Chapter 3

I walked out of the hospital.

The cold wind hit me head-on. My whole body felt hollow.

That's when my phone lit up.

A message from Adam, my former business partner.

"About joining the studio—want to reconsider? The team flies to Miami tomorrow. There's still time to book a ticket."

This wasn't the first time he'd reached out. Before, I'd actually been tempted.

Daniel was the one who stopped me.

He'd said: "Miami is so far away. If you go, we'd practically be separated. Emma, I can't bear to lose you. Stay. For me. Please?"

My parents pulled out the gratitude card.

"We raised you. It wasn't easy. When we get sick or need to be hospitalized, we depend on you. How could you abandon two elderly people?"

Even Mark had been patient enough to talk me out of it: "Mom and Dad are getting older. Their health isn't great. I'm too busy with work—a lot of the time, you're all they have. Just think of it as your brother asking you a favor. Don't go, okay?"

I'd softened then. And I'd just found out I was pregnant. So I let the idea go.

All these years, I'd spent everything I had on fertility treatments. I thought I was sacrificing for this family. I never imagined it would become the very thing they used to keep me trapped.

Remembering what my father had just said—"She has no job, no money. She'll come crawling back"—I opened my conversation with Adam and typed three words: "Book the ticket."

Five minutes later, Adam sent the booking confirmation.

I saved the screenshot and went home to pack.

When I pushed open the door, I noticed a pair of pink slippers on the shoe rack that weren't mine. On the living room coffee table, the yellow roses I loved had been replaced with peonies. In the bathroom, my usual body wash had been tucked away into the cabinet.

Soon enough, a text from Daniel explained everything.

"Lily will be staying at our place to recover after she's discharged. It's more convenient for taking care of her."

I didn't reply. I just turned off my phone and dragged out a large suitcase.

There was so much. Most of it was from when Daniel and I were still in love.

The matching mugs we'd made together at a ceramics studio. The couple's shirts we'd bought on a trip. The hundreds of photos from when we were head over heels for each other.

I threw the mugs and the shirts into the trash. The photos, I carried to the stove and burned them one by one.

Halfway through, Daniel's voice came from behind me.

"What are you doing?"

He saw what was in my hand, and his face changed instantly.

"You burned them all?"

I said flatly: "Too much stuff. Takes up space."

He stared at me in disbelief.

I pulled a divorce agreement from the lining of my suitcase and held it out to him.

"I've already signed. All that's left is your signature."

I thought he'd sign immediately. Instead, he barely glanced at it before tossing it into the fire.

The pages curled, blackened, and crumbled to ash.

"Who said I want to divorce you?"

A blaze of fury shot through my chest.

"What is that supposed to mean? I'm willing to let you go, and you're still dragging me along? For what?"

He didn't get angry. Instead, he softened his tone.

"Emma, we've always been happy together, haven't we? Can you really bring yourself to leave me?"

It felt like swallowing a shard of broken glass.

Happy?

His idea of happiness was built on my pain and his lies. He betrayed me, tricked me into giving up our child, and now he wanted me to stay?