Pierse’s gaze dropped to my calf, where blood was still seeping from the wound.
His eyes widened instantly.
"What happened?"
The worry and pain in his expression felt so genuine, not a hint of pretense.
I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could say a word, tears suddenly spilled down my face.
"It… it hurts… so much."
The sharp sting of the wound touching water was nothing compared to the ache in my chest, an overwhelming helplessness threatening to drown me.
Pierse grabbed the first aid kit, took hold of my ankle, and carefully tended to the wound.
"Eva, how did this happen?"
I replied softly, "I was in a car accident on the way back today."
"Why didn’t you call me—"
Halfway through his sentence, he abruptly stopped.
Something seemed to click in his mind.
His gaze dropped sharply, focusing intently on my wound, as if studying it carefully—yet he deliberately avoided meeting my eyes.
I dug my nails into my palm, using every bit of strength to keep my voice steady.
"Yesterday, when we were on video call, you mentioned you had an important contract to negotiate today. I didn’t want to disturb you. How did it go? Everything go smoothly?"
Pierse’s lashes were long and thick, casting shadows over his eyes, concealing whatever emotion lay beneath.
He picked up a cotton swab soaked in iodine with tweezers and carefully disinfected my wound.
After a long pause, he finally murmured, "Yeah. It went well."
…
After treating my wound, Pierse went to take a shower.
I reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out his phone.
It unlocked effortlessly.
He added my fingerprint to his phone a long time ago, but I never once used it.
We were together for ten years.
And for all those years, I gave him my complete, unwavering trust.
Just as I trusted him completely, he trusted me the same way, which was why he never even bothered to hide his affair.
The chat history was right there—blatant, undeniable, filled with flirtations between him and that young girl.
Her name was Dolly Thomas, a junior in our alma mater, seven years younger than us.
Pierse called her Doll.
She complained about not getting along with her roommates, so he rented her an apartment off-campus and even got her a car.
Dolly loved Disney plushies.
When Pierse went on a business trip to Celadon City, he bought her two whole boxes of them.
She lined them up on her couch, took a picture, and sent it to him.
"You only bought them for me, right? Your wife didn’t get any, did she?"
Pierse replied, "No, she’s not like you. She doesn’t like these things."
Dolly pouted. "So, are you calling me childish?"
"No, I find you adorable."
My finger slowly scrolled down the screen, feeling weaker with each passing message.
So that was why, just before New Year’s, Pierse suddenly taken a trip to Westin Heights.
He had hiked up a steep trail to a remote chapel to light a candle for Dolly, who was sick.
And in June, when he left our college reunion halfway, claiming something urgent had come up, it was because Dolly had gotten drunk, called a cab, and sobbed her way to him.
Long before I ever noticed, she had already slipped into every crack in my life with Pierse, weaving herself into the spaces between us.
I swallowed the pain threatening to make me tremble and scrolled to the very bottom of their messages.
It was from today—after my accident.
"I took your wedding ring and threw it away."
Dolly’s words were laced with entitlement. "Just looking at it pissed me off. It’s like that woman was flaunting her existence at me.”
"What’s so special about her anyway? She only met you first, that’s all."
"So, when are you finally getting a divorce?"
And just moments before he walked through the front door, Pierse had replied, "Just wait a little longer. I’ll talk to her soon."
…
By the time Pierse came out of the shower, I had already put his phone back in his coat pocket.
He didn’t notice anything off, just ruffled his damp hair with a towel and told me to get some rest.
I didn’t respond. My gaze locked onto his bare hand.
"You haven’t been wearing your wedding ring lately."
His expression shifted slightly. As if covering up his reaction, he glanced down at his hand.
"I must’ve lost it in the locker room when I was out golfing the other day. I’ll have my assistant look for it tomorrow."
Then, as if that settled it, he added, "You’re hurt. Get some rest, Eva."
