Chapter 5

That night at eleven, Graham came home—a rare occurrence.

The moment the door swung open, that pungent perfume invaded the room before he did.

Still that same sharp, spicy scent—the one that never failed to trigger my allergies.

I already knew where he'd been.

He took off his coat, about to hang it up,

When he suddenly noticed the blank spot behind the door—

Where our photo used to hang.

He froze. "Tessa, that photo... it's gone?"

Without even setting down his coat properly, he hurried toward the bedroom to find me, as if to confirm something.

"It fell and broke," I said flatly.

He glanced toward the trash bin by the door, where shards of glass glinted coldly in the light.

His shoulders relaxed slightly,

As if reassured that I hadn't thrown it away because of him.

Then he hung up his coat, pulled an LV gift bag from his briefcase,

And placed it carefully on the bed.

"I didn't get the chance to give this to you today," he said, his tone the same warm cadence as always. "It's your third anniversary gift. I finally got to make up for it this year."

I stiffened for a second.

In three years, this was the first time he'd remembered this day.

But then my eyes landed on the timestamp on the bag—

The expensive little handbag had been purchased just thirty minutes ago.

I didn't need to guess why.

Vivian's "three years together" post must have reminded him.

He didn't even know I already owned two of the exact same style.

I looked up at him, saying nothing.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and continued, "Tessa, the research bureau has finalized the isolation project. The dependent slots have been assigned."

My heart slowly sank.

"The doctors say Vivian has been fighting hard, but... she has three years left. At most."

He paused, as though choosing his words.

"She says she doesn't have any wishes before she dies, except... she doesn't want to leave this world alone..."

"You know she has no parents. Not many friends either..."

I watched the moisture gather in his eyes and cut him off. "So you want to give her the spot, don't you?"

He hesitated, looking at me with eyes full of hope for understanding. "Tessa, she won't make it to the end. These three years... I just want her to have a better life."

"Could you... let her have this one thing?"

I let out a soft laugh.

So this belated gift came with strings attached.

"Fine." My voice was perfectly level, without a ripple.

Not just this once.

Next year. The year after. Every opportunity from now on—

I would never compete with her again.

Because after tonight, I was leaving.

"You really agree?"

Graham clearly hadn't expected me to give in so easily.

He looked at me, his gaze searching, uncertain—trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

He moved closer, taking my hand. His palm was warm around mine, but my heart had gone cold.

"I know we've never celebrated this day. Before I start the project, I want to make it up to you."

"I have tomorrow off. I booked us a cruise to celebrate our third anniversary."

He thought this was what I wanted. Compensation. Comfort.

He thought three years of marriage was still stable, still whole.

He thought one evening on a cruise could redeem all those neglected days.

Only I knew none of it mattered anymore.

I closed my eyes and nodded.

He hugged me, relieved—then noticed the suitcase behind me.

"You're traveling? When?"

"Tomorrow night. Ten o'clock," I said.

Tonight was supposed to be my last night—the night I'd tell him I was leaving.

But before I could say a word, his phone rang.

Caller ID: Vivian.

Her voice, soft and fragile, spilled from the speaker:

"Graham, I... I just finished my treatment, and my chest hurts so much... Can you come? I'm scared to be alone..."

He hung up. When he looked at me, his face was already full of apology.

"She's not doing well. I have to go."

His tone was a plea for forgiveness.

I pressed all the broken pieces of myself deeper down my throat, and gave him a smile so faint it was barely there.

"Go."

He visibly relaxed.

He grabbed his coat and rushed out.

Before leaving, he turned back:

"Don't forget—come to the dinner tomorrow night before heading to the airport. This time, I promise I won't let you down."

I didn't answer.

The door closed. The room went dead silent.

The next morning, I grabbed my suitcase.

I didn't go to the harbor.

I went straight to the airport.

Even after the dinner reservation came and went, even after staff called to confirm I wouldn't be attending, he didn't text me.

Didn't ask why I hadn't shown up.

Didn't ask where I was.

Didn't ask a single question.

It wasn't until I stood at the boarding gate, moments from getting on the plane, that his message finally arrived:

[Sorry. Vivian's condition relapsed. I took her to the hospital.

Tonight's dinner had to be canceled. When you get back from your trip, I'll make it up to you. I promise.]

I stared at the screen.

My heart had gone cold—completely dead.

Rather than shatter expectations yourself, better not to make promises at all.

Just like this dinner. Just like our marriage.

I wiped my tears and typed:

[You don't need to. Graham, I'm done.

I'm joining Professor Finch's project. From today, we won't see each other again.]

I hit send, about to power off my phone.

Before I could press the button, the chat window that had been dark for so long suddenly exploded—

Message after message flooding in.