Beatrice shot up the second she saw me, scrambling into clothes.

"Howard, you should've told me you were coming! Jojo and I didn't do anything—don't take it the wrong way!"

Joseph stretched, yawning.

"Storm freaks me out. I can only sleep if I'm holding Aunt Beatrice. You're not mad about something that dumb, right?"

I was a grown man, yet they almost broke me down.

But I'd promised myself back at the hospital—no more begging, no more losing it over her.

"Nothing to be upset about. Even if you two went at it right here, I wouldn't stop you."

I walked out fast, scared I'd lose it if I stayed.

Beatrice chased me, clutching my arm.

"There's nothing between me and Jojo! How could you say that to him? You'll scar him for life—go apologize!"

I ripped free, voice cracking.

"First it's Jojo won't eat. Now it's Jojo will be traumatized. Beatrice, I spent twenty-five days in the hospital. I almost died. Did you even care?"

Her face shifted—anger melting into guilt.

"It's not like I didn't want to see you. Jojo was really shaken after the explosion. He needed me—I didn't have the time."

That single line killed the fight in me.

All the rage, the tears I'd been choking back—gone.

What was left to argue about? She didn't love me anymore. That was the answer.

Joseph's voice carried down the hall. She shot me a frown.

"Let's just forget today. But don't talk that way to Jojo again." Then she walked off.

Not once did she ask if I was okay.

"Guess I can finally let it go..." I muttered.

I stood there forever before packing. Kept my papers, a few clothes. Trashed everything else.

Only thing left—a stack of portraits Beatrice sketched back when she chased me.

An art major buddy once joked, "No skill, just pure emotion. I couldn't fake this if I tried."

Back then, those messy lines convinced me she loved me.

I laughed, carried the box outside, and set it on fire.

Beatrice came running just as the fire took hold. She shoved past me, reaching straight into the flames for the portraits, not even flinching at the burns.

"What are you doing?" Her voice shook.

I meant to say 'I don't want them anymore.' Instead, what slipped out was, "They were crawling with bugs."

We'd fought for years.

I was just... done. Too tired to keep going.

Beatrice froze for a beat, then tossed the portraits back into the fire.

"Jojo's scared of bugs. I'll draw you new ones later."

"Don't bother," I said.

There was no 'later' for us.

The flames roared, faded, and died, leaving nothing but ash.

Just like us.

I dumped the ashes, then posted: [Five days left, counting today.]

Crashed in the guest room, as far from the master bedroom as I could get.

By morning, my feed was full—friends joking, asking if I was sprinting to marry Beatrice.

She even chimed in: [Can't wait to walk toward you in a wedding dress.]

Biggest liar I've ever known.

I was wiped, inside and out. She wanted to keep up the lovey-dovey act, but I had nothing left.

Didn't reply to anyone. Just washed up and headed downstairs.

Mid-breakfast, Beatrice asked, "Howard, are we still going to the City Hall this afternoon?"

We were supposed to.

But I didn't want to anymore.

Before I could answer, Joseph slung an arm around Beatrice.

"Aunt Beatrice, I just remembered—there's a basketball game this afternoon I HAVE to see."

She tapped his nose, smiling. "Why didn't you say that earlier?"

"Just remembered. Not like it's my fault. If you're too busy, I'll go alone. Worst case, a bunch of pretty girls hit on me. Who knows, maybe I meet my soulmate."

He stood to leave.

Beatrice panicked, grabbing his hand. "I didn't say I wouldn't go!"

Then she turned to me, torn. "Howard, you see..."

I let out a cold laugh. "Takes two people to get a marriage license. Didn't know there was a law saying you had to be Joseph's date for a basketball game."

Her face darkened. "Jojo's just being playful. He's waited forever for this game. You want him living with regret just because we didn't grab a piece of paper today?"

"If you never planned on listening, why even ask?"

"Howard—"

"Enough. I'm not stopping you. We've already canceled three times. What's one more? Joseph's the priority—go."

The old me would've argued till I couldn't breathe. Now? I didn't have it in me.

Truth was, I didn't even want to marry her anymore.

Seeing me calm, Beatrice softened. "Finally being mature, huh? Don't worry, the wedding's in three days. I'll definitely go with you to get the license before then."

She made her promise, then walked out—still clinging to Joseph.

Joseph had his arm hooked around her, making her laugh nonstop. Before they left, he shot me a grin, flipped me off.

"Aunt Beatrice's not coming home tonight—we're partying hard. Don't wait up!"

I'd had enough.

I filmed a quick clip of him, dropped it into the folder already stacked with way-too-close pics and videos of him and Beatrice.

Sent the whole batch to the wedding planner.

[Hi, I need to update the video and photo reel for the wedding day. Thanks.]

Then I posted: [Four days left.]

Since they loved parading their "love" in front of me, fine. In four days, the whole world could watch their perfect little family act.

The next day, Beatrice called.

"I won't be home today or tomorrow. The game runs three days, and Jojo's having a blast. I've looked after him since he was little—I can't risk someone picking on him if I'm not there."

I gave a noncommittal sound and hung up. Then I went to her company and submitted my resignation letter.

On the way back, I posted: [Three days left.]

When the event ended, she still didn't come home. Another call.

"Today... I won't be back today either. Jojo threw me a bachelor party—said it's my last chance to go wild before the wedding. I know we've got rehearsal tomorrow and a million things to do, but...I can't turn down his kindness, right?"

Even she heard how ridiculous it sounded. Her usual confidence cracked, voice faltering.

In the background, Joseph whined, "Aunt Beatrice, if we lose and have to kiss, you don't need to bite me that hard!"

Click. She hung up.

I stayed silent.

I cleared it all out—her clothes, toiletries, the lights I picked, the furniture, the dishes.

Everything in that mansion tied to me went straight out the door.

Staring at the empty space, I posted: [Final day.]

After today, love, hate, resentment—none of it mattered. I never wanted anything to do with Beatrice or Joseph again.

She commented: [Honey, don't worry, this party won't affect our wedding. I'll be there on time tomorrow, waiting for you to come get me!]

Show up or not, I wasn't marrying her.

I didn't reply. Stayed up until dawn.

On the wedding day, the officiant told me to kneel and present the ring. Beatrice stood there in her white dress, smiling.

I looked straight at her.

"Let's break up, Beatrice. I don't want a woman this filthy."

Then, in front of her whole crowd, I picked up my suitcase and boarded the helicopter Prof. Beaumont had waiting.