Two days later, Ethan’s fever finally subsided, and I brought him home.
Before leaving, I wanted to personally erase every trace of myself from this house.
I had carefully preserved everything Victor gave me—our souvenirs, memories of a time I once cherished. Now, they were easy to pack away.
I only kept my computer, a few sets of clothes, and Ethan’s baby essentials. Everything else, I boxed up and asked property management to collect.
Ethan played quietly on the sofa, his tiny hands probing the gaps between the cushions. With a proud giggle, he held up his “trophy.”
It was Victor’s ring.
Our wedding ring—the one that witnessed our vows and symbolized our promises.
Now, it lay forgotten in the crack of a sofa. Seeing it again, my mind flooded with memories of this shattered marriage.
When I first heard Victor was caught in the earthquake, I nearly miscarried from the shock.
At the time, with his life hanging in balance, I did everything I could to protect our baby.
Six months later, Victor came home. That very day, our child was lost.
I had simply reached out to pat Vanessa Bright’s head, to welcome her into our home as family.
But she suddenly snapped—violently slamming her arms into my belly and shoving me to the ground.
The child I had fought so hard to save was gone, just like that.
Victor said she had post-traumatic stress,and told me not to blame her—blame him instead.
But he had just escaped death. How could I bring myself to blame him?
So in the end, I swallowed the grief alone.
After that, Victor treated me better—twice as attentive, even.
But I still noticed the changes in him.
At first, he would wake in the night from nightmares—the earthquake haunting his sleep.
Later, once I was asleep, he’d quietly slip into Vanessa Bright’s room.
Only her scent in the darkness could bring him rest. He’d fall asleep beside her and return to me before dawn.
Eventually, he stopped hiding it. He stayed out all night. Even when I caught him coming out of her room in the morning, he’d greet me with a calm, “Good morning. Is breakfast ready?”
I pitied him for the trauma he endured. And since I knew—at first—they were really just sleeping, I tolerated it all.
Until one day, Victor came home with the scent of roses on him.
The scent lingered for three days. Even though he stayed in our bed those nights, it clung to him.
Vanessa Bright had grown up, and everything between them had changed.
He would take the wildflowers she picked from the roadside and turn them into everlasting bouquets—while tossing the lilies I’d bought for our home into the trash, just because they masked her rose scent.
He’d keep me tending the stove for ten hours to make tonic soup, only to dump it out because she didn’t like it, even though it was brewed for him.
He’d leave me alone on our anniversary just to stay by her side, worried she might feel lonely.
The dream was broken, and it was time to wake up.
The person who meant more to Victor than his life... was no longer me. It was his little rose.
I didn’t care anymore. In five days, I would vanish from his world without a trace.
A knock came at the door. I assumed it was the property staff, but when I opened it, it was Victor.
His face was dark, as if he had come to confront me about something.
But then his eyes fell on the items I had sorted on the floor, and he froze.
“You’re... throwing these away?” He picked up a cup. “Isn’t this your favorite? You use it every day.”
His confusion pierced me like a knife.
It had been a matching set of couple mugs, custom-made by the two of us. But because Vanessa Bright liked it, Victor had given her his.
The next day, her cup shattered. After that, I never used mine again.
It had been a full year. And he never even noticed.
“It’s useless now, so I’m tossing it,” I said calmly, then changed the subject. “Did Vanessa Bright find it?”
Victor’s voice turned icy. “You still have the nerve to bring up Vanessa?”
He looked at me—eyes full of loathing.
