Chapter 4

The throbbing in my cheek was a constant, dull reminder. I sat on the edge of my bed, the small apartment silent around me. I hadn't bothered with an ice pack. I wanted to feel it. I needed the physical pain to ground me in this new reality, to burn away the last lingering ghosts of my past.

My mind, unbidden, drifted back.

It wasn't the grand moments I remembered, but the small, quiet ones. The exhaustion that settled deep in my bones after a 36-hour surgical marathon on his failing heart. The way I' d hold a cup of coffee in hands that trembled from fatigue, reading late-night scans of his body, searching for a path to save him that no one else could see.

I remembered giving up my spot at a prestigious international conference on neuro-regenerative medicine, a field I was passionate about, because he had developed a fever and I didn't trust anyone else to manage his post-op care. He'd been dismissive, "It's just a conference, Evelyn. You can go to the next one."

There was never a next one.

I remembered our first wedding anniversary. He was almost fully recovered. I had cooked his favorite meal, something my hands, the hands of a world-class surgeon, were clumsy at. He arrived three hours late, smelling of expensive perfume that wasn't mine, talking animatedly on his phone about a new acquisition for his company. He barely glanced at the food, pecked me on the cheek, and said, "Sorry, something big came up. Raincheck?"

He never remembered the raincheck.

Those memories, once tinged with a sad, romantic martyrdom, were now just acid. They showcased a truth I had refused to see: my sacrifice was not a testament to our love, it was merely the price of his convenience. He hadn't loved me. He had used me. My brilliance, my devotion, my entire life-it was all just a tool to ensure his own survival and success.

The contrast between the woman who would have died for him and the man who slapped me for a discarded bracelet was stark and brutal. There was nothing left to mourn.

I finally slept, a deep and dreamless sleep.

When I woke, the sun was streaming through the window, bright and unforgiving. It was a new day. A very important day.

Today was the day I would legally bind myself to Alexander Thorne.

I looked at myself in the mirror. A faint purple and yellow bruise was blooming on my cheekbone. I didn't try to cover it with makeup. Let it be a reminder. A brand of my freedom.

I dressed simply, in a plain white dress. It felt clean, pure. A new beginning.

I drove myself to the city hall. The building was a grand, old stone structure, a place of official beginnings and endings. As I walked up the steps, I saw them.

Daniel and Sarah.

They were here for the same reason.

Sarah was clinging to Daniel' s arm, dressed in a flamboyant pink dress that screamed for attention. Around her neck was a gaudy diamond necklace, a piece I recognized instantly. In my past life, Daniel had given it to me on my 30th birthday, calling it a bauble fit for the wife of a CEO. Seeing it on Sarah's neck felt... nothing. It was just an object, stripped of all meaning.

Daniel looked tired and angry, but the moment he saw me, his expression shifted. The arrogance returned, that possessive glare that still assumed he had some claim over me. His eyes briefly flickered to the bruise on my cheek, but there was no remorse in them. Only a flicker of satisfaction, as if seeing his mark on me pleased him.

He thought I was here to stop his wedding. He thought my presence was the final act of a spurned lover.

"What are you doing here, Evelyn?" he asked, his voice low so only I could hear. "Came to watch? To see what you threw away?"

Sarah chimed in, her voice dripping with false pity. "Oh, sister. You shouldn't have come. This will only hurt you more."

She clutched the diamond necklace, a deliberate, showy gesture. She was claiming her prize, flaunting her victory. She thought she had won. She had gotten the man and the jewels.

I simply looked at her, then at Daniel. I didn't need to say a word. The calmness in my eyes, the complete lack of pain or jealousy, was more unsettling to them than any screaming match would have been.

I felt a strange sense of detachment, of being above the petty drama they were still so desperately playing. They were a chapter of my life that was already over. I was just here to turn the page.

So I let them have their moment. I let Sarah preen with her new necklace, and I let Daniel savor his hollow victory.

I turned away from them and walked into the building, my head held high. Their story was no longer mine to write.