It wasn't until the early morning hours that Francine finally arrived home.

The sound of her high heels tapping on the floor echoed through the quiet living room. I stayed seated on the sofa, not moving to greet her like I usually did, nor offering her any hangover tea or a warm towel.

Francine stumbled slightly, clearly not used to my cold indifference. Her brow furrowed, and there was a hint of frustration in her voice.

"What's wrong with you? You know I'm drunk, and you can't even help me?"

I didn't answer, just silently watched her. Her makeup was still flawless, but the smell of smoke and alcohol clung to her body and hair.

And then, there was the cologne, the unmistakable scent of Evan's cologne—the one he always wore.

I couldn't help but think back to the past. I loved my wife with all my heart and cared for her deeply. I chased her for five long years before finally winning her heart.

Back then, her smile was pure, and her eyes were filled only with me.

For her, I gave up so much.

I never once regretted it, as long as I was by her side.

Until tonight...

Suddenly, her phone lit up, the bright light cutting through the room's silence.

[Are you home? I had a great time today. Good night.]

What hit me even harder were the couple's profile pictures they had chosen together: a pink butterfly paired with a blue one, silently revealing what I had refused to acknowledge.

My heart sank completely.

Francine noticed my gaze and quickly turned the screen off, but it was already too late.

The air in the room felt thick, almost frozen for a few seconds.

Then, she tried to explain, her voice faltering.

"It's just work-related..."

I couldn't hold it in anymore as I cut her off.

"Francine, let's get a divorce."

I spoke the words calmly, as if I were standing outside of myself.

She froze, clearly unable to comprehend what I'd just said. "What did you say?"

I reiterated, "I said, let's get a divorce."

Then, I stood up, the weight of it all sinking in. "Francine, it's over."

Instantly, her face drained of color.

"Carson, listen to me. It's not what you think."

I looked at her, cold as ice. "So, what is it then? Did Evan's hand accidentally slip onto your waist? Did you both unintentionally pick matching couple profile pictures? Or was the Maldives ticket something you accidentally booked?"

Francine's gaze flickered briefly before turning to anger. "Why are you pushing me like this? I work so hard every day. Can't you be a little more understanding? You weren't like this before! Now, you want a divorce over two plane tickets?"

I rubbed my temples tiredly, a deep sigh escaping me. "Yes, divorce. I'll move out tomorrow and contact a lawyer to draft the divorce agreement."

With that, I turned and walked into the guest room, slamming the door behind me.

I didn't sleep a wink that night.

The first time I met Francine was at a university debate competition. She wore a simple white shirt, had her ponytail high, spoke sharply, and her gaze was bright.

I sat in the audience, my heart pounding in my chest.

Right there, I fell for Francine instantly.

After that, I chased her for five long years. For her, I chose to give up the family business and stay in the country, joining her father's company after graduation.

From campus to the workplace, from being unnoticed to becoming a part of her life.

On the day I proposed, I kneeled by the sea. The sound of the waves drowned out my trembling voice, but she smiled and nodded in response.

What a pity! The sweeter the memories, the sharper the reality.

Sighing deeply, I picked up my phone and saw a number I hadn't called in a while.

I sent a message:

[Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll be back next week.]

It was daytime on the other side of the world, and my father, Hector, replied almost instantly:

[Really? That's great!]

Then, cautiously, my father asked:

[Is Francine coming too?]

I stared at the screen, my throat tightening.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds before I typed a simple reply:

[Just me.]

My father stayed silent for a moment, then sent a voice message.

His voice was deep and controlled, but there was no mistaking the pain behind the words.

"Carson, no matter what happens, I will always support you."

...

The next morning, I opened my sore, tired eyes to find my pillow soaked. I had no idea when Francine left, but the room now only carried the lingering scent of her perfume. It was faint, but it cut at my heart like a dull knife, slowly and relentlessly.

Still, I got up, moving like a robot, numb to everything around me.

In the closet, the couple's jackets, which they had bought in Hokkaido the previous year, still hung side by side. I took mine down and stuffed it into my suitcase.

The rest—Francine's things, the memories—stayed untouched.

I couldn't bear to look at them again.

Then, my phone vibrated, pulling me out of my thoughts.

It was a message from my father:

[The tickets and accommodations are all arranged. The flight is next Wednesday.]

[Carson, son, no matter what happens, your family will always be your support.]

I stared at the screen, my eyes welling up once more.

Once, I thought Francine was my everything.

Now, I realized some warmth had never truly left me.

The doorbell rang suddenly, and for a moment, I thought it was Francine, coming back.

But when I opened the door, I found Evan standing there.

Still impeccably dressed in a suit, with that smug, irritating smile.

"Mr. Rutherford, the chairman asked me to come pick up some of her personal items," he said casually, as if commenting on the weather.

I stayed silent for a few seconds, then stepped aside to let him in.

Meanwhile, Evan headed straight to the bedroom, opening the closet as if he'd done it a hundred times before. He pulled out some of the clothes and cosmetics Francine often used.

Watching him handle her things with such familiarity twisted something in my chest.

"When did it start between you two?" I forced the words out, my voice hoarse.

Evan paused for a moment, then let out a light laugh.

"Mr. Rutherford, you've misunderstood. My relationship with Miss Watson is strictly professional."

My eyebrows rose. "Professional?"

Then I gestured toward the lingerie in his hand. "Is this part of the job too?"

Evan's smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. He slowly placed Francine's lingerie into his bag, then turned to face me, his eyes filled with challenge.

"Mr. Rutherford, since you're so curious, let me tell you."

He lowered his voice, the corner of his mouth curling into a mocking grin.

"You're right. My relationship with Francine has long since gone beyond the professional."

My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, but I felt no pain.

Then, Evan spoke flippantly, "Our first intimate contact was in the company's break room. That day, she was drunk and kissed me first."

His tone was smug, as if he were bragging about some great victory.

"Francine knows exactly what she wants. I admit that I couldn't resist the temptation. Later, we were at hotels, in the car, even on your family's sofa. She's far more passionate and open than you think."

Each word felt like a knife, stabbing deep into my chest.

I thought I had moved on, but hearing these vivid details, my rage consumed every bit of reason I had left.

"Shut up!"

I lunged forward, grabbing his collar.

Evan didn't resist. Instead, he smiled that damn victorious smile.

He leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper, just loud enough for me to hear.

"What's wrong? Can't take it?"

Evan sneered at me, his smile sharp and malicious. "Francine said it herself, Carson. I'm much better than you. In work, in bed, all of it. She regrets marrying you, and even more, she regrets not meeting me sooner. This trip to the Maldives? That's the honeymoon she promised me. Don't worry. I'll take better care of her than you ever did. Maybe even get her pregnant with our kid!"

That was it—the final straw.

I raised my fist, prepared to hit, but suddenly I felt a cold object in my hand.

Unaware, Evan had secretly concealed a small knife there. Before I could realize what was happening, he seized my wrist, pulled my arm toward his stomach, and pushed the knife in.

"Ahhh!" Evan screamed, the sound tearing through the air, and blood soaked his white shirt instantly.

I froze, unable to grasp what had just occurred.

Then, I heard rushed footsteps.

“Evan!”

Francine burst into the room. Her eyes went wide, and she paled the moment she saw the scene.

Without hesitation, she hurried to his side, hands trembling as she pressed them against his wound.

Francine turned to me, fury in her eyes, and shouted, "Carson, have you lost your mind? It's one thing to get divorced, but why did you have to hurt Evan, too?"

Shaken up, I stuttered, "I didn't..."

My hand instinctively dropped the knife, and it clattered to the floor.

"Still trying to argue?" Francine's voice sliced through the air, harsh and full of anger. "I saw you stab him with my own eyes! You maniac!"

Evan, pale and weak, leaned into her, but he didn't stop adding fuel to the fire.

"Francine, don't blame Carson. It's my fault," he said feebly. "I shouldn't have come to take your things. He saw it, got so angry, and did something foolish. Don't blame him, please."

"Shut up!" I roared. "Francine, listen to me! I didn't hurt him. He stabbed himself!"

I kept explaining, but it was already too late.

With a face frozen in disbelief, Francine grabbed her phone and immediately contacted the authorities.

"I'm calling the police! Someone's been stabbed here! And it's attempted murder!"

The police arrived swiftly, forcing me to the ground, their cold handcuffs digging into my wrists.

Francine stood to the side, her eyes full of hatred as she looked down at me.

Suddenly, memories from my third year of college flooded back.

I had been falsely accused of stealing something from the dorm. Everyone looked at me with suspicion, and some whispered behind my back.

But Francine had stood by me.

"I believe Carson. He's not that kind of person."

Francine stayed up all night reviewing surveillance footage for evidence. She even argued with the counselor to clear my name. Ultimately, the truth revealed that another student had stolen the item.

At that moment, she smiled.

It was brighter than any sun.

I pulled Francine into a tight hug, swearing that I would cherish her for the rest of my life.

But now? The same kind of accusation, but she was on the other side.

Her eyes—eyes that once held nothing but trust—were now cold, filled only with hatred.

"Carson, I didn't expect you to be so extreme and actually to hurt Evan!" Her voice was laced with disappointment and disgust. "I'll hire the best lawyer, and you'll pay the price for this. You'll rot in jail!"

As they shoved me into the police car, I saw Evan being lifted into the ambulance.

Francine followed closely behind him. She didn't even spare me a glance.

And at that moment, my heart felt like it had died and was completely lifeless.

I turned to the officer beside me and asked, "Excuse me, may I call my family?"