Chapter 3

Sofia moved into the master bedroom.

Matteo didn't leave that night; he also stayed in the master bedroom, claiming he was "afraid something might happen to her at night."

I locked myself in the guest room, listening to the low murmurs of comfort and sobbing from next door.

The next day, I went to work as usual.

Coming home after work, the house had changed.

My favorite landscape painting in the living room was taken down and replaced with an oil painting.

The orchids I grew for three years were gone, replaced by a pot of lucky bamboo.

Sofia was wearing my nightgown, busy in the kitchen.

Seeing me, she smiled somewhat embarrassedly.

"Dr. Vargas, you're back. I made dinner, I don't know if it suits your taste."

I stared at the nightgown she was wearing.

That was hand-sewn for me by my mother, and I had never even brought myself to wear it once.

I walked over and pointed at the painting: "Who told you to touch that?"

"It... it was Matteo." She spoke timidly: "He said the landscape painting's colors were too depressing, not good for my recovery."

"And the flowers?"

"Also... also Matteo, he said orchids are too delicate, I wouldn't know how to keep them alive."

I walked right up to her.

"Take it off."

She froze: "What?"

"Take off the nightgown you are wearing."

Her face instantly flushed red, tears welling in her eyes: "Dr. Vargas, I'm sorry, I just thought this dress was pretty... I didn't mean anything else."

Matteo walked out of the bedroom.

"Enough, Elena!"

He walked to Sofia's side and shielded her behind him.

"It's just a nightgown, is this really necessary?"

"She likes it, just let her wear it. You have so many clothes, are you short of this one?"

I looked at his self-righteous expression.

The last bit of feeling I had for him in my heart was gone.

"Matteo, make her leave."

"Impossible." He answered categorically.

"Fine, I'll leave."

I turned and returned to my room, sorting out my treasured manuscripts and notes.

I placed the manuscripts on the desk to start packing my luggage.

Just as I turned around, Sofia walked in holding a glass of water.

"Dr. Vargas, drink some water, don't be angry anymore."

She handed the glass over.

I didn't take it.

Her hand tilted, and the entire glass of water splashed over my notes.

The water rapidly seeped into the paper.

My brain buzzed loudly.

I rushed over, grabbed the notebook, and desperately soaked up the water with tissues.

But it was useless.

The ink was already a blurred mess.

I looked up at the panicked Sofia.

She kept apologizing: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Dr. Vargas, I didn't mean to..."

Matteo also came in.

Seeing the scene, he frowned, pulled Sofia over, and checked her hands.

"Did you get burned?"

Sofia shook her head, crying even harder: "Matteo, I ruined Dr. Vargas's things..."

Matteo glanced at the soaked notebook.

"Isn't it just a book? I'll buy you a new one."

He said indifferently: "Sofia didn't do it on purpose, stop holding a grudge over it."

Holding the ruined notebook, my hands were trembling.

That was left to me by my mentor.

It was the only copy in the world.

I looked at Matteo: "You'll replace it?"

"How will you replace it?"

He choked on my question, looking a bit embarrassed.

"Elena, stop being unreasonable."

I laughed.

I threw the notebook on the floor, turned around, pulled out my suitcase, and began packing.

Matteo stood at the door, watching me: "What are you throwing a tantrum about now?"

"I said, I'm leaving." I didn't look back.

"You're running away from home over this little thing?"

"Elena, can't you be a bit more mature?"

I ignored him and continued packing.

Sofia cried softly on the side: "It's all my fault, Matteo, don't fight with Dr. Vargas..."

Matteo sighed, walking over to comfort her.

"It has nothing to do with you, she is just too childish."

I zipped up my suitcase and stood up.

Walking past Matteo, I didn't spare him a single glance.

Reaching the door, I stopped.

"Matteo, this is what you chose."

With that said, I pulled my suitcase and left the place I once thought would be my home.

That was my first time walking out on him.

Three days later, Matteo found the hotel I was staying at.

He brought my favorite desserts and a beautifully wrapped notebook.

"Elena, stop being angry, come home with me."

"I had someone restore that book, look, it's as good as new."

I opened the notebook.

The handwriting inside was forged, and many of the data didn't match.

I handed the notebook back to him: "Matteo, just go."

The smile on his face froze: "Elena, how long are you going to keep making a scene?"

"I already sent her away, what more do you want?"

"Can't you stop blowing things out of proportion?"

I looked at him.

"I never blow things out of proportion."

I closed the door.

He stood outside the door for a long time, but eventually walked away.