Outside the window, the scenery transformed—majestic, snow-capped mountains giving way to endless rolling grasslands, rivers weaving through valleys, and the world shifting before her eyes.
But Sylvie barely noticed.
Memories of the past eight years—of meeting, of falling in love, of everything—played in her mind like an old, faded film.
Her tears had long since dried.
She sat still, watching the ever-changing landscape blur past, her gaze empty.
"It doesn’t matter anymore… Forget it."
After countless hours and a restless journey, Sylvie finally arrived at the entrance of the plastic surgery hospital.
She took a firm step, as if walking toward a new life…
Meanwhile, Gideon returned home with Ivy, assuming Sylvie had gone to work.
After settling Ivy down, he made his way to the chapel, seeking solace in chanting.
Midway through his prayers, a fellow practitioner approached him.
"I saw your girlfriend at the station today. Where is she going?"
The rhythmic tapping of the wooden fish stopped abruptly. Gideon sat frozen, his back rigid.
Then—snap.
The string of the rosary in his hand suddenly broke.
