"I do!"

The words had come out naturally back then, full of hope and excitement. But looking back now, no matter how much I had molded myself to be everything Michael could ever want, I could never hold a candle to the fiery, untamed love he shared with his first love. No amount of effort could compete with that.

Sabrina arrived at our home after I adopted Noah. At first, I had no clue who she really was to him. I saw her as Noah's music tutor—a woman with a flamboyant, almost over-the-top personality, one I thought Michael would never be drawn to.

But, God, how wrong I was.

I had underestimated his feelings for her. Michael's love had no rhyme or reason, no logic. It didn't matter who she was or how different she seemed from what I thought he'd want—he loved her.

Completely.

I learned the truth from a diary she carelessly left in Noah's room. It was filled with their memories, their stories from Paris—their wild, untamed romance. There was a vivid entry about how Michael, a man known for his impeccable work ethic, had skipped an important board meeting just to spend an all-nighter clubbing with her in the city's heart.

And then there was me. My time abroad as a student seemed plain and dull compared to their blazing, cinematic love story. It was dazzling in a way that burned. It felt like my heart was being scalded whenever I thought about it.

I cried quietly in the dark for nights, hating how much I felt like a placeholder. A shadow standing in the spot where she truly belonged.

Back in the kitchen, the scent of sizzling steak filled the room, the loud hum of the range hood masking the sounds of muffled sobs.

Tears were streaming down Sabrina's face as she clung to Michael, her hands gripping his shirt as though letting go would shatter her completely.

His posture softened. He took Sabrina's hands in his, his expression unbearably tender, the longing in his eyes as plain as day.

"Mom, you're back!" Noah's voice cut through the moment, startling them both.

Sabrina quickly let go of him, stepping back and hastily wiping her tears.

Michael turned to the stove, focusing intently on the steak as though it were the most important task in the world. "Eliza, please don't misunderstand. I was just…"

"It's fine," I cut her off, my voice even.

She froze, her lips parting, a flicker of panic flashing in her eyes.

I smiled gently, keeping my tone calm. "I'm sorry for not announcing myself sooner. I didn't mean to interrupt."

She blinked, her composure cracking for just a moment.

"N-no, it's okay," she stammered.

But Michael didn't turn around. I could feel the tension radiating off him, even with his back to me. He was upset, not because of her, but because I had interrupted them.

It stung.

But I told myself: 'Hold on. Just a little longer. It's the last day. Soon, Michael, you'll be free.'

I turned to Noah, my little boy who had been the one bright spot in this otherwise dark, suffocating world. I bent down, arms open, wanting to scoop him up and hold him close.

But he stepped back.

He looked up at me, his face serious. "Aunt Sabby says I'm a big boy now. Big boys don't need hugs anymore."

The words hit me harder than I expected. I swallowed the lump in my throat, refusing to let it show, and instead smiled softly.

“Look what I got for you," I said, placing a brand-new African drum in front of him. "It's the one you've been asking for."

He glanced at it briefly, then returned to the sheet music in his hands. "I already told you—I'm a big boy now. That's just a primitive instrument. It’s outdated. I'm practicing Mozart, Mom. Aunt Sabby says if I keep working hard, I can become a world-famous musician like her."

The ache in my chest deepened.

"Don't you want to take a break from practicing?" I asked gently, my voice almost pleading. "Spend a little time with Mom?"

Noah didn't even glance at me. His attention stayed fixed on the piano. “No. Aunt Sabby says if I don't practice every day, I won't make it into Juilliard. Persistence is everything."

I felt the sting of his words. "You're only six, sweetheart. Do you really need to worry about Juilliard already?"

His tone turned sharp, frustrated. "Classical music has to be nurtured from a young age. I'm almost seven! If I don't practice, I'll fall behind all the other geniuses. You just don't understand, Mom."

My breath caught.

How could he say that? How could he think I didn't understand?

Hadn't I spent my entire life pushing myself in the same relentless way? Studying until my eyes blurred and my hands trembled from exhaustion. Hadn't I sacrificed everything for perfection, for the chance to become someone worthy?

Sabrina had taught Noah well.

For someone so young, he already carried himself with an ambition that felt far beyond his years. It was hard not to notice how much he resembled Michael—not just in his features, but in how he carried himself.

The aloofness. The quiet arrogance. That unshakable confidence.

And honestly, I didn't hate it.

At least with that personality, he wouldn't cry for his mom when I left.

Just then, Michael's phone rang. He answered, spoke briefly in his usual clipped tone, and then turned toward me.

His expression was distant, his words colder still. "It's my mom. She wants to talk to you."

I glanced up at him, trying not to let my emotions show. It didn't matter how icy he was to me. Seeing his face still made my heart beat. That obsessive love I'd harbored for him back in university was a nightmare I could never quite shake, no matter how much I told myself I'd moved on.

I took the phone from him without a word, and he turned back toward the kitchen, leaving me alone with the call.

On the balcony, I pressed the phone to my ear and was greeted by his mother's familiar, cold voice, which sounded eerily similar to his.

"Don't think for a second that transferring a million dollars will change my opinion of you. Tell me, what's your scheme this time?"

Her words hit like a slap, but they didn't surprise me. I'd heard this tone before, over and over again. Michael's parents had never accepted me because I wasn't born into wealth. After all, I came from an ordinary family and had made my way as a self-made doctor.

I'd spent years trying to win their approval, jumping through hoops that never seemed to end. But no matter what I did, it was never enough. Their dislike had hardened into outright contempt.

Even the million dollars I'd sent for Noah—an amount meant for his future—was seen as some kind of manipulative ploy.

I kept my voice steady and patient. "Mom, I understand you and Dad have never been fond of me. You've always wanted someone like Sabrina for your son. And you know what? You were right. Sabrina is incredible. I see that now, more clearly than ever."

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

When she finally spoke again, her tone was sharp. "Eliza, what nonsense are you talking about? You're the one who's always too busy with your hospital work. We've never tried to break up your marriage. Have you told Noah about this?"

"No," I replied evenly. "Don't worry. I know what's appropriate to say and what isn't. The money isn't part of some scheme—it's for Noah. He'll need it for his studies and to live comfortably in the future. If Michael remarries, he might have his own children, and Noah might not get the same attention. I adopted Noah, so it's my responsibility to plan for him. I'm sure you and Dad, as his grandparents, understand that."

Her voice grew tense. “Are you… divorcing?”

"Yes," I admitted, my tone calm. "Probably in the next few days. Don't worry—I won't take anything from him. Not the house, not the shares, nothing. Everything will stay with Michael. All I ask is that you and Dad continue to look after Noah."

"This… this is ridiculous!" she snapped. “What on earth are you thinking? Noah has been practically raised by us. We'd never mistreat him. But what's your plan here? Do you have someone else lined up? Someone more powerful or influential? Is that why you're doing this?”

I didn't bother correcting her. "It doesn't matter what I do now. After all, things are finally moving in the direction everyone wanted, right?"

The line went quiet. I said a polite thank you and ended the call. There wasn't anything left to say.

Sabrina was at the piano with Noah when I stepped back inside, guiding him through a new song.

My gaze lingered on them a little too long, and Noah noticed. He squirmed uncomfortably and frowned at me.

"Aunt Sabby says this is about balancing work and play," he said as if to justify himself. "Playing music doesn't mean I'm not practicing."

I knew what he was really saying. Earlier, I'd overheard him telling Sabrina, "I don't want to play with Mom. I want to practice with Aunt Sabby."

I smiled faintly. I wasn't angry or even hurt. Noah was growing up to be a remarkable kid.

That was all that mattered.

At dinner, the table was covered in dishes that Noah and Sabrina liked—perfectly cooked steaks, delicate salads, everything laid out just so.

"There's still a box of tiramisu in the fridge," Michael said as the meal ended. He started to rise. "I'll go grab it.”

"I'll help you plate it," Sabrina offered quickly, her voice bright.

Noah jumped up from his chair when he heard Sabrina mention decorating.

"Aunt Sabby, let me help! I'm good at decorating," he said eagerly, trailing her into the kitchen.

I sat there watching them, my hands resting idly in my lap.

They looked so happy, so in sync. It was like I wasn't even in the same room. More than that—I felt like an outsider. An uninvited guest who'd somehow crashed their perfect little moment.

"Dr. Smith," Sabrina said as she walked back into the dining room, her tone warm and sweet. She set a plate in front of me with a flourish. "This is black truffle steak from a Michelin-starred restaurant. Please, give it a try."

I picked up my fork and tasted it. It was exquisite, no denying that. Every bite was perfectly balanced, the flavors delicate yet rich.

Over the years, Michael's tastes had evolved—clearly thanks to Sabrina's influence.

Everything about him had grown more sophisticated and polished, from the restaurants he chose to the wines he paired with meals.

I couldn't help but think back to our first year of marriage.

Back then, we mostly survived on takeout.

We'd try a local steakhouse or a Chinese bistro on special occasions, but we rarely splurged on fine dining. It wasn't until Sabrina had a stomachache from skipping dinner while practicing piano with Noah that Michael started interested in cooking and gourmet food.

That was just how he was—talented, meticulous, always striving for perfection.

Whatever he set his mind to, he mastered.

I still remember that night. While he was caring for her, I called him from the hospital. I'd just finished a grueling shift in the ER, and I asked him to bring me something to eat.

He'd agreed quickly, almost absentmindedly, before hanging up.

But he never came.

I ended up working through the night, completing an eight-hour surgery on an empty stomach. By the time it was over, I was lightheaded and weak. I fainted in the hallway, and when I woke up, the doctor told me I was two months pregnant.

A boy. But I lost him when I fell.

That same night, Michael was in a VIP room, fussing over Sabrina. I learned this later, of course. At the time, I told myself it was just bad timing, that he couldn't have known, but the bitterness never really left me.

Every time I saw Noah after that, I couldn't stop thinking about the child I'd lost. He would've been about Noah's age if he had lived.

From then on, my love for Michael began to wither.

It wasn't sudden—more like a slow, inevitable unraveling.

I stopped arguing with him and trying to bridge the distance between us. Instead, I threw myself into work, using my shifts at the hospital as an excuse to stay away.

Even when I published groundbreaking research or achieved professional milestones, I didn't want to share it with him.

...

Dinner ended the way it always did.

As if we were three separate worlds orbiting in silence.

Sabrina took Noah to the piano room to practice as usual while Michael stayed behind to clear the dishes.

I sat in the living room, staring at nothing, feeling like a stranger in my own life.

I had planned to talk to him tonight, to have a proper conversation about the past and say a real goodbye. If we couldn't have love, at least we could have closure. Dignity.

But now, that felt pointless.

I walked upstairs and placed the divorce agreement I'd prepared on his desk.

Next to it, I left a short note explaining that I had already contacted a lawyer. He could handle everything with them directly—there would be no need for further discussion.

I packed a few clothes into a small bag, moving quickly and quietly.

The sound must have carried because Michael appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Leaving again?" he asked. "Where to this time?"

I hesitated, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. "Back to the hospital."

His brows furrowed, and his voice turned sharp. "Leaving and not coming back this time?"

I froze, caught off guard. For a moment, I didn't know what to say.

But then I straightened, forcing a calmness I didn't feel. "Hmm. That works, too."

He let out a cold laugh, shaking his head. "Good. Don't come back. Every time you're here, it's like a goddamn business transaction. I have to go out of my way to 'host' you. It's disgusting."

Disgusting.

The word hit me like a slap.

For a second, I couldn't breathe. But then something in me shifted. I lowered my gaze, my voice steady but soft. "You won't need to host me anymore."

When I looked up, my eyes were clear, and my heart was surprisingly light. "Thank you, Michael, for everything. I hope you find happiness."

I turned before he could reply, taking one step, then another, until I reached the door.

Behind me, it slamming shut echoed through the house, loud enough to make my ears ring.

I didn't flinch. I didn't turn around.

...

Outside, a rescue vehicle was already waiting for me.

The nurse stepped out as soon as she saw me, opening the door worriedly. "Dr. Smith, weren't we supposed to leave tomorrow? Why the rush?"

I climbed into the car, leaning back against the seat with a tired sigh. "I just want to get there early. Staying here—it's pointless. All it does is give me too much time to think."

The nurse didn't press further.

The engine hummed softly as the car pulled out of the neighborhood, leaving behind the place that had once felt like a home.

Through the window, I saw Noah and Sabrina in the piano room, laughing together, their heads closed as they worked through a song. They looked so content, so natural.

That moment confirmed what I already knew—nothing left for me to hold on to.