After that, we went through a relatively peaceful period.

Preston, out of guilt, would occasionally come home for dinner.

There were certain things we avoided discussing, as if ignoring them might make them disappear.

On our wedding anniversary, I baked our special cake, just like always.

I had planned to surprise him at his office.

It had been a while since I last visited his company, and I still felt a bit nervous.

As I was crossing the street, I was startled by a car screeching to a halt and ended up falling to the ground.

Before I could even call Preston, I saw him rush out, looking clearly panicked.

I watched helplessly as Westria, crying, jumped into his arms after crashing into my car.

He didn’t even look back, simply instructing his secretary to deal with the accident.

The secretary gasped when he saw me, “Mrs. Slater?”

Only then did he glance at me, his brow furrowing deeply.

Westria gently tugged at his sleeve, still crying, saying,

“It’s not Felicity’s fault. I didn’t see her running out.”

Preston couldn’t help but scold me:

“Felicity, didn’t I tell you that Westria and I aren’t like that? Why do you always have to cause trouble for her?”

“Have you really become the jealous woman you used to hate so much?”

In that moment, Westria conveniently passed out, and he rushed her to the nearest hospital, holding her tightly.

The cake on the ground was crushed beneath his feet, just like our relationship.

After sitting there, stunned for what felt like an eternity, the secretary looked at me with concern, and I told him I was fine.

I tried calling Preston, and the call went through, but he didn’t answer.

Still, I could hear their conversation, and I knew it was all Westria’s doing.

She whined, trying to sound innocent:

“Preston, you should go check on your wife. Otherwise, she’ll get jealous again.”

I could only hear Preston softly soothing her:

“It’s fine. She was a reporter. She’s used to getting hurt.”

“Unlike you, your health is fragile. Don’t drive anymore; I’ll arrange for a chauffeur.”

I smiled bitterly. So, once he stopped loving me, I had become “strong” in his eyes.

Of course, only those we love are meant to be protected.

He was no longer the one who would hold me and worry about me after I’d escaped danger.

Or maybe the love we had back then was nothing more than a reflection of his first love in my face.

Westria sighed, “If I’d stayed by Preston’s side back then, I’d be so happy now.”

“Don’t you think Felicity will be upset if you don’t go back? She doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

I felt a little nervous, but still, I wanted to hear his response.

He frowned, hesitated for a moment, and said, “She’s not as important as you. If I like you, that’s enough.”

I couldn’t bring myself to listen any longer.

In a daze, I opened Instagram.

I saw that Westria had posted another picture.

She was wearing the same ring as mine.

My heart sank, as though it had sunk to the bottom of the sea.

So even that ring wasn’t unique.

I smiled bitterly. It was time to let go—let go of the ring, and let go of this relationship.

I sent him a message:

“Preston, let’s get a divorce.”

I didn’t go to the hospital for treatment. Instead, I went straight home to pack my things.

I had planned to discuss my acceptance to a university in Italy and my plans to study abroad with him.

But he was too busy, too busy for anything in my life, even me.

After all, he had someone more important beside him now.

This marriage only bound me.

I told my friend in Italy that I had made up my mind to study abroad, and he was very happy for me.

I left the divorce agreement and the wedding ring that had tied me down for three years.

I went to Italy alone, ready to start my life over.

Three days later, when Preston came home and found I was gone, he realized I had really left.

He didn’t understand why he felt so anxious. I had already canceled my domestic number, and he couldn’t reach me.

I left him the lawyer’s contact number. He was furious, unable to believe I would really do this.

He was sure I would come back. After all, I had no parents, and he was the only one I had.

I couldn’t abandon this marriage, this hard-won union. He was so confident in that belief.

He was firmly convinced of my love for him, then sneered as he looked at the divorce papers.

“Felicity, you think pulling tricks like this will make me stay?”