Faced with so many bags, Gianna didn’t want to take them, nor did she want to leave them behind as a reminder of her presence. After some thought, she decided to sell them, convert them into cash, and use the money to purchase a parting gift for Michelle—a token of gratitude to conclude their so-called “mother-daughter” relationship over the years.
As she opened her phone to contact a friend about selling the bags, a message from Roxan popped up.
[Gianna, are you feeling better? I was wrong yesterday and shouldn’t have said those things. Will you forgive me?]
Gianna let out a cold laugh, ignoring the message.
A few minutes later, Roxan sent another one, this time with a photo.
It was of a man’s back, tall and straight, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He was wearing a white T-shirt paired with black tailored slacks, the apron tied around his waist blending seamlessly with his refined appearance. He stood in the kitchen, meticulously preparing food.
Beneath the photo was a caption.
[Vince’s porridge is delicious. I asked him to bring you some—be sure to drink it while it’s hot!]
It was followed by a playful bunny emoji.
Gianna found herself at a loss for words to describe Roxan. The only thing she could do was marvel at her sheer audacity and composure.
She replied curtly. [If you like it so much, keep it for the New Year.]
Without waiting for a response, Gianna blocked and deleted all contact information for both Roxan and Vince.
The relief was instantaneous.
Her mood lifted, and her stomach growled in hunger—especially after she hadn’t eaten much the previous night. She headed to the kitchen and made herself a bowl of egg noodles.
As she was eating, the sound of the front door opening broke the silence. Vince walked in, and their eyes met across the living room.
He was holding a stainless steel thermos and smirked.
“So it really was an act. Only Roxan, that naïve girl, would believe you. She spent all night convincing me to make peace with you, despite you being the one who hurt her.”
Gianna didn’t reply, lowering her gaze and continuing to eat her noodles as though he didn’t exist.
Irritated by her indifference, Vince’s expression darkened. He changed his shoes and walked over to the dining table, placing the thermos down with a loud clank.
“What’s so great about this?” he sneered, glancing disdainfully at her bowl. “Here, eat the seafood porridge I made. At least that way you won’t have any excuse to run to my mother, complaining about how I treat you.”
Gianna didn’t even lift her gaze as she replied, “Take it or throw it away—I’m not eating it.”
Vince’s brows furrowed. “Do you even realize what you’re saying? Where did the kind, gentle girl who used to smile at everyone go? Gianna, the person you are now feels like a stranger.”
The faint trace of care in his words made Gianna chuckle coldly.
“Used to?” she repeated, putting down her spoon and standing up. Her eyes met his, and the warmth that once resided there was gone. Her gaze was as cold and lifeless as water at the bottom of a frozen pond.
“That Gianna is dead,” she intoned coldly.
She had died the moment her baby left her body, the moment her love and hope for him were crushed under the weight of countless disappointments.
Her words stunned Vince. His heart raced, his breath hitched, as if an icy hand was squeezing the life out of him. It was a feeling he had never experienced before—a deep unease that the woman before him might vanish from his world without a trace.
But that was impossible!
From childhood until now, Gianna had been his shadow, following him everywhere. Everyone could see her unwavering love for him. How could she possibly let it all go?
Before he could respond, Gianna was already clearing the table, her movements deliberate and methodical as she carried her dishes into the kitchen. The only sounds in the apartment were the clinking of porcelain and the rush of water from the faucet. Even her breathing seemed muted.
Vince stood there, staring at her. For the first time, he realized how much she had changed.
She used to have a healthy glow, her cheeks soft with a hint of baby fat. Her figure had been full of life, well-proportioned and vibrant. After her mother’s death, she had grown thinner, her smiles becoming rare. But now, her transformation was startling.
Her face was pallid and lifeless, her cheekbones and collarbones jutting out sharply. Her shoulder blades protruded like fragile wings, and her once-vibrant presence had diminished to nothing more than a shadow.
