I grabbed everything within reach and smashed it like a madman.

Gayle, blood trickling from his forehead, still fiercely protected the woman in his arms.

I smashed everything I could in the room.

But I dared not approach them, since those were the two people I loved most in my life.

Fear gripped my heart, my teeth chattering as I said, "Diana, look at me."

The woman, her face swollen from crying, struggled to kneel before me from under the covers. "Geneva, ​​I'm sorry."

"Gayle and I shouldn't have done that, but we truly love each other. Please, please, grant us your blessing."

Her humble appearance was exactly like when we first met, cornered by thugs in the training field.

It was then that, to protect her, I, as an outstanding trainee, received my first disciplinary action.

I had personally handed her my wedding bouquet, wishing her happiness.

Now she laid in my husband's arms, begging me to grant her my blessing.

Tears streamed down my face, my voice trembling as I asked, "When did it start?"

Her lips trembled, unable to speak.

He answered for her, "Does it matter? Haven't you made enough of a scene? This is a military camp, not your home."

"Does it matter? You asked me, does it matter, Gayle?!" I screamed hoarsely.

He stood naked, his gaze calm. "Fine, I'll tell you!"

"Last March, you insisted on being transferred to the border post and that's when we got together."

"I didn't intentionally hide it from you, but you just lost your mother and I didn't want to hurt you further, so I let you maintain this marriage."

"Diana has already sacrificed too much; I can't see her suffer any more. I originally planned to divorce her after your mother's death anniversary."

"Since you've found out, let's lay it all out."

"Let's get a divorce. Name your terms. I only want Diana."

At that moment, I finally understood.

Back then, when I stood on Gayle's side and pushed my mother away, how heavy was that push?

Before divorcing Gayle, I made a huge scene.

I took photos of their disheveled state, printed them as flyers and stuffed them into every company's mailbox.

Banners exposing their relationship hung all over the building.

I posted accusations on the forum of Diana's university.

At her graduation ceremony, I hired someone to play our old photos on a large screen.

Those memories I cherished became weapons that hurt.

But Gayle protected her.

She graduated smoothly and was about to hold a solo art exhibition.

To pave the way for Diana, Gayle finally faced me squarely.

“Diana’s dream is about to come true, don’t disturb her.”

I was already burning with lust.

“How is it disturbing? I’m ready to let everyone who sees the exhibition appreciate your masterpiece.” 

A document was slammed in my face.

“If you want to protect your mother’s final resting place, sign the divorce papers and stay away from me and Diana from now on.” 

When my mother was buried, I was devastated. Gayle handled all the funeral arrangements, including choosing and purchasing the burial plot.

Now, even this cemetery plot, he could tamper with.

I threw coffee in his face.

That night, I cried myself to sleep on my mother's tombstone.

The next day, I still went to finalize the divorce.

The result was unexpected—Gayle only gave me an old, run-down family apartment.

“You reported me and now most of my assets are frozen. This is all I can give you.”

“If it weren't for Diana pleading for you, you wouldn't have gotten a single penny.”

I had never been able to outmaneuver Gayle, not since childhood.

He was calm and meticulous, never acting impulsively, skillfully using schemes and power to achieve his goals.

While I was the type who always acted without thinking, charging straight ahead, hurting the enemy eight hundred while losing a thousand of my own.

I remained quiet, as he wished.

Before selling the house and being transferred to the border defense, I still went to Diana's art exhibition.

It was a sudden impulse.

Her gentle face was projected onto the giant screen in the city center square; the exhibition was titled "The Key to the Soul."

Those were words we often used in letters to each other during our youth.

They were a girl's purest aspirations.

They were a friend's most sincere blessings.

With a final, self-destructive nostalgia.

I armed myself completely, stepping into the venue like a mouse spying on someone else's happiness.

Until I saw the painting, "The Key to the Soul."

It depicted two intertwined bodies.

I had kissed the mole on the man's back countless times.

The woman's fingertips crumpled the sheets; the background was a bed with light green sheets and outside the window were blooming magnolias.

Those were the varieties I had personally chosen.

The pink blossoms swayed in the breeze, serenely beautiful.

That was my home.

It was also where she and Gayle first made love.

So the soul belonged to her and the key to her belonged to Gayle.

An overwhelming feeling of nausea surged up.

I vomited.

The commotion startled the two people who were greeting guests.

A soft voice sounded in my ear, "Comrade, are you alright?"

The heart-shaped brooch on her chest dazzled me, perfectly matching the key-shaped one on the man's cufflink.

I abruptly ripped the brooch off and slashed at the canvas.

The sound of the canvas tearing shocked everyone; gasps filled the room.

In the chaos, security pinned me to the ground.

My cheek was pressed against the cold floor while the man, holding the sobbing woman, stared at me like I was a sewer rat.

"Call the police," he said.

I laughed, my laughter growing louder and louder.

The crowd recoiled in fright.

Because the amount involved exceeded thousand dollars, I was sentenced to three years in prison, plus compensation for material losses and emotional distress.

I attempted suicide several times in prison, but was rescued each time.

A year later, I was released on parole for good behavior, penniless.

But I had come to understand many things.

When the car arrived at its destination, Diana went to touch up her makeup.

Gayle stood beside me, apologizing softly, "I'm sorry."

"We were wrong back then. I'll remind Diana to be more mindful of her behavior in the future."

I raised an eyebrow. He had never bowed his head to me before. But now he apologized immediately.

I looked at him, puzzled. "No need. You two are husband and wife.”

“I just saw you and it reminded me of that past event. I didn't mean anything by it." 

A flicker of pain crossed the man's eyes. I didn't understand and I didn't care to delve into it.

Luckily, Diana returned. She seemed to have forgotten everything that happened in the car.

"The three of us used to pool our money for spicy tacos. Today we're going to have a blast."

The man disagreed. "Geneva was with us back then. She has a bad stomach and can't eat spicy food. How could you forget?"

"It's okay. My stomach is fine now." 

Years of recuperation had long since restored my body and mind to their best condition.

My phone suddenly rang.

The word "Husband" on the screen was particularly eye-catching.

I answered the phone.

The man’s clear voice sounded a bit aggrieved.

“Honey, taking this kid out on camera is way harder than leading troops. You’ll probably say I’ve lost weight when you get back.”

In the background, a little boy piped up, “No! Mommy, there was an auntie who asked Daddy for his contact info today and they chatted for a long time…”

“You little rascal, trying to set your dad up? That was a reporter interviewing me!”

Listening to the commotion on the other end of the phone, I couldn't help but smile.

Looking up, I saw the mall's large screen playing the man's interview footage; he looked dashing in his military uniform.

The little guy beside him had his eyes darting around, as cute as a New Year's picture doll.

After chatting for a few more minutes, I hung up and took a picture of the screen.

After sending it, I realized the two people beside me were frozen in place.

"Geneva, ​​you're married?"