Christine let him hold her hand. As they stepped out of the second-floor room, Harry’s phone rang sharply, slicing through the moment. She glanced at the screen.

“Little One.”

Without thinking, Harry instinctively released her hand. It fell away, just like her heart, plunging into a void. Her fingers slammed against the wrought iron banister of the spiral staircase, leaving a vivid red mark behind.

“Harry! I’m here! It’s impossible to catch a taxi at the airport. Come get me, hurry!”

The playful voice on the other end made Harry's previously furrowed brows smooth out in an instant.

“Christine, why don’t you head to the hospital yourself? My friend can’t get a taxi, I need to go pick her up.”

As if no one had ever flown before. Taxis, unlicensed rides, ride-shares if she had eight legs, she’d still find a way back.

But of course, Harry never even considered another option. Christine gave him a silent nod. Go.

“You’re the best! When I get back, show me the doctor’s receipt, okay? I want proof you actually went!”

He was already bounding out the door, excitement lacing his voice. His words echoed in the empty villa.

Christine chuckled softly, lips curling upward just as tears spilled down, dotting her black leather shoes.

She didn’t go to the hospital. Instead, she turned back and lay down on the bed, letting the tears pool into her ears.

Memories came rushing in like a tide. He used to make her glutinous rice tea with red dates and eggs during her period. She’d tease him, saying, “Wow, how does a big guy like you know how to nourish blood?”

“To be a husband who lives by the Twenty-Four Filial Exemplars, effort is a must right, Darling?”

He often called her “Darling” with such fondness that it melted her heart.

He’d shop for her perfumes, bid on jewelry at auctions, even carefully select skincare products at department store counters.

But now, it was clear he had always wanted to play the role of a devoted husband… just not to her.

She remembered once crying from being deeply moved and him teasingly pinching her cheek.

“Why do you cry every time you’re touched? Don’t worry you’ll have plenty more to cry about in the future.”

At the time, she’d laughed through her tears, never realizing how prophetic those words would be.

Later that night, Harry burst through the door, exhausted. He spotted her curled up on the bed, her cheeks flushed, tears still clinging to her lashes. Panicked, he swept her up and rushed her to the hospital.

When she woke up, he was sitting by her bedside, eyes bloodshot with worry. “Darling, you don’t take care of yourself at all. I’m really angry! Didn’t you promise me you’d go to the hospital?”

He sounded angry but the concern in his expression was unmistakable. Men. They really are the best actors when pretending to love.

“I’ll grab your meds and get you something to eat.”

Just as he stood, the ward door creaked open. A girl in a soft white cotton dress entered, smiling with two deep dimples. She looked like the very embodiment of innocence.

“Oh, Christine, since your fever came from a stomach issue, you can’t eat just anything. I brought porridge!”

That girl was adorable. Gentle. At that moment, the word “moonlight” took human form.

“Hello, Christine. I’m Angela Simpson, Harry’s classmate. He calls me Little One.”

Angela sat by her bedside as if it were her own home, placed a cool hand on Christine’s forehead and murmured, “Good, the fever’s down. Thank goodness. Harry can finally tell to Jane now.”

She turned to Christine and grinned.

“Christine, you have no idea how scared he was. He kept texting me that if anything happened to you, Jane would skin him alive.”

She reached to feed Christine the porridge, but as she lifted her hand, Christine’s gaze froze on her wrist.

A red burn, angry and fresh, marred her pale skin. “Little One… what happened to your hand?”

Before Angela could speak, Harry’s voice rang out, thick with worry.

“You burned yourself? Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Oh, it’s nothing! I just burned it while making porridge for Christine. You’re overreacting.”

“No way. I’m taking you to the burn clinic, what if it scars?”

Without waiting, Harry grabbed Angela and whisked her out the door. As they exited, Christine could’ve sworn Angela flashed her a victorious smile. A taunt.

Angela never even set the porridge down. By the end of the day, Christine was still on an empty stomach. Harry never came back.

At dusk, she dragged her weak body downstairs, picked up her medication, signed the discharge papers herself and hailed a taxi home. Efficient. Cold. Heartbreaking.

Once home, she opened her laptop and submitted her resignation letter. She retrieved a large cardboard box from storage, packed up her things and called a logistics company to ship them away.

The room emptied quickly. The items left behind all belonged to them, to him. She pulled out a burlap sack and began shoving everything in. Then, dragging the heavy sack to the trash bins, she struck a lighter.

“Let’s burn it all to ash.” The flames caught quickly. When they reached a framed photo, he kissing her cheek, their smiles frozen in time her heart clenched.

But memories weren’t sacred when the person they were tied to was no better than a pig or a dog. If he wanted to be a model husband so badly, let him be one for someone else.

Her boss called shortly after. “Christine, you’re at your career peak. What’s this sudden resignation about? Weren’t you planning to settle in London once your boyfriend’s career took off?”

She didn’t hold back. In her resignation letter, she made it clear she wasn’t jumping ship, just going home.

“There’s a throne waiting for me back in Boston. No choice but to inherit it,” she joked casually.

After wrapping up work and finishing her final calls, she booked a one-way flight that night. Before leaving, she cleaned the guest room until it was spotless.

Then, she placed an order with a vendor, Angela’s exact perfume. She sprayed two entire bottles of it in the room she’d stayed in.

That way, not a single trace of herself remained. As if she had never been in London at all.

“Harry, from now on, we walk separate paths. Let’s never meet again.”

Christine wheeled her luggage through the departure lounge, then paused to send one final message to Harry.