Chapter 3

That day, an ambulance came for me.

Lying on the operating table, clinging to life, I remembered many things.

I remembered when we first got married, Julian and I had a sweet period.

He’d take me to see the ocean at dawn, and we’d kiss when he was tipsy.

Every evening and late night after we got our marriage license, he’d make love to me.

My friends would say enviously, “Your husband really spoils you.”

But that lasted only six months.

The day I noticed something was off, I overheard him talking to his friend.

His friend asked him, “Are you flaunting your affection like this to force Serena back? Looks like it’s not working.”

Julian leaned against the railing, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips:

“Then let’s see how long she can endure.”

“But your wife is pretty great in every way. No feelings for her?”

Julian took a sip of his drink and chuckled dismissively. “It’s all for appearances, nothing I ever truly felt.”

The indifference in his eyes stung me terribly, every single day after that.

I tried the silent treatment with him.

He was such a perceptive man; he’d always notice my unhappiness immediately and coax me in a low voice.

As he coaxed me, I started coaxing myself.

He couldn't let go of Serena, he was just unwilling to admit it.

If possible, he could pretend to be good to me for a lifetime, and I could play along.

I didn't know then that time is never the cure; reunion is.

The operation was reaching its critical point; the medical staff’s movements suddenly became frantic.

As my consciousness gradually blurred, I remembered something else.

After my marriage to Julian was set, Serena went on a hunger strike and eventually fainted from low blood sugar.

On that rainy night, Julian rushed her into the emergency room, cradling her.

His white shirt was soaked through, but he didn’t seem to notice, only gripping her hand, calling out “Serena” again and again.

I followed behind, holding the payment slip, watching him tremble as he pulled out fruit candies from his pocket, carefully peeled the wrapper, and slipped one into her pale lips.

I stood by the IV stand, watching as he bent over, revealing the back of his neck, where sweat and rainwater mingled and dripped.

That day, he was also sweating cold from a stomachache.

But because Serena couldn’t be left alone, he gritted his teeth and stayed in the emergency room all night.

And I, suffering from placental abruption and clinging to life, couldn't even get him on the phone.

Love is one thing, but if it requires too much humility, I don’t want it.

Perhaps heaven had pity on me; in the end, I narrowly survived.

It was five days later when I came out of the ICU.

Before I even saw Julian, I heard news of him from my nurse.

Turns out, while I was on the operating table, fighting for my life, he was throwing a lavish welcome party for Serena.

He even arranged a spectacular fireworks display for her.

Under the dazzling fireworks, the two exchanged glances, their expressions deep and restrained.

In this marriage, I forgave many unforgivable things, thinking it would lead to happiness.

Later, I discovered he had already predetermined our ending.

No matter what I did, happiness was impossible.

So, the first thing I did after being discharged was tell him I wanted a divorce.

He was silent for a long time. “Don’t overthink this. Just focus on recovering.”

He thought I was making this decision due to postpartum hormones.

It wasn't until three months later, at my birthday party, that I brought up divorce again.

He was holding a soaking wet Serena, walking towards a room.

Hearing my words, he turned back to look at me, his smile utterly despicable:

“Are you sure about this? There’s no turning back with me.”

I nodded calmly. “Okay.”