While tidying Ayden's studio, I accidentally discovered the secrets he hid in his paintings.

The artwork depicted a woman's face, devoid of her facial features.

The same paintings filled the entire studio.

Only upon closer inspection with a magnifying glass did I realize they shared a peculiar trait.

They weren't created with traditional tools but through a repetitive combination of names.

It dawned on me that in our 40 years of marriage, he had always kept his first love in his heart.

Reflecting on my own life, I had willingly sacrificed good times for the sake of raising children and caring for my parents without complaints.

At that moment, I resolved to live for myself!

——

Ayden was an art teacher skilled in realism, sketching, oil painting, etc.

He had a habit of leaving his paints and brushes scattered after each session, which I always tidied up.

That day, he went to work, and I helped him tidy up his studio at home.

As I wiped the table, I accidentally knocked over a glass of water, soaking a nearby painting.

The artwork featured a woman's face but lacked any facial features.

The same paintings filled the entire studio.

I quickly moved the painting into the sunlight and waited for it to dry.

With the help of sunlight, I noticed something was off.

Why were the lines in this painting so messy and dense?

My curiosity piqued, and I must find answers.

I retrieved a magnifying glass and examined it closely.

The painting wasn't drawn but constructed from repeated names.

Lydia!

I recognized her as Ayden's first love.

My hands trembled, causing the painting to slip from my grasp.

I recalled asking him why he only painted the face without facial features.

He had playfully replied, "What you can't see gives you more room for imagination. Everyone sees things differently."

I was curious and asked, "What did you see?"

He gently held me in his arms and said as a matter of course. "Of course it's you."

Now, I realized his true vision in that painting was not me, but Lydia.

All he said were sweet words to deceive me.

Despite this, I still didn't believe in my heart that he was that kind of person.

Until one faceless portrait after another was turned over, and all of them had Lydia's name on them, I completely gave up.

Sitting alone on the sofa, I reflected on our 40 years of marriage, from youthful days to gray hair.

I thought I was his youth, only to discover it belonged to someone else.

As night fell, Ayden dragged his tired body back home.

I looked at him, noting his gray hair, and slightly hunched back, a reminder that time had passed.

He noticed the empty table and asked, "If we didn't cook tonight, should we go out for a bite?"

I remained silent on the couch, my calm exterior masking a well of anger.

Ayden seemed to notice that I was in a bad mood and sat down next to me.

He held my hand and said earnestly, "What's wrong? Is there something that makes you unhappy? Is Jeffrey causing trouble again?"

Ayden and I had been married for 40 years and had a pair of children, a son named Jeffrey and a daughter named Zoey.

To others, we were the envy of many for our love and harmony.

I had married my choice and believed I was the happiest woman in the world.

I used to think so, and even took pride in it.

But now, everything had changed. The love I once cherished felt like mere wishful thinking.

I laid out several faceless portraits in front of Ayden.

He was puzzled and asked, "What are you doing with these paintings?"

"Ayden, tell me honestly, who were you thinking of when you painted these?"

"You, of course!" Ayden replied without hesitation.

Disappointed, I said, "Ayden, we are 60 years old. Is it still necessary to deceive each other?

"You have Lydia in mind. Why are you afraid to admit it?"

Upon hearing this, his expression shifted, and he quickly explained, "Camille, I liked her when I was young, but those all past events and not worth mentioning.

"Besides, I only used her name for the painting. It doesn't mean there's anything between us.

"If you want, I can also use your name to paint. It doesn't matter."

I thought, "Doesn't matter? It matters to me."

During our time together, Ayden never offered to paint for me.

I consoled myself, thinking his role as an art teacher was his priority and that I shouldn't burden him.

He was out to make money while I managed our household.

Couples should understand, tolerate, and support each other.

Now, it seemed my consideration had led to his carelessness.

I pointed at the name on the painting and said coldly, "After countless nights writing her name, she must be unforgettable to you."

The next second, he erupted in anger, snatching the painting from me and tearing it apart, scattering the pieces like snowflakes on the floor.

"Is this what you wanted?" he gasped, his chest heaving.

I stared at the paper scraps, feeling as if our love had shattered at the slightest touch.

At that moment, everything felt meaningless.

The evidence could be erased, but the scar on my heart would never heal.

Once a beautiful marriage became flawed, a once-strong relationship might gradually disintegrate.

Our marriage entered a silent treatment, with neither side yielding.

I stopped cleaning for him and focused on myself.

In the painting room, he made a mess with his paints, and I remained indifferent.

One day, returning from the grocery store, I overheard Ayden getting out of a luxury car with a woman in a colorful dress.

It was Lydia.

Although we were the same age, she looked exceptionally well-maintained.

Judging from her appearance alone, she looked no different from a 40-year-old woman.

I had to admire how money could enhance appearances.

I looked down at my hands, callused and worn, dressed in simple clothes I mended to save money for the family.

In comparison, she was a luxurious woman, and I felt like a simple grandmother from the countryside, the gap between us felt vast.

No wonder Ayden couldn't forget her.

But did that diminish my youth?

I walked past them without a word.

Ayden followed, saying, "Don't overthink it. We just happened to be on the same path. She's just giving me a ride."

I stayed silent, uninterested in his lies.

That night, Jeffrey and Zoey came for dinner.

Jeffrey, a perpetual bachelor, was aimless, while Zoey, married to an outstanding civil servant, was pregnant.

I prepared a nice dinner for them.

At the table, Zoey, sensing tension, asked, "Mom, there is nothing unpleasant between you and Dad, right?"

I paused with my hand picking up the food and said nothing.

Jeffrey, impatient, said, "Mom, you and Dad are older now. If this gets out, it'll be a joke to the neighbors. Just stop."

He indiscriminately blamed me for everything.

Noticing my frozen expression, Zoey subtly pulled at Jeffrey's sleeve, urging him to stop.

But Jeffrey slammed his fork on the table, exclaiming, "You know how much Dad has done for this family.

"I have met Aunt Lydia. She's nice and generous. She helped with half the down payment for my car and gave Zoey several new outfits.

"Dad is an honest man, not good at speaking. He hides his feelings in his paintings. It's not what you think.

"Mom, don't complicate things. Just make up."

I realized I had been the only one who was kept in the dark about the whole thing, and they had already had contact with Lydia.

Zoey looked down, perhaps out of guilt.

After all, one should be grateful for what one had received.

I looked at Jeffrey as if seeing him for the first time.

I remembered raising him through tough times and how he was once attached to me.

But time changed everything.

I wiped my mouth and whispered, "I'm full, you guys eat."

I ignored Jeffrey's pleas for reconciliation.

Seeing my indifference, he angrily stood up, saying, "Mom, you're really senile and stubborn."

After saying this, he slammed the door and left.

As for Ayden, he remained silent, perhaps unsure of what to say.

What should have been a pleasant meal turned sparse and tense.

After the silent treatment, I slept in a separate room from Ayden.

My room was next to his drawing room, and the old house had poor soundproofing.

One night, I was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of a brush moving across paper.

I got up, put on my clothes, and through the crack in the door, saw Ayden working at his desk, writing something furiously.

When I opened the door, his white hair shone brightly in the light.

Seeing me, he paused and said, "Sorry to disturb your sleep," smiling as he raised his hand.

He then held up a painting, revealing a youthful and beautiful woman with long hair and a gentle smile.

It was an image of my younger self that he had captured.

He sought my forgiveness with this painting.

"Camille, I'm sorry for hiding things from you."

There was a gleam in his eyes. "Give me another chance; I will treat you and this family well."

I hesitated before replying, "Ayden, let's separate."

He suddenly looked up at me, and the light in his eyes dimming.

*****

Ayden and I met in college.

That year, we were 20 years old, in the prime of our lives, and full of vigor and vitality.

He majored in fine arts and I majored in music.

Initially, we seemed incompatible, but a chance encounter sparked a romance.

He was heartbroken after a breakup and he wanted to hide somewhere where no one was around to vent.

Unfortunately, the place he chose was my piano practice room.

I seemed to be a beacon of light in his life, illuminating his helpless heart.

As we got to know each other, I learned about his ex-girlfriend, Lydia.

After graduation, we became a couple and went on a trip to T City, where we had a car accident.

At the critical moment, Ayden shielded me with his body, preventing serious injury.

And that moment became his lifelong get-out-of-jail-free card as long as it was not a matter of principle.

We soon married and built a happy family.

I never doubted his sincerity, but sincerity could change.

I once thought we would live happily ever after, but by age 60, our fate had crumbled.

The next morning, I took all the family documents and went to the court.

We exchanged silence as we drove, the atmosphere heavy.

The waiting area of the court was filled with a cold atmosphere.

My phone buzzed with messages.

Jeffrey's insults were nothing more than words of disdain for me, such as being shameless and betraying the family.

Zoey sent me a long and heartfelt message, trying to keep me.

I ignored them, having made my decision after our last meal.

Looking at the divorce certificate, I knew that signing it would end everything.

Ayden asked, "Do we have to sign? Can we not separate?"

I closed my eyes and sighed, "Sign it."

After nearly 40 years together, our separation took only ten minutes.

I walked out of the court alone, a weight lifted from my heart, feeling relieved.

I inhaled the fresh air and watched the bustling street, finally reclaiming my life.