Was I merely a thief standing between her and Harvey, stealing their happiness?
At that time, I was in agony, falling apart, going insane.
Unwilling to accept any of this, I hysterically smashed everything in the house.
I even slapped Yvonne across the face, but she remained utterly still, letting me vent my fury.
However, before my anger could subside, Yvonne's phone buzzed with a new message.
It was a photo of a five a.m. flight ticket alongside a pregnancy test report. And after that, Harvey's sorrowful voice message kept replaying in the dead-silent night.
"Yvonne, I don't want to pressure you, but I can't hold on anymore. I'm right next door. I need you to choose between us."
"I'm not like Nicholas Sparks. I have nothing. If you don't come and give me an answer, I'll kill myself before dawn."
That woman, who was usually so composed, instantly panicked.
Yvonne Grant, who hadn't even flinched when I questioned her and hadn't been swayed by my tears, desperately wanted to find Harvey at that moment.
I was exhausted. Leaning against the wall, I spoke almost in despair. "Yvonne, if you walk out that door today, there will be no turning back for us, ever."
Yvonne paused, but she still walked out without looking back.
Hearing this, the taxi driver lit a cigarette, his face full of concern. Then, remembering my situation, he silently put it out.
"People's hearts are unpredictable," he sighed.
Yes, people's hearts were unpredictable and fate was capricious.
If the story had ended there, it would just have been a tragedy in our relationship.
After a period of heartbreak and tears, I might have eventually moved on. But that night, fate played another cruel joke on me.
I called my father and told him that Yvonne had betrayed me, that we couldn't go on anymore.
I said I wanted to go home. Back to my hometown, back to their side.
My father panicked and drove all night to pick me up and take me home.
Sadly, the snowstorm that day was too fierce.
Due to the rugged mountain road, my father got into a car accident on his way. His car was wrecked and he died on the spot.
God was so unfair.
He allowed a heartless, unfaithful bitch like Yvonne to live, but he took away the father who loved me the most.
By the time I got the call and rushed over, all that remained was a white sheet about to be pushed into the crematorium.
They told me my father's state was too horrible and they didn't want me to see him. They even urged me to control my grief.
Still, that was my father. The man who loved me, cherished me and protected me since I was little.
How could I be afraid of him?
I rushed forward desperately and lifted that white cloth. What I saw was a face that was a blur of blood and flesh. There were no features, no face; even my father's skull was shattered into countless pieces.
I could not describe the feeling of that moment. My consciousness seemed to fly away, soaring to a completely unfamiliar world.
A world without death, without pain, without tears and without betrayal.
Later, I saw a psychiatrist. The doctor told me it was dissociative consciousness, a very severe psychological illness and she urged me to be hospitalized for treatment immediately.
Unfortunately, my mother became ill before I did. My father's death had traumatized her, leaving her mentally unstable.
The once gentle and graceful mother now flew into a rage whenever she saw me.
She would hit me, curse me and spit in my face. Another time, she would look at me through her tears and say, "It was you, you killed your dad."
