A sudden, strange sensation spread from deep within her body.

She froze for a moment, feeling a tightness in her lower abdomen, as though something had gripped it forcefully. Then came the unmistakable warmth and wetness.

She looked down and saw the blood trailing down her legs.

In that moment, her mind went blank. The sounds around her seemed to mute, and the world was left with only the frantic beating of her heart. Instinctively, she reached out to steady herself against the wall, but she lacked the strength to remain standing.

Before her consciousness faded, the last thought that flashed through her mind was how quickly loss could arrive.

When she opened her eyes again, the harsh white light blinded her.

The smell of disinfectant reminded her that she was in a hospital. The ceiling felt cold, devoid of any warmth. Drops of water from the IV drip fell steadily, rhythmically, almost cruelly.

Her hand subconsciously rested on her lower abdomen.

It was unnaturally flat.

No pain, no response, as though it had never carried a life.

The doctor’s voice sounded low and steady beside her, controlled, but each word felt like a dull knife, cutting away at her heart inch by inch.

She didn’t cry.

She just stared at the blank ceiling, suddenly feeling like she had been hollowed out.

The bodyguard stood to the side. She knew it was the bodyguard who had saved her.

“Don’t tell Chase.”

She whispered the order.

The bodyguard didn’t ask further, simply nodded in silence.

On the day of the divorce registration, they appeared together as a family of three.

Joyce was holding Chase’s arm, her body almost pressed against his side, their posture natural and intimate.

Felix stood beside her, his small body deliberately straightened, like two loyal bodyguards, firmly protecting the “princess” in between them.

The moment they saw me, both father and son visibly froze for a moment.

That brief hesitation quickly disappeared, and they resumed their tacit, harmonious demeanor.

I had returned to using the expensive cosmetics and skincare products from before, wearing a hand-tailored dress.

In the mirror, I had become the exquisite, sharp, and unignorable woman from the Beijing elite circle again.

It was a far cry from the plain-faced woman in home clothes, busy in the kitchen, forgetting to eat.

My expression was calm as I subtly lifted my chin, signaling them to enter.

But the next moment, Felix suddenly raised his hand, blocking Joyce from moving forward.

His tone was filled with clear defensiveness and hostility.

“Don’t hurt Aunt Joyce. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

In that instant, I suddenly realized.

In his heart, the “bad guy” had always been me.

In contrast, Joyce, protected between two men, seemed poised and composed.

She gently spoke, her voice soft and perfectly measured.

“Actually... I owe you an apology. My relationship with Dongting started before you two were married.”

This matter, I was not completely unaware of.

He would occasionally mention it when drunk.

Those years, he often invited friends over for dinner.

To entertain them, I would always prepare a full table of dishes, running back and forth, barely remembering when I would eat myself.

That’s how I went from a Beijing socialite who had never lifted a finger to a housewife who could recite a thousand recipes.

But he hardly ever mentioned my efforts.

To him, those were just the things a wife should do.

But when it came to her, he would drink glass after glass, ignoring everyone who tried to stop him.

That was one of the rare moments he lost control as a teacher.

What he repeatedly expressed was bitterness and regret.

His youthful first love had become an indelible mark on his heart, something he could never let go.

I originally didn’t care.

Who doesn’t have a past?

Besides, after he sobered up, he would return to his meticulous scholar self.

He would go to work on time, not participate in social gatherings, and always report his business trips.

Even his students would laugh and say,

“Professor Wei loves his wife so much. As soon as class ends, he rushes home. He’s basically a wife slave.”

Our relationship couldn’t be called passionate, but it was respectful, and it had remained steady for many years.

But now, Joyce suddenly brought up “the order of things.”

It made it seem like I had barged into their relationship, becoming the third party disrupting their love.

I glanced at Felix.

At just eight years old, he had already learned to judge right and wrong with bias.

I didn’t need to guess; I knew what he must have misunderstood.

I didn’t want to explain.

I just smiled and said to Joyce,

“No need to apologize. I heard you’ve even built an underground bunker?”

I paused, my tone warm and sincere.

“Then I wish you two a shared life, and may you both lie together in the same grave.”

It was nothing but a fitting blessing.

Yet, for some reason, Chase’s expression suddenly darkened.

His tone became irritated, clearly showing impatience.

“Are you cursing us?”

Then, he sneered.

“If you kneel down and apologize now, maybe I’ll consider, as your husband, letting you stay in a doghouse.”

“So when the asteroid hits, you won’t have nowhere to hide.”

I smiled.

Should I be grateful for such a “gift”?

I didn’t say another word.

I raised my hand and flagged down a car.

As the door slammed shut, she almost rushed in, as though escaping.

The driver started the car, and she instinctively began rummaging through her bag. Her fingers traced over everything—phone, keys, documents—only to find that the thin piece of paper was missing.

The miscarriage form.

Her movements suddenly stopped, her chest feeling as though it had been struck hard.

In that moment, she couldn’t tell if she was anxious or if she should laugh. The paper was so light, yet it carried all the truths she hadn’t yet voiced.

The car had already driven past the hospital, but she didn’t ask the driver to turn around.

There was no need.

A few seconds later, the phone screen lit up.

The first call.

The second.

The third.

The vibrations were relentless, the sound a troubling, late panic, desperately knocking at the door. She didn’t answer, only staring at the familiar name flashing on the screen, again and again, until it disappeared.

Soon, the calls turned into messages.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Where are you now?”

“Did the hospital make a mistake?”

“Pick up the phone.”

The words came quickly, but too late.

She stared at the messages and suddenly found them a bit ridiculous.

If he truly cared, why would it take a miscarriage form for him to realize what had happened?

Her finger hovered over the screen, but she didn’t respond.

The view outside the car window sped by, the white hospital building long gone behind her. She took a deep breath and pressed the power button.

The screen went dark, and for the first time, the world was silent.

This time, she wouldn’t explain, wouldn’t wait, and wouldn’t look back.

I don’t know if the world will end in one month later.

But I know this, Chase—between you and me, it is truly over.