Chapter 2

On our seventh wedding anniversary, Ethan brought his pregnant subordinate home.

"Jane, come pour Vivian some water."

His tone was casual, as if he were ordering around a maid.

The woman called Vivian, her belly showing just a hint of pregnancy, leaned delicately against Ethan. Her eyes held undisguised provocation.

I was holding a plate of freshly made pasta, my hands frozen in mid-air.

The steam from the pasta blurred my vision.

"What else can you do besides cook?" Ethan frowned, his face full of impatience. "Vivian can help me land the big project with Skyline Corp. She understands me better than you do."

Right in front of me, he put Vivian's feet on his lap and massaged them carefully.

His movements were so gentle, as if he were handling a priceless treasure.

Seven years.

He had never been this tender with me.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand. Even breathing hurt.

But I didn't cry or make a scene. I just calmly untied my apron.

Under their sticky gazes, I walked into the bedroom and packed a few old clothes.

The wheels of my suitcase scraped across the floor with a harsh noise.

Ethan finally looked up, his eyes mocking: "Jane, playing the runaway game again? Where can you even go?"

I ignored him and walked into the bathroom.

From the deepest part of the drawer, I pulled out the terminal illness diagnosis I'd hidden for a month.

Stomach cancer. Stage four.

I'd imagined countless times what his reaction might be when I showed him this paper.

Maybe a hint of shock. A bit of guilt.

Now I saw how naive I'd been.

I calmly tore it into pieces and threw them into the toilet.

I pressed the flush button and watched those fragments swirl into the vortex and disappear.

Just like my seven years of ridiculous marriage, and what little remained of my life.

Walking out of the bathroom, I dragged my suitcase without a shred of attachment.

Ethan's voice came from behind me, carrying a condescending sense of charity.

"Come back when you're done with your tantrum. Don't be ungrateful."

Vivian giggled, leaning close to his ear: "Ethan, don't be angry. Jane's probably just upset. Women are like that. Just humor her a bit."

I heard Ethan laugh.

"Where can she go? A waste of space who's been a stay-at-home wife for seven years. She has to watch my face just to buy groceries. I bet by tomorrow morning, she'll be crawling back on her knees begging me."

I opened the door and walked out.

The night wind was cold against my face, but it made me feel more clear-headed than I'd been in years.