chapter3

The banquet invitation arrived in my mailbox two weeks ago, gold embossed letters reading "Cordially invites Professor Ryan Cavill and wife."

I opened the closet, fingers sliding past that row of clothes, finally stopping at a dark blue old dress. Bought three years ago for the celebration banquet when Ryan got tenure.

Back then he'd put his arm around my waist and told everyone, "Without Ella, I wouldn't be where I am today."

I put it on, the zipper a bit tight. The woman in the mirror looked plain, but clean and presentable. Good enough.

Arriving at the hotel ballroom, it was already crowded.

I spotted Ryan immediately—standing in the center of the crowd, black suit fitting perfectly, smiling and shaking hands with a board member.

Chloe was at his side, wearing a silver backless gown, hair elaborately pinned up, diamond earrings flashing with every turn of her head.

She held a champagne glass in one hand, the other naturally resting on Ryan's forearm.

When someone came to greet them, Ryan introduced: "This is Chloe Miller, joint project leader of our team, young and promising."

"What a handsome couple." An alumnus with graying hair smiled, completely failing to notice me standing three meters away.

Chloe covered her mouth and laughed lightly, leaning closer to Ryan. "You're too kind. It's all Ryan's excellent guidance."

I turned toward the dining area and got a glass of water. Two women nearby were chatting, voices not loud but clear enough.

"That's Professor Cavill's rising star student? Really beautiful."

"More than just a student, I heard the project is entirely her lead. Where's the original wife? I think she's also a researcher?"

"Who knows."

I drank some water, the ice water going down my throat, as calm as my current mood.

The banquet formally began. Dean's speech, awards, lengthy thank-you lists.

Then the MC said, "Now let's invite our distinguished young scholar, Professor Ryan Cavill, to share his thoughts on academic inheritance."

Amid applause, Ryan took the stage. Spotlights hit him, he adjusted the microphone and showed that familiar confident smile.

"The academic path is never a lonely journey." His voice spread through the sound system across the hall. "It requires inheritance, requires support, requires those who still believe in you during your most difficult moments."

I set down my water glass, hands on my knees.

"Today I want to especially thank one person." Ryan's gaze turned to the audience below, accurately finding Chloe's direction.

The cameraman understood well, immediately cutting to her. The big screen showed Chloe's slightly flushed face and emotionally glistening eyes.

"Miss Chloe Miller." He said, each word clear and forceful. "She illuminated my research with extraordinary inspiration, and with tenacious companionship helped me through many difficult moments. She is the team's spark and my personal fortune."

Thunderous applause erupted, more enthusiastic than for any previous award winner.

Chloe stood up, gracefully bowing slightly in all directions. Ryan smiled at her from the stage, that exclusive, gentle smile.

I sat in the last row, body frozen.

Ten years ago when Ryan failed his PhD qualifying exam, he locked himself in the apartment for three days without eating or drinking.

I was the one who pried open the door, brought hot soup to him, saying over and over "we can start again."

He'd held me and cried, saying Ella you absolutely can't leave me.

Five years ago his first important paper was rejected, revision comments so harsh they were devastating.

I was the one who stayed up all night with him rewriting it, scrutinizing every word and sentence. That paper eventually became the first highlight on his CV.

The day it published he'd hugged me tight saying, "You're my lucky star."

Turns out all those moments, those difficulties, that support—now they all had a new name.

Called Chloe Miller.

The applause lasted a long time. I watched those two glamorous people on stage, watched those envious or flattering faces below, suddenly feeling all this so distant from me.

Like watching a performance through a glass window, even the sound muffled.

No sting, no anger, not even sadness.

Just a detached calm, cold as Antarctic wind.

In my heart I said, goodbye.

The banquet finally ended after the dessert segment.

The crowd began to disperse, Ryan and Chloe surrounded in the middle, receiving wave after wave of congratulations.

I quietly stood up and left through the side door.

Arriving home, the house was pitch dark. I didn't turn on the lights, went straight to the study and opened the computer.

Mara had sent the latest supply checklist in the afternoon, with a note saying, "Polar gear has been reserved in your size. Personal items must be minimized, space is limited, bring only what's most important."

I pulled out my suitcase and started organizing.

Three sets of thermal underwear, two thick sweaters, waterproof jacket and pants, gloves scarf hat.

Toiletries only the smallest packaging, all makeup left behind—Antarctica doesn't need those. Laptop, encrypted hard drive, backup power. One thin notebook and two pens.

Finally I took out a small tin box from deep in the drawer and opened it.

Inside were a few old photos: a graduation photo of Ryan and me, both smiling so hard our eyes disappeared; keys to our first apartment, already rusty; and a very cheap silver ring, a gift he'd bought with his first month's salary, later he said it was too shabby and told me not to wear it.

I picked up the photo, looked at it, then tore it in half and put it in the shredder. Keys and ring went into the trash.

The tin box was empty. I closed the lid and put it back in the deepest part of the drawer.

On the computer screen, the last item on the supply checklist was checked. I replied to Mara, "Personal items minimized. Confirmed ready to depart."

Send.

Outside the window, the city lights blazed. This place I'd lived for ten years now looked as strange as another planet.

I shut down the computer, the room plunging into complete darkness.

In the darkness, I knew clearly: that chain that once connected me to this world had just broken in the banquet hall's applause.

Completely broken.