"She’s just a young and innocent girl, why are you angry at her?" Charlie had said. However, he had forgotten that before Miranda appeared, those moments were ours alone, me and him.

After that trip, I gave him the cold shoulder for a day. Unlike before, he did not try to make amends. Instead, he left me alone in the apartment.

Now, here we were. I could not understand how someone could change so quickly.

As for Miranda, technically, I was her homeroom teacher before my vacation. Back then, Charlie would often come to my class to wait for me so we could eat or go home together. The girls in my class loved to tease me about our relationship and Miranda stood out among them.

She loved hounding me with questions. Her wide eyes would spark with curiosity when she asked, "Miss, Is Mr. Peterson a very patient man?" or, "Teacher, has Mr. Peterson told you when he’ll marry you?"

Now, it hit me. Had Miranda been targeting Charlie all along?

I blinked against the dryness in my eyes.

What about Charlie? When did he decide to let her into his world?

Charlie's cold voice interrupted my thoughts as he set the dishes on the table.

"Dinner’s ready," he said, looking at Miranda.

When his gaze fell on the bag of chips in her hands, he chuckled softly and walked over. Gently he tapped her head and scolded, "It’s almost dinnertime and you’re still snacking? You’re like a child."

Pouting, Miranda replied, "Well, I’m seven years younger than you, so of course I’m a child."

They kept on flirting as if they were alone. They did not notice my face went white like a ghost.

When he raised his body and looked at me, he only said indifferently, "Let's eat.

Even though he said that there were only two bowls on the table, one for him and one for Miranda.

Pressing my lips together, I quietly walked into the kitchen. The moment I opened the rice cooker, my hand froze. There was barely a spoonful of rice left. He had only cooked enough for two.

When I returned to the dining room empty-handed, Miranda tilted her head curiously and asked, "Miss Jennings aren’t you eating?"

I just shook my head without saying anything.

Meanwhile, Charlie peeled a shrimp brought it to Miranda’s lips and said, "Don’t worry about her. Just eat. Who knows why she’s always in such a bad mood?"

I inhaled sharply, unable to hold back my tears. My voice trembled as I choked out, "There’s no rice left. That’s why I didn’t bring any out. Stop blaming everything on my supposed bad temper!"

My voice was sharper than intended. It was breaking from the strain of my emotions.

Startled, Miranda shrank into Charlie’s arms. He shot me a cold glare and snapped, “Enough! You’re scaring her!"

Then he added, "Rose Jennings, you’re twenty-eight years old and a teacher. How can you be so emotionally unstable?"

After soothing the frightened girl in his arms, he got up and went to the kitchen. When he came back, he placed a bowl of rice on the table. However, it was just the brunt scraps that he scraped from the bottom of the rice cooker.

A flicker of discomfort crossed his face as he muttered, "Uh, it’s not much, but it’ll do for now. I must’ve cooked too little."

I forced a bitter smile, too drained to argue.

There was no point mentioning the rice, there was also the fact that all the dishes on the table were too spicy for me to eat.

"It’s fine. You two enjoy your meal," I said, then turned around to leave.

Before I could go, Charlie grabbed my arm, his brows furrowed with irritation.

"What are you making a fuss about now? There’s half a bowl of rice right there!"

I laughed bitterly, my voice trembling as I pointed to the dishes on the table.

I explained, "I can't eat spicy food. You guys can enjoy your meal slowly."

When our eyes met, Charlie's grip on my arm tightened bit by bit and caused a sharp pain on it.

Miranda raised to her feet apprehensively and said, "Mr. Peterson, it's normal for Miss Jennings to be emotional. After all, she is pregnant. Maybe because I'm here she feels uncomfortable. I should be leaving now."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She seemed to suffer some grievance.

Charlie released my arm abruptly and turned to comfort her, "Why should you leave? It's her problem, not yours."

Only after a long moment did he look back at me, his expression hard as he said, "Can you just calm down for once? Do you have to ruin every meal?”

Then he grumbled, "I didn’t even know you couldn’t eat spicy food. Since when? Other pregnant women can handle it. Why can’t you? Are you lying?”

"That's because I had just a miscarriage …."

I instinctively tried to defend myself, but he waved a hand impatiently to cut off my words.

"Enough!" he interjected. If you’re not eating, just go for a walk and let us enjoy our meal in peace, alright?”

He sat back down again. His focus once again returned to peeling shrimp for the girl sitting next to him. Then he cautioned her with a soft voice, "Slow down or you'll choke."

I bit my lips. I caught the taunting look that Miranda gave me.

I grabbed my bag and stormed out of the house. I wandered into some random restaurant and ate something.

When I got home, I stood outside the door and my legs were as heavy as lead and I could not move at all. From inside the house, I could hear the laughter and the hum of a hairdryer sounded. Charlie must be drying the girl's hair again.

The engagement ring that circled the ring finger of my left hand suddenly sparkled and the light hurt my eyes.

The winter wind was bitterly cold and it turned my hands red.

I slid the ring off my finger and tossed it into the trash bin near the door. My gaze shifted to the engagement cutouts we’d painstakingly made together two years ago. With one swift motion, I tore them down.

If my earlier thoughts had been driven by emotion, now I understood clearly what was inside my heart. I was done loving Charlie and I did not want to marry him anymore.

After I stood in the blowing icy wind to clear my head, I finally keyed in the passcode to enter the apartment. However, the door would not open because it had been locked from the inside.

Frustrated, I banged on the door.

However, either my knocking sound was drowned out by the sound of the hairdryer or swallowed by Miranda's happy laughter, but no one came to open the door for me.

I squatted by the door, my legs eventually going numb. It was not until midnight the door finally opened.

Miranda gasped and covered her mouth in surprise when she saw me. "Miss Jennings! When did you get back?"

Charlie's eyes lingered on my pale face before he spoke, his tone laced with annoyance, “If you were back, why didn’t you just come in? Was there any reason for you sitting out here like this? Could this act of yours somehow make you feel better?”

My voice was hoarse as I walked past them, "The door was locked. I couldn’t get in.”

The odor of their reunion that stuck with them disgusted me. I ignored the fleeting guilt that crossed Charlie’s face and heard him say softly, “I’ll take Miranda home first. It’s late and it’s not safe for her to be out alone.”

I passed care and only hummed indifferently before heading straight to the second floor. All I wanted was a hot shower to warm my body and the comfort of my bed for a good night's sleep.

I was also too exhausted to dwell on the fact that Charlie was worried about Miranda’s safety but didn’t seem to care about his wife being in danger if she came late at night.

Nor did I have the energy to question what Charlie and Miranda did in the apartment, why the door had been locked, why they had been showering and drying hair together, or why their scents clung to each other.

Actually, the relationship between me and Charlie had never been like this before.

We had been together for six years and engaged for two. Our relationship was built on a solid foundation of love.

Charlie was a handsome man and a role model teacher. Although he was the dean, he was still down to earth and often connected with students from all departments of the college.

He had an unbreakable natural boundary. Admirers, whether they were students, colleagues, or strangers on the street, always surrounded him. Yet, he carried himself with a firm declaration to others, “I have a wife. Please don’t get too close."

In my eyes, he was the perfect considerate boyfriend. However, when did he start allowing Miranda to invade our world?

Thinking back, it must have been the first time he complimented Miranda's cuteness.

Initially, he found her bubbly, bold and outspoken nature overwhelming. He even vented to me about how exhausting it was to manage her during his substitute teaching sessions, claiming she was too rowdy.

However, over time, his complaints transformed into admiration. I could still recall the softness in his voice when he remarked, “Actually, she’s kind of cute.”

His expression at that moment overlaps with the look he had when he first confessed to me.

"Rose … you're …. quite adorable. I like you a lot. Do you feel the same about me? Can I pursue you?” he had said.

I was jolted awake by the sound of the running water of Charlie taking a shower. He had returned at nearly six in the morning.

What he had been doing during those missing hours wasn’t hard to guess. I just need to look at Miranda's Instagram to find the answer.

“Mr. Peterson is the best! He promised to stay and comfort me until I fell asleep and he did. Who’s got the most devoted boyfriend? Oh, right, it’s me!”

Expressionless, I gave her post a thumbs-up.

Not a moment later, she sent me a private message through WhatsApp, "Thanks for the like, Miss Jennings. However, don’t get the wrong idea because there’s nothing going on between me and Mr. Peterson.”

When Charlie emerged from the shower, he awkwardly brought in breakfast for me. He said, "Eat this while it’s still warm. I remember you like soy milk."

He hesitated before adding, "About last night … the door being locked was an accident. I accidentally bumped Miranda and she had oil all over her clothes, so she needed to shower and wash her hair.”

I forced myself out of bed and gave him a nonchalant nod.

Only after I finished breakfast did Charlie stand up and pack his bags. I watched him quietly and did not make any effort to speak. For once, he took the initiative to explain, "I applied to be the supervising teacher for the sketching art class. I couldn’t let them work unsupervised.”

“I promised you I’d take care of these kids. I have to keep my word," he told me.

I laughed bitterly. What an admirable sense of responsibility. He took care of his students so thoroughly that it extended to the bedroom. How responsible.

"When are you leaving?" I asked.

“Tonight,” he replied after a pause.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

"I’ll be back in time for your next prenatal checkup," he added, sensing my silence.

I did not give any response and when he left for his midnight flight, I had already gone to bed. I had no intention of seeing him off.

A sigh reached my ears, followed by the sound of the door clicking shut. I got up and looked out the window.

Outside, Charlie was already on a call with Miranda. He walked briskly, not once looking back. I watched his figure disappear into the distance.

After they left, the frequent Miranda updated her Instagram even more frequently.

The day Charlie opened a savings account and deposited fifteen thousand dollars into it for her pocket money, I moved out of the apartment.

I retrieved the dowry that I had gotten from his mother during our engagement from the safe deposit box in our bedroom. I packed the thirteen thousand and two hundred dollars in cash and the three-gold jewelry and put them into a gift box.

I brought the jewelry and the money to Charlie's parents without saying a word, but they understood my intention immediately.

Their feelings toward me had always been ambiguous. While they never openly said they disliked me, I knew they had preferred the daughter of the Education Bureau director as their ideal daughter-in-law.

Yet, Charlie had been so resolute in marrying me, that he even threatened to resign and cut ties with them if they didn’t relent.

For him, I had been someone he genuinely loved, once upon a time.

In truth, his parents were never fully supportive of our marriage. Now that I was the one to initiate a breakup, they seemed relieved.

However, Mrs. Peterson, Charlie's mother, still hesitated. Her gaze lingered on my stomach before asking, "How about the baby?

I remained calm as I replied, “I lost it. I slipped and fell on my way to a prenatal checkup a few days ago.”

They said nothing more. They just stood aside and waited for me to leave on my own.

Before I walked out the door, I made one request from them, which was to keep the miscarriage a secret for now. They agreed without question.

Three hours before I departed from the city, I received a rare call from Charlie. "Rose," he said. "I'm sorry. Might need to stay here for another couple of weeks. There’s still some work to finish, so I probably won’t make it back in time for your next prenatal checkup.”

He said again, "Next time, I promise I’ll be there."

I heard him exhale heavily, but I continued packing without any change in my tone when I opened my mouth, "It’s fine. You take care of your work."

What he didn’t know was that there wouldn’t be a next time or any time after that. There was no future left for us.

Before boarding my flight, I mailed a copy of my “post-miscarriage recovery” medical report to his office at the school using express delivery and the recipient was Charlie.