On our wedding anniversary, I saw a rare display of blue fireworks on Abigail's alternate Instagram account.

The caption read. [Fireworks are fleeting, but our relationship is eternal.]

Through an ongoing livestream, I overheard their conversation.

"Between me and your wife, who do you like more?"

"Of course, it's you," Simon, my husband, answered immediately.

Five minutes later, the post was deleted, and Simon called me via video to show me the fireworks live.

"Happy anniversary! This is the surprise I prepared for you!"

On hearing his words, my heart felt dead inside.

After ending the call, I calmly dialed another number. "Brian, I've made up my mind. I’m accepting the offer from that company abroad."

——

"Will Simon let you go?" he asked, his voice was tinged with confusion.

Taking a deep breath, I replied, "He and I... we won't last much longer."

After hanging up, I was so distracted that I spilled the hot soup. A large patch of my arm turned red, and small blisters began to form. I numbly searched the living room for the first aid kit and started treating the burn myself.

Today was our first wedding anniversary. Simon had promised we would celebrate it together. Because of that, I happily prepared a candlelit dinner for us tonight.

But no matter how long I waited, he never came home.

If it weren’t for Abigail’s social media post, I would never have known just how much he loathed this marriage.

It felt like countless needles were stabbing at my heart.

I lay in a daze on the sofa until Simon returned, visibly exhausted.

"How did you burn yourself like this?"

The moment he approached, he noticed the redness on my arm.

“It’s nothing. I just spilled some hot soup,” I replied indifferently.

Only then did he notice the lavish spread of dishes in the dining room. A flicker of guilt flashed across his eyes.

"Let me help you with the ointment."

Before I could refuse, he had already picked up a cotton swab and skillfully applied the medicine, wrapping the wound for me.

From childhood to now, every time I got hurt, it was always him who meticulously tended to my injuries. After doing it so often, he would eventually grow annoyed.

"Can’t you watch where you're going? If something serious happens, you’ll be the one crying!"

Though his words carried blame, they were full of care. But at some point, that care began to fade.

It was about a year ago, when Abigail appeared and everything started to change.

The first time I noticed something unusual between Simon and Abigail was on the eve of our wedding.

He had never been one to depend on his phone much, but during that time, he kept it with him constantly.

I casually asked about it, and he snapped, "Valerie, what on earth are you thinking about every day? Abigail and I are just chatting normally. Do you have to be so petty?"

I was so angry that I cried.

Seeing my tears, Simon softened his tone and gently comforted me, "Alright, starting today, I won’t talk to her anymore."

Right in front of me, he blocked and deleted her contact. His apparent sincerity made me lower my guard.

It wasn’t until yesterday that I woke up to the truth. Their connection had never been severed.

My thoughts returned to the present.

After bandaging my arm, Simon took it upon himself to reheat the food.

"There was an issue at work today that caused the delay. Next time, I’ll come home earlier," Simon said after chewing.

I gave a vague response, ate a few bites, and said nothing more.

Then his phone began to buzz with messages again. I glanced at the screen and a bitter smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

[I drank a bit too much tonight and can’t remember the way back.]

[Simon, I’m so scared.]

Almost instantly, his expression changed as he scrolled through the messages.

"There’s an issue at the office. I need to step out for a bit. You should go to bed early," he stated and sprang to his feet.

Before I could respond, Simon had already put on his coat and hurried out the door without a backward glance.

For the first time, I didn’t ask where he was going. I didn’t even call to check.

The onboarding email from the company arrived quickly. They requested I start in two weeks. Without hesitation, I agreed.

Two weeks would be enough time to settle everything.

That night, I slept unusually well.

The next morning, as soon as I got up, I saw that Simon had already prepared breakfast.

"I bought your favorite porridge. Hurry and eat it while it’s still warm," he said, looking surprisingly cheerful.

I remained indifferent. "No need. I’m meeting a friend for breakfast. You can have it yourself."

Just half an hour earlier, Abigail had updated her social media.

[I casually mentioned wanting steamed buns from this breakfast shop, and my friend queued for two whole hours to get them. He spoils me so much!]

Since our marriage, Simon had never voluntarily bought me breakfast, let alone waited in line. Yet for Abigail, it seemed effortless to enjoy such privileges.

The thought tightened something in my chest, and I quickened my steps toward the door.

Seeing me reject him so decisively, Simon abruptly stood up and grabbed my arm, his voice rising in anger. "I apologized last night, ate dinner with you again—what more do you want?"

"Valerie, why are you being so unreasonable?"

I was puzzled. "I'm not being unreasonable."

I truly wasn’t. But Simon didn’t believe me. He sneered coldly.

"From last night until now, you didn’t even call me once. This morning, I specially bought breakfast, and you still give me the cold shoulder. If this isn’t throwing a tantrum, then what is?"

I rubbed my temples and sighed. "Didn’t you say you had work to do last night?"

I couldn’t understand—wasn’t this indifference exactly what he wanted?

Simon faltered, unable to respond immediately. It took him a while before he finally spoke.

"You think I don’t know you? If you were truly so understanding, we wouldn’t have fought so many times before."

"I know you’ve always been insecure because you were fostered by my family, but that doesn’t mean you can be so controlling."

Simon’s parents and mine had been close friends. When I was ten, my parents died in a car accident, and the Lewis family took me in.

It was Simon’s grandfather who personally gave me a new name.

Every time we argued, Simon would subtly or overtly criticize me for my lack of security and my controlling tendencies.

In the past, I would have exploded and argued with him. But this time, I didn’t care what he thought anymore.

I just wanted to leave, but Simon kept rambling on.

Unable to hold back, I interrupted him, "We’ve known each other since we were kids. Do you even know that I’m allergic to fish?"

Simon fell silent, and I gave a bitter smile. "Did you not notice, or do you not remember?"

Either way, it hurt so much that it was hard to bear. Well, it didn’t matter anymore.

I grabbed my bag, walked out the door, and didn’t look back.

Simon opened his mouth as if to say something but remained silent.

An hour after leaving the house, Simon, who rarely ever called me, had already rung me five times.

I flipped my phone over on the table, ignoring it completely.

My friends found it unusual, especially Brian.

He leaned close and asked quietly, "Are you really planning to give up? Aren’t you afraid your husband will be furious?"

I replied nonchalantly, "What does it matter to me?"

Since marrying Simon, I’d barely gone out for meals with friends. Even when I did, I wouldn’t touch a drop of alcohol.

This time, I didn’t just stay out until late—I partied until the early hours of the morning and drank to my heart’s content.

When I stumbled drunkenly through the door, Simon’s face was as dark as a storm cloud.

"Valerie, do you even remember that you’re married? Coming back this late, reeking of alcohol—are you trying to push your limits?"

He confronted me angrily, but I barely paid him any attention. Instead, I dashed to the bathroom and collapsed over the toilet, vomiting until my head spun.

Disgusted, Simon stormed off and left me to fend for myself.

I have no memory of how I managed to shower and stagger into bed afterward.

The next morning, when I woke up, Simon was already gone.

Perhaps I’d drunk too much the night before. Even after waking, I found myself retching a few more times before I finally felt better.

Before heading out, I glanced at the calendar on the wall.

Thirteen days left.

I visited the old family residence to see Grandpa Henry.

Despite being in his eighties, he was still remarkably energetic.

"Did you and Simon argue again?" he asked, noticing my downcast mood.

I shook my head.

He continued, "Not long ago, Mateo happened to see your résumé in Brian’s table. Have you already decided to go abroad?"

Brian was one of Grandpa’s former students, so he often visited him.

I remained silent for a moment before forcing a distant smile. "Grandpa, I’m tired. If Simon’s heart isn’t with me, I won’t force it. It’s better for both of us to part ways peacefully."

Grandpa Henry sighed but didn’t try to dissuade me. "As long as you’ve thought it through. Brian is reliable—if he’s helping you overseas, I can rest easy."

My eyes stung with tears.

Before leaving, I made a solemn request. "Please don’t tell him about this for now."

"Alright." He nodded.

As I stepped out the door, I ran straight into Simon.

At that instant, his face darkened as he snapped, "Running to Grandpa to complain again? Are you a child?"

"Grandpa is old—he doesn’t need to be burdened with these trivial matters. Why are you so selfish?"

He bombarded me with accusations, but I didn’t respond. Instead, I walked to the car, opened the door, and retrieved a silk camisole that wasn’t mine.

I handed it to him and intoned coldly, "Next time you bring someone into the car, check thoroughly. Don’t leave things behind to disgust me."

When he saw the item, a flicker of surprise crossed his face.

He quickly stammered, "This must’ve been left by a colleague I gave a ride to last time. Don’t overthink it."

I replied calmly, "I’m not overthinking."

At this point, I didn’t care enough to argue.

Without sparing him another glance, I got into my car and drove off.

The old me would have been devastated, but now? I couldn’t even muster the energy to care about Simon, let alone a piece of clothing.

By the time I arrived home, it was already past noon.

I was about to order takeout when a message suddenly popped up on my phone.

It was from Abigail.

[Valerie, I’m carrying Simon’s child.]

As I read the message, a wave of nausea surged within me.

Covering my mouth, I rushed to the sink. While splashing water on my face, a chilling thought crossed my mind.

Am I pregnant?

...

At the hospital, I clutched the pregnancy report. My emotions were a tangled mess.

I gently touched my belly, sitting there in a daze for what it felt like forever.

It wasn’t until Simon called that I realized tears were streaming down my face.

Wiping them away, I answered the phone.

"Valerie, I got you front-row tickets to the concert you’ve been wanting to see. Let’s go together the day after tomorrow."