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."

Simon's voice was deep and magnetic, carrying a strange sense of intimacy.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Three months ago, my favorite singer came to perform in the city. The tickets were in such high demand that they sold out almost instantly. After staying up all night, I finally managed to snag two. Overjoyed, I immediately shared the news with Simon.

But his reaction was cold. He frowned, sneered, and said, "Valerie, I don’t expect you to ease my burdens, but at least don’t add to them."

Before I could respond, he tore the tickets in half and threw them into the trash.

Then he slammed the door and left.

I didn’t understand. It was just a concert—how could it possibly "add to his burdens"?

It wasn’t until recently, when I stumbled upon Abigail’s secret social media account, that the truth emerged.

It turned out Abigail also liked this singer. To fulfill her wish to meet him, Simon had gone out of his way to organize a private dinner.

During the dinner, Simon even attempted to persuade the singer to sign a residency contract with his company’s performance venue.

But negotiations fell apart, and the two parted on bad terms.

Coincidentally, that was when I got my hands on the tickets again. And he, full of frustration from his failed plans, vented all his anger on me.

What he’d forgotten was that the person who originally admired this singer wasn’t me—it was him.

When Simon confessed his feelings to me, he played one of the singer's songs. That moment stayed with me, etched deeply in my heart.

Now, my vision blurred as tears welled up.

He fought for tickets for Abigail out of love. For me, it was just a fleeting sense of guilt.

How ironic.

Seeing I hadn’t responded, Simon called my name again.

I replied calmly, "Okay."

Where things began was where they should end.

Every love story deserves its conclusion.

"Number 255, Valerie Lewis."

After hanging up, I heard my name being called from the consultation room.

The doctor, busy entering data into the computer, confirmed once more, "Are you sure you want to terminate the pregnancy? Your fallopian tubes are already blocked, making it difficult to conceive. After this, it may be nearly impossible to get pregnant again."

I nodded. "Yes, I’m sure."

Shortly after, I went to the OR.

The harsh white lights of the operating room flickered on and off.

It felt as though something was being forcibly taken from me, a piece of myself torn away.

After the procedure, I hailed a cab and left the hospital, trembling.

The pain in my abdomen and the ache in my back lasted the entire night. I barely slept, only drifting off briefly at dawn.

Simon only returned home the afternoon of the concert.

To protect myself from the cold, I bundled up tightly, my layers drawing his attention.

"It’s not that cold out today. You don’t need to wear so much," he commented.

I replied simply, "I’m worried it might get colder tonight."

It was only then he noticed my pale complexion. Concern flickered across his face.

"Are you feeling unwell? Did you catch a cold?"

I shook my head. "I’m fine. Let’s go. The concert will start soon."

Even though he gave me a doubtful look, he said nothing more.

The venue was crowded, and as we handed in our tickets, I nearly stumbled. If not for Simon’s quick reflexes, I would have fallen.

"Thank you," I said distantly as I steadied myself.

Simon adjusted his tie and smiled. "Valerie, when did we become so formal? Are you still upset about—"

His phone rang, cutting him off.

The moment he answered, his expression darkened. "What? I’ll be there right away."

He stuffed the tickets into my hands, his urgency palpable. "Valerie, something just came up. I can’t stay to watch the concert with you. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time!"