And now, he was using a figurine to remind me.

You can finally go to Cambridge.

He didn't know that the figurine wasn't a gift to me. It was a knife.

I didn't respond. I just kept packing in silence.

The trash can was already overflowing.

Our wedding portrait. A sample of our wedding invitation. The plane tickets from our honeymoon.

"You're throwing all of this away?"

He sounded confused.

I'd treated every one of those things like treasure once.

I kept my voice flat, my hands never stopping.

"There's too much stuff. Something has to go. You can't keep everything."

His brow creased slightly, as if he'd caught something beneath my words.

But he didn't move. He didn't fish anything out of the trash, either.

I pointed to a box in the corner. It was full of his and Vivian's things.

Old photographs of the two of them. A scarf she'd given him. Letters she'd written him.

"What about those? Tossing them too?"

He panicked instantly, rushing over and clutching the box to his chest.

"These can't be thrown away!"

Realizing how that looked, he let out an awkward laugh.

"These are Vivian's things. I'll bring them to her when I return them."

After he said it, he watched my face with open expectation.

As if waiting for me to ask where.

I didn't ask. I just said, "Oh."

A long silence passed. He shifted, uneasy, and tested the waters.

"Virginia, have you been following up on the immigration process?"

"I have."

"So… you've submitted all your paperwork?"

"Submitted."

He exhaled, visibly relieved, and smiled.

"Good."

I gave no reaction.

I just tossed more things into the trash.

We started dealing with the house in the States.

Robert began posting foreign apartments on social media.

Friends left comments.

"Already picked a place? We'll come visit once you're settled!"

I didn't like any of the posts. I didn't comment.

We'd lived in this house for ten years. Every corner held a memory.

A map of home hung on the living room wall. We'd put it up the day we moved in.

Back then, he'd held me close and said,

"When we go back, we'll visit all these places."

He'd marked dozens of spots with red pushpins.

"These are the aerospace cities. Someday we'll see every single one."

The map was still there. The red pushpins were still there.

The man who'd said those words no longer remembered them.

"Virginia, what do you think of this one? Right on the Thames. You can see the London Eye from the balcony."

He watched me, gauging my reaction.

I gave a soft "Mm."

"The ones back home are probably just as nice."

He froze. A flicker of confusion crossed his face.

"Virginia, you don't like Valkenheim?"

"I do."

His expression relaxed.

"A few days there for a vacation would be lovely."

He went still again.

He was about to say something when his phone rang.

A video call from Vivian.

"Robert, my foot hurts so bad, I can't move…"

She was crying in that delicate, helpless way of hers, tears glistening like rain on white petals.

"What happened?"

Robert shot to his feet, his voice tight with alarm.

"I missed a step going downstairs and fell down the whole staircase…"

"I'm all alone. I'm so scared. There's no one to take me to the hospital…"

Vivian's tears fell harder.

"Don't move. Whatever you do, don't move. I'm booking a flight right now."

Robert was frantic. He turned to look at me.

"Virginia, Vivian hurt her foot. I need to go check on her."

His eyes were anxious, but there was something tentative beneath it. A nervous edge.

He was gambling.

Gambling on whether I'd make a scene.

But I was calm. I just gave a slight nod.

"Fine."

He didn't seem to expect me to agree so easily. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.

"So... the rest of the immigration paperwork, you'll handle it?"

I nodded.

"Sure."

Something shifted in his expression, a trace of guilt passing through.

"Virginia, you've always been so understanding."

He walked over and took my hand.

"Actually, this works out. I'll go ahead and get everything set up, so it won't be so rushed when you arrive."

He seemed pleased with himself for finding a reasonable excuse.

"I'll wait for your update. I'll pick you up at the airport."

I pulled my hand free. Still calm.

"Go take care of it."

I turned around and went back to packing.

His hand hung frozen in midair. It took him a moment to process.

Right then, another message from Vivian popped up on his phone.

"Robert, did you book the ticket yet? I think my foot is swelling..."

Without a second thought, he threw some clothes into a bag and rushed straight to the airport.

The next day, Vivian updated her social media.

In the photo, Robert was wearing an apron, head bent over a cutting board, chopping vegetables.

The caption read: "Home-cooked meal tonight! It feels so nice having someone cook for you."

Something slammed into my chest. Hard.

So he could cook after all.

Ten years in America, and I had been the one cooking every single meal.

I remembered that winter. I'd come down with a high fever, a hundred and two degrees.

Two full days without eating a single thing.

"Robert, I really want some soup... Could you make me a bowl?"

He was watching a game. His brow creased when he heard me.

"I don't know how."

Eventually, he shrugged on his jacket with visible reluctance.

"I'll grab you something from the restaurant downstairs."

I waited forty minutes.

What came back was a cold bottle of milk and a burger, brought home by a man who'd already eaten his fill.

I'd wanted to cry so badly that night.

But later, I talked myself out of it.

Everyone has strengths and weaknesses.

I shouldn't expect too much from him.

Now I knew. It was never that he couldn't cook.

He just never wanted to cook for me.

The house sold. The car sold. Bank accounts closed.

Ten years of life compressed into a few boxes, a few documents, a few wire transfers, all within a single month.

I sorted through his things one by one and shipped every last item to him.

Three days later, Robert called.

"Virginia, the luggage arrived. When's your flight?"

He hadn't even noticed. Only his belongings had arrived. Nothing of mine.

I kept my voice flat.

"Three days."

His tone brightened with excitement.

"I'll pick you up at the airport. Just send me your departure time."

"Vivian's thrilled you're coming. She's been begging for your braised ribs. Honestly, I've been craving them too."

I said nothing.

I hadn't even arrived yet, and they'd already assigned me a job.

"Virginia? Did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

"Great, it's settled then. I'll pick you up, and we'll hit the grocery store together."

I didn't respond.

But he hung up anyway.

As if my agreement was a given.

Three days later, I stood in the departure hall of Boston International Airport.

Robert sent a voice message.

"Virginia, Vivian's in the hospital. Acute gastritis. I need to stay with her."

"Why don't you just grab a cab from the airport back to the apartment."

I didn't reply.

A few minutes later, he sent another message.

"Virginia, why aren't you answering? Things are really hectic here. I can't come pick you up."

I typed three words.

"Doesn't matter."

My reply seemed to sting him. He called immediately.

"Are you mad?"

"No."

"Your tone says otherwise."

"My tone's always like this."

He went quiet for a few seconds, then sighed.

"Virginia, Vivian is all alone. No family, no friends. She's in the hospital and there's nobody to even sign the forms. I can't just leave her."

"Mm."

"Can you just bear with me on this? Please?"

"I am bearing with you."

"Then why are you—"

"I've been bearing with you for ten years, Robert. What's one more time."

Silence on the other end.

Finally, all he managed was one line.

"When you get here, I'll make it up to you. I promise."

I hung up and leaned back in my seat, letting out a long, slow breath.

Ten years. It was all about to end.

At last, the boarding announcement came.

I grabbed my backpack and walked toward the gate.

Fifteen hours later, I saw the coastline. Familiar and foreign at the same time.

My eyes blurred with tears instantly.

The elderly man in the seat beside me patted my hand.

"We're here, young lady. You're home."

"Yeah. I'm home."

I turned on my phone.

The second the signal kicked in, messages flooded the screen like a tidal wave.

Robert's voice messages sounded increasingly frantic.

"Virginia, it's only an eight-hour flight. Why aren't you here yet?"

"Virginia, are you lost? Call me back right now."

"Virginia, Vivian and I picked up groceries and we're waiting for you at home. Reply the second you see this."

The later messages had turned sharp with irritation.

"Virginia, what is going on with you? Just because I didn't pick you up, you refuse to come home?"

"Turn your phone on already. Stop making Vivian and me wait. Her stomach is already acting up. Can you just be considerate for once?"

I shook my head.

These barking orders. I was so tired of them.

I got off the plane, collected my luggage, and headed for the arrivals exit.

My phone rang. Robert.

The moment I picked up, his voice came through at full volume.

"Virginia, you finally turned your phone on!"

"You are so selfish. You want to throw a tantrum, fine, but pick your timing! Do you know how worried Vivian and I were? She cried!"

When I said nothing, he hesitated. His tone softened a fraction.

"Have you landed yet or not?"

The "abroad" he meant was Valkenheim.

That wasn't where I was.

I looked at the sea of red banners and lanterns stretching out before me, and my heart surged.

"I landed a while ago."