When I finally stood in front of my apartment, my body was battered, but my heart felt emptier than ever.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door. A thick wave of dust greeted me. Silence. The place was abandoned.

Once, this had been our little haven. Every piece of furniture, every decoration—we had chosen together. A framed photograph still hung on the wall. In it, we were smiling, our faces filled with love and promise. Now, the room felt lifeless. Cold. Devoid of warmth.

My chest tightened as I turned away. I ran downstairs, searching for a public phone booth. With shaking hands, I dialed Luke’s number.

“Duu—duu—”

The waiting tone stretched endlessly, each ring carving into me like a dull blade. No answer. I hung up. Dialed again. Still nothing. A familiar voice broke through my haze of despair.

“Ah, you’re back!” Aunt Wendy, my elderly neighbor, greeted me cheerfully as she returned from the market.

Desperate, I turned to her. “Auntie, have you seen Luke recently?”

She frowned, shaking her head. “Luke? No, dear. He hasn’t been around for quite some time.”

A cold, bitter laugh bubbled in my throat. He had already moved on. Disappeared. I had survived. Dragged myself from the brink of death. And for what? Clutching the last few bills in my pocket, I bought a new phone and a SIM card. Because one thing was clear—I wasn’t done yet.

Logging into the social media platform, I braced myself, expecting to see countless messages from Luke. He would ask where I had been, worry about my well-being, beg me to come back. But there was nothing. Not a single message.

Even if I had died, I doubted he would have cared. Like a madwoman, I scrolled through my feed, desperate for anything, any sign that he still thought of me. And then—I found it.

A post from my sister. A photo. The backdrop was breathtaking—the majestic, golden glow of the Snowy Mountains at sunrise. And beside her stood a familiar figure, his back turned to the camera. Luke.

The caption read.

[Thank you for remembering my original wish after so many years!]

My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. I had told him—countless times—that I wanted him to take me to see the Snowy Mountains. He would always brush it off, saying he was too busy with work, that he didn’t have time.

Turns out, it wasn’t about time. It was about who he wanted to see the Snowy Mountains with. And that person had never been me.

With trembling fingers, I typed out a message to him. Accusations, pain, betrayal—I poured my heart into it. Every word a wound. Every sentence a cry for the love he had so easily cast aside. Then, one by one, I deleted them all. What was the point?

In the end, only one line remained:

[Let's break up. Where should I leave your things?]

Almost instantly, he replied.

[Are you sure you want to break up? Then as you wish.]

No hesitation. No explanation. Just cold, indifferent words. Not even the slightest attempt to make me stay. Because his true love had returned and I was nothing more than an unwanted afterthought.

My phone buzzed with new messages. This time, it wasn’t him. It was my racing team.

[Lyra Quinn, where have you been?]

[Why haven’t we been able to reach you?]

[Are you alright? Please reply!]

I stared at the messages through blurred vision, my tears threatening to spill over again. Their concern, their worry—it was like a ray of sunlight in the middle of winter.But the one person I had needed it from the most had been too stingy to give me even a shred of warmth. I let out a bitter laugh.

Once, we had been happy. He would hold me close and call me baby over and over again. He would cook for me, even if it was just a simple plate of scrambled eggs and tomatoes. When I got hurt during training, he would cradle me in his arms, kissing my wounds as if he could take the pain away.

“Baby, don’t push yourself so hard. I can’t bear to see you hurt.” His eyes back then had been full of love. Or so I thought.

Now, I realized that love had never been for me. He had been looking through me. Seeing her. Loving her. And I had been too young, too naive to understand. Later, things changed. He got busier. He started his own business. He left early in the morning and came home late at night. Our conversations grew shorter, our time together dwindled. He stopped calling me baby. He started calling me by my full name—Lyra Quinn. So, I adapted. I worked harder. I trained more. I competed, won races, earned money.

I wanted to make his life easier. I wanted to support him so he wouldn’t have to bear everything alone.

But the harder I worked, the more impatient he became. He didn’t like me racing. Said it was too dangerous. Said he didn’t want me to get hurt. Said he would take care of me, that I didn’t need to push myself so hard. But he forgot something important. Racing wasn’t just a job to me. It was my dream. The dream I had cherished since I was a child. I loved him, but I also loved racing.

The final argument between us came without warning. He came home late, exhausted. He tossed a bank card onto the table in front of me.

“Lyra, I’m broke. We have no money. Stop racing. I can’t afford to support you anymore.”

I froze. Stared at him. And for the first time, something inside me went cold. He had forgotten that I made money from racing. That I had never once asked him for anything. He had never been the one supporting me. I had been the one supporting him.

Even more painful than his lies was the truth he refused to see— I never wanted his money. I only ever wanted his support. I hadn’t told him that I secretly entered that private racing competition. I wanted to win. I wanted to prove that I was strong enough, that I could take care of myself and him.

That prize money—it wasn’t for me. It was for him, to help him rebuild his business, to give him another chance. And then I crashed off a cliff. The team didn’t know. He didn’t know. He didn’t even care if I lived or died. All he cared about was getting rid of the burden I had become—the dead weight that stood in the way of his happiness.

The funniest thing? He cried about being broke.And yet, that diamond ring, those flowers, the extravagant snowy mountain proposal—every single thing he gave her cost money. His so-called bankruptcy was nothing more than an excuse. An excuse to discard me.

I could no longer hold back the tears burning behind my eyes. They spilled down my face as I dragged my broken body to the one place I had once called home—Dad’s house. I needed comfort. A sliver of warmth. Anything. But the door wasn’t opened by Dad. It was his ex-wife—my sister’s mother.

The moment she saw me, disgust filled her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Dad appeared behind her, his brows furrowing as he looked me up and down.

"Lyra, why do you look like this? What happened?"

I opened my mouth, but I had no words.

"Why did you come back so suddenly? Haven’t you always preferred roaming free? What are you doing here now?"

Dad’s voice was cold. Distant.

"It’s not because you found out your sister is back and want to fight over the family inheritance, is it?"

His ex-wife’s voice was laced with mockery. My heart turned to ice.So that’s how they saw me. Not as family. Not as Dad’s daughter. Just an outsider. A threat. They forgot that I was also his flesh and blood. They forgot that after my mother died, I had been left alone, aching for even a shred of love.

I took a deep breath, forcing my emotions down, pushing away the lump in my throat.

"I just came to check on you. That’s all."

I turned around and walked away. I didn’t want to stay a second longer. I was afraid I would break. Afraid that I would cry and beg them—beg them to love me, even just a little. Just as I reached the door, I froze. Luke and my sister. They were standing there, hand in hand. He was dressed in a tailored suit. She wore a flowing white dress. They looked perfect together. Happy. Like they belonged.

My mind went blank. My feet felt like they were nailed to the ground. Luke’s gaze flickered away from mine, guilt flashing in his eyes.

"Lyra…" His voice was dry, hesitant.

Before he could say anything more, my sister let go of his hand and rushed toward me.

She wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight.

"Lyra, it’s been so long. Are you alright?"

Her voice was gentle. Full of concern. My body trembled. The tears I had been holding back slipped silently down my cheeks.

"Luke! Nancy Quinn! You’re back!". Dad’s voice rang out, filled with warmth and excitement—the kind of warmth he had never given me.