Chapter 4

On the fourth day I went to the bank to withdraw money.

The balance on the ATM screen froze at $347.

I stood in front of the machine staring at those numbers. Nothing left.

Walking out of the bank, I received a call from an unknown number. The caller claimed to be Luna's best friend.

"There are some things you should hear."

At the coffee shop, the woman who called herself Nina wore designer clothes, coffee cup in hand.

"Melody, do you think Ethan just made a momentary mistake?"

She pulled out her phone and pushed a screenshot of a chat log toward me.

Ethan told Luna: "Give me a little more time. I'll handle her."

The date was three months ago, even earlier than when he told me he was sick.

I finished reading the screenshot without saying anything.

She put her phone away.

"Luna told me that Ethan stopped loving you a long time ago. Marrying you was just an impulse. After meeting Luna, he finally understood what real love feels like."

She lowered her voice, her fingernail tapping the table.

"Stop dragging this out. It's better for everyone."

I stood up.

"Thank you for telling me."

Walking out of the coffee shop, I stood by a lamppost for a long time.

Three months ago, he said he'd get me a proper ring for my birthday this year.

On the fifth day, I went to find Marcus Smith.

He was helping in the kitchen of his new restaurant. When he saw me come in, he froze.

"Melody? How did you... you've lost so much weight."

No small talk. I asked directly.

"Ethan faking his illness—how much do you know?"

Marcus dropped the cloth in his hand.

As he bent to pick it up, he avoided my eyes.

"...Who told you?"

I didn't answer, just looked at him.

He wouldn't say much, but his mouth moved faster than his brain, mumbling out:

"Ethan didn't come up with this idea himself. That woman Luna..."

Before he could finish, his phone rang.

Ethan's name popped up.

Marcus answered the call. His expression changed. He glanced at me and hung up hastily.

"Melody, go home. Stay out of this."

Not his own idea.

If someone pushed him into it, why didn't he tell me?

Didn't I even deserve to be treated honestly?

On the sixth day, one day before the deadline, Ethan sent a message: Tonight at 7, the usual place. Bring your answer.

The usual place was a Japanese restaurant we frequented.

When I arrived, he was already seated.

"You still remember I love salmon."

His tone was flat, revealing no emotion.

Always the same trick—offering a knife with one hand and candy with the other, leaving me unable to tell if he had a heart or not.

"I don't agree to the divorce. You faked illness and deceived me for three months, spending all my savings. What you owe me can't be settled with a piece of paper and five hundred thousand." My attitude was firm.

His face darkened, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

"You think dragging this out benefits you? Everyone knows you're singing at nightclubs now. Your students' parents will find out any minute. Have you thought about the consequences?"

This sentence struck my softest spot.

The restaurant door opened.

Luna walked in with two of Ethan's friends, her tone perfectly surprised.

"Oh my, Ethan, you're here? We were passing by and saw your car."

Her gaze swept to me, immediately switching to anxiety and retreat.

She turned to Ethan, eyes brimming with tears, voice so delicate it was nauseating.

"Didn't you say you were working late tonight? I even brought you some pastries at the office..."

The two friends' gazes bounced between Ethan and me.

Ethan paused for a moment.

He looked at me, then at Luna.

He stood up, walked to Luna's side, and draped his coat over her shoulders.

"It's cold outside. Go home first."

He protected her in front of everyone, then turned to me and said:

"I've said everything I needed to say. Let me know when you've decided."

Then he walked out supporting Luna.

Through the closing door, I heard her say softly outside:

"Ethan, I really didn't mean to come here. Don't be angry..."

His response was just two words.

"It's fine."