I went home to pack my belongings.
I looked at the place where I'd lived for ten years, and memories poured in uncontrollably.
My eyes filled with unshed tears.
If Jake had no feelings for me at all, then why did he buy this place immediately after I said I wanted a home?
Why did he, usually shrewd in business, donate year after year to the orphanage where I grew up without expecting anything in return?
Why did I see him outside the operating room with eyes filled with unshed tears and pleading with the doctors to ensure the surgery's success?
It was strange.
Even though I was hurt deeply, I remained hopeful and was unwilling to believe that I had misjudged him.
Then I opened the drawer and found the wedding planning book buried within.
The book was worn and heavily annotated, filled with his handwriting, detailing changes. Everything was according to Freda's measurements and preferences.
My fingers skimmed over the luxurious photos of wedding dresses and the elegant venue arrangements. I trembled uncontrollably.
To the world, I was Jake's wife.
But only I knew that he never held a wedding for me.
One ordinary morning, he simply slipped a ring around my finger and said, "Molly, let's get married. But I have terminal bone cancer and don't know how long I have left, so we won't hold a wedding." He paused before continuing, "This way, after I'm gone, you can remarry without facing judgment."
I cried and threw myself into his arms. I stopped him from continuing.
I decided to donate my marrow to him at that moment.
Looking back, I realized I was a complete joke.
On the last page, Jake had written solemnly. "This New Year's Eve, I must give my beloved the grandest proposal."
My heart felt as if it had been sliced with a knife.
It was New Year's Eve this evening.
Just then, the phone rang.
I hastily wiped away my tears and answered it. "Hello?"
"Molly." Jake's voice came. He sounded a bit anxious. "How did you make that soup for me before? I have a hospitalized friend who can't eat anything, and I want to make some to bring over."
Jake couldn't cook.
So even though he knew my stomach was weak, he never cooked for me.
Through the phone, I heard the clatter of pots and pans. He sighed and said directly, "Forget it. You just make some and bring it to the hospital as soon as possible."
I suppressed the disappointment in my heart and replied, "I don't have time."
Freda's voice faintly reached my ears from the other end of the line, and Jake immediately turned his attention to her.
"Hurry up. If you want a gift, just pick one yourself." With that, he hung up.
I stared at the darkened phone screen and remained unmoved for a long moment.
I didn't want anything from him anymore, not even a gift.
Two hours later, Jake rushed back.
Seeing no packed soup on the table, he immediately pulled a long face. "Molly, where's the soup I asked you to cook? Don't you know I'm in a hurry?"
In the past ten years, I rarely refused his requests.
Precisely because of that, it was the first time he lost his temper with me over some soup.
I looked at him and felt nothing but coldness in my heart. "I told you that I didn't have time."
He pointed at my half-packed luggage and said, "Then what's this? You have time to pack but not to make soup? You've been in a mood all day. What's wrong with you, Molly? You weren't like this before."
He was right.
But I had watched that video.
I interrupted him, "If I cook it, I need to buy groceries, prepare ingredients, and make the soup. It takes at least eight hours. Jake, do you remember that I just had surgery?"
I looked at him and continued softly, "As your wife, am I less important than your friend?"
He was momentarily lost for words. His expression changed several times before he managed dry explanations. Then he turned and slammed the door as he left.
As the planning book outlined, Jake indeed rented out a popular riverside area of the city to propose to Freda that evening.
The ring was the highlight of a charity auction. Fireworks exploded with their initials, and even the decorative flowers were Ecuadorian roses flown in.
Social media buzzed with excitement about that extravagant proposal.
Messages from friends popped up one after the other, but I replied to none. Instead, I quietly booked a flight to the south for the next day.
