: Divorce

The day he asked for a divorce, I had just finished wiping the feces off the body of his father, who had been paralyzed and bedridden for three years after a car accident.

He said he'd fallen in love with a girl, a girl who made him feel that flutter of excitement again.

"You're too strong, but she can't live without me."

'So those three years I spent caring for his father, practically on my own, were worth less than a few of someone else's perfectly timed tears.'

Six years of marriage, all my sacrifices, had become one giant joke.

I looked at my haggard reflection in the mirror and suddenly laughed.

I found the long-forgotten box, the one that held the six mementos of our love.

That night, I burned the first memento.

Watching it turn to blackened ash, I felt a part of my heart die along with it.

For old times' sake, I would give him six chances.

Once all six items were burned, I would make a clean break with these ridiculous six years and never look back.

...

On our sixth wedding anniversary, he gave me a bouquet of white roses and then said, "Celia Sterling, let's get a divorce."

I had just lit the candles, not yet having had the chance to cut the cake, when a waiter approached with red wine. He quietly instructed the waiter to take the candles and cake away.

I froze for a moment. "What kind of joke is this?"

But he spoke slowly and deliberately, "I've thought it through. Things between us changed a long time ago."

I didn't say anything.

I picked up my phone and looked at the lock screen—a photo of us from a trip we took six years ago.

In the photo, he was still the man who held an umbrella over me to shield me from the rain, his smile warm.

For our sixth anniversary, we were supposed to get new matching rings and, as was our tradition, give each other a memento.

But this time, his gift to me was a divorce.

I didn't cry. Instead, when I got home, I pulled our first-year anniversary memento from the cabinet.

A pair of matching keychains, engraved with the words "You're my one and only."

We'd bought them in Riverbend. He'd told me on the street back then, "Celia, you're my one and only."

I stared at it in silence for a long time before finally lighting it on fire.

As the flames devoured the keychain, I counted silently in my head.

'I have five mementos left. The day they're all burned to ash will be the day I leave Ethan Vaughn for good.'

I had always known his love for me had been fading over these past six years.

But I never thought he would choose today of all days, refusing to spare me even a shred of warmth.

The next morning, Ethan Vaughn left early and came home late as usual. I took care of Mr. Vaughn, helping him wash up and eat.

Mr. Vaughn had been paralyzed for three years after the car accident. I had quit my job at the Architectural Firm to be his full-time caregiver—helping him with his daily life, physical therapy, and medication.

Years ago, when Mr. Sterling was still in charge, Ethan Vaughn was nothing more than a design assistant who ran errands at his company.

I was the one who desperately pleaded with Mr. Sterling, saying, "Ethan Vaughn is destined for greatness."

Mr. Sterling trusted me and insisted on promoting him to the Associate Director position that had just opened up.

Three years passed. The company landscape shifted, Mr. Sterling fell ill, and the company fell into Ethan Vaughn's hands.

And me? I went from being the president's daughter to a caregiver for a paralyzed old man.

I never once complained.

But now?

Not only did he not want me anymore, he even announced his new relationship on his social media.

The photo showed a woman I'd never seen before, smiling sweetly and innocently, wearing a volunteer vest from The Helping Hands Foundation.

The caption read: "Thank you for the care you've shown my father. I will spend the rest of my life repaying you."

My hand trembled, and my phone fell to the floor.

'The man I've cared for for three years… he's using that as an emotional bargaining chip to impress someone else?'

That evening, I continued my routine: massaging Mr. Vaughn, applying his medication, and feeding him.

He seemed to notice my mood and asked hesitantly, "Celia… are you upset today?"

I paused, then said softly, "It's nothing. I'm just tired."

"Just bear with it a little longer. Ethan, he…" He trailed off, hesitant to continue.

My gaze sharpened. I cut in with a smile, "He lost feelings for me a long time ago. Dad, don't try to talk me out of it."

He was silent for a long time, then suddenly asked, "If you really leave, will you still take care of me?"

I didn't answer.

His eyes suddenly reddened. "Celia, don't blame him. He's not a bad person… he's just too greedy."

I curved the corners of my lips into a slight smile and turned his wheelchair toward the balcony.

"Dad, the evening air is cool. I'll wheel you outside for some fresh air."

That night, I set fire to the second memento.

It was a wooden watch box that Ethan Vaughn had made by hand for our second anniversary, engraved with the words, "May I be by your side through all the gentle moments of your life."

I stood on the balcony, watching as the fire consumed it bit by bit.

Four items left.

I looked up at the night sky, my heart perfectly still.

He gave me six years of companionship.

So I'll give him four more chances.

When these mementos have all been burned, I will leave and never look back.

Ethan Vaughn's official social media announcement sent shockwaves through the design world.

"President Vaughn's new girlfriend seems to be a volunteer from that foundation. She looks pretty innocent."

"I saw them watching the sunrise together in Southbay. Tsk, tsk. Doesn't seem like a new relationship to me."

"I heard Mrs. Vaughn is still taking care of his dad... Tsk..."

I was standing in the elevator, looking down and sorting through some files, when I overheard my colleagues saying these things.

Around noon, just after I'd gotten back from the pharmacy, I received a call from Mr. Vaughn's hospital room. It was the caregiver.

"Miss Sterling, Mr. Vaughn has a fever. Could you come back?"

I froze.

Ethan Vaughn had recently hired a new caregiver for Mr. Vaughn. He'd said it was to relieve me of my duties, but it was really to get me to move out of the house as soon as possible.

But the new caregiver was completely negligent, too busy reposting sappy quotes about Ethan Vaughn and his new girlfriend on social media.

I rushed to the hospital. Mr. Vaughn was propped up in bed, his face pale, with an ice pack on his forehead.

When he saw me, his eyes immediately reddened. "Celia, it's my fault. I've been a burden to you..."

"Don't say that."

I steadied him, my movements still gentle.

"I consider you family."

I stayed with him all night until his fever finally broke.

The next morning, Ethan Vaughn arrived.

And she was with him.

The girl wasn't tall. She wore a white dress and a volunteer badge. Her eyes were gentle, her eyelids were red and puffy, and she had a pitiful, helpless look about her.

"President Vaughn, I didn't mean to intrude. I was just worried about Mr. Vaughn's health..."

"It's fine. I'm happy to have you here."

He said this gently, then his eyes flickered to me. "Why are you still here?"

I turned my head and said offhandedly, "Your dad had a fever."

"Couldn't the caregiver handle it?"

I smiled. "The caregiver doesn't know him as well as I do."

"Celia..."

Mr. Vaughn cut in. "She was taking care of me all last night. Even your mother was never this attentive."

Ethan Vaughn frowned and fell silent.

The girl beside him said softly, "Actually, I can take care of Mr. Vaughn, too. After all, our foundation provides nursing training."

"Really?"

Ethan Vaughn looked at her and nodded with a smile. "Then I'll have to trouble you to come see my dad more often from now on."

I watched their exchange. With their gentle expressions, they looked like something straight out of a romantic drama.

No one mentioned who I was.

No one mentioned how I'd managed to get through the last three years.

I stood up, brushed the wrinkles from my clothes, and gave the girl a polite smile.

"I'll leave him in your hands, then."

That night, I took out the third memento.

It was "Celia's Cookbook," something he'd made for our third wedding anniversary. He'd said he wanted to eat every dish I ever made.

He'd even drawn a picture in it of me tying up my hair whenever I cooked.

'Now, he's probably eating the same dishes with another woman.'

I opened the window and struck a lighter.

The flame devoured the last page of the cookbook—my favorite page.

[Tomato Beef Brisket, Celia's favorite.]

I watched it slowly burn to ash, a bitter taste rising in my mouth.

Late that night, I got a message from Ethan Vaughn:

[How's Dad?]

I glanced at it.

After a moment, I replied:

[He's fine. Isn't your new girlfriend taking good care of him?]

After sending the message, I blocked him.

Three mementos left.

Ethan Vaughn had been trending a lot lately.

"#President of the Vaughn Corporation Accompanies Charity Girl to Hospital#"

The accompanying photo showed him helping her out of the hospital. The girl's head was bowed demurely, and Ethan Vaughn's gaze was tender.

I looked at the background of the photo.

That was the Rehabilitation Center I had been in and out of countless times for the past three years.

Once, I too was "the beautiful Mrs. Vaughn" he spoke of.

Now, I was the ex-wife left out of the conversation.

But he hadn't mentioned a divorce, and no one had mentioned my name.

As if I had never existed.

"Miss Sterling, hello. We're from The Helping Hands Foundation."

"Mr. Ethan Vaughn has transferred responsibility for Mr. Vaughn's care to us. A volunteer, Miss Anna Shaw, will be handling his daily needs."

I stood at my front door, looking at the group of young people in matching T-shirts.

Anna Shaw stood among them in a white dress, holding a basket of fruit. Her smile was gentle and graceful.

"Miss Sterling, please rest assured. I promise I'll take good care of Mr. Vaughn, just as you have."

I smiled back, my own smile more genuine than hers.

"Oh, really? In that case, good luck. He needs hot compresses twice a day and has to be turned over three times a night. His pills have to be removed from their capsules and dissolved in water, and his bathroom schedule is fixed."

Anna Shaw's expression faltered, her smile turning stiff.

I turned to leave, pulling my suitcase behind me without a backward glance.

The door slowly closed behind me.

This was the 1,095th day I had taken care of Mr. Vaughn.

This family had never acknowledged me as the lady of the house.

Now, I no longer had to pretend I was.

I moved into an extended-stay hotel.

After settling in, I opened a drawer and pulled out the scrapbook from our fourth wedding anniversary.

It was a scrapbook I had meticulously put together.

It held everything, from the first time we held hands to when he quit his job to start his own business. I was there, staying up all night with him as he drew blueprints and built models. There was even a photo of us, sobbing in each other's arms in the hallway after he won his first contract…

The last page was a photo of me, smiling like an idiot as I hugged the logo model for his one-month-old company.

He had a fever and was stuck in bed that day, so I ran all over the city to find a specific woodcarving shop. I had them make it as a keepsake for us, the husband-and-wife partners.

I picked up that page, and my eyes suddenly stung with tears.

'So, I really had been loved, truly and deeply, for a time.'

'And I had thought it was forever.'

I struck a lighter.

Two items left.

But the next day, to my surprise, Ethan Vaughn actually called me.

I didn't answer.

But he started texting me nonstop:

"Where are you staying? My dad's asking about you."

"Don't be so difficult. Anna has moved in now that you're gone."

"She's trying hard to adjust, and it isn't easy for her."

"Celia, I never meant to kick you out... It's just that she's a better fit."

I stared at the words "she's a better fit" for a long time, my knuckles turning white.

He once told me, "You're the only place I can call home."

Now he says, "She's a better fit."

I threw my phone into the trash.

That afternoon, I went back to the office to get the last of my things.

As I walked into the office, a livestream was auto-playing on one of the large communal screens.

The headline read: "Devoted Daughter Raises $150,000 for Stepfather's Medical Care!"

On the screen, Anna Shaw was crying.

"I know I don't have anything… only my sincerity. I hope everyone can help my dad. He's the only person in this world who has ever been truly good to me…"

"We're not related by blood, but he gave me a real home."

Comments like "You're amazing!" and "I'm crying over here" flooded the screen, and the donation link popped up again and again.

I walked over and looked at the picture.

In the photo, behind her, was the elderly man I had cared for for three years.

The photo's caption read: "Thank you, Miss Anna Shaw, for your months of tireless work for Mr. Vaughn, showcasing a profound father-daughter bond."

I felt a sting in my nose.

The elderly man I had cared for for three years… and she had used him to put herself on a pedestal.

That night, I sat on the balcony of the extended-stay hotel and unwrapped the fifth memento.

It was a scarf I had hand-knitted.

On our fifth anniversary, he shielded me from the wind in a heavy snowstorm. I wrapped that red scarf around his neck three times.

I cut it into several pieces and set them on fire.

One item left.

I looked up at the city's night sky, pitch-black and cold.

Soon, I would be able to completely disappear from his world.