Chapter 2

Muriel canceled the prenatal checkup.

I wanted to ask the doctor when her next appointment was.

No matter how hurt I felt, she was still the mother of our child. How could I feel at ease letting her go to checkups alone?

But the doctor hesitated, then handed me an abortion surgery form.

"Ms. Muriel... came this morning, but she had an abortion instead."

"She requested confidentiality, but I believe you have the right to know."

Muriel didn't know this was a hospital under the Leonardo Group. It was nearly impossible for her to hide anything from me here.

It seemed the birthday gift she gave Robinson was an abortion report.

I returned home alone and numbly opened the 100th urn.

With a "click."

Two documents fell out—a signed divorce agreement and a notarized statement of Muriel's voluntary agreement to leave with nothing.

Below them was a note, the handwriting youthful and spirited.

[Leonardo, you've suffered enough. Move forward, don't look back.]

Twenty-year-old Muriel, reaching across the years, felt sorry for me.

Thirty-year-old Muriel had long since given that tenderness to someone else.

Expressionless, I placed the abortion surgery form inside.

I closed the lid, sealing away our ten-year marriage along with it.

My phone lit up with a photo from her.

Fireworks blazed brilliantly in the night sky, illuminating Robinson's gentle profile.

"Don't you love watching fireworks? Make a wish."

I looked around in silence.

These were the decorations I'd prepared early for our tenth anniversary.

The walls were covered with our photos together, from school uniforms to wedding dress.

Balloons covered the floor, string lights wound around the entire room.

But the petals had wilted and the frosting had melted.

Outside the window, the fireworks lighting up half the city bloomed for someone else.

I only replied: [Come home early.]

Such a simple wish, but she didn't respond.

Her silence was her answer.

I sat in the darkness until dawn, when she finally returned.

Behind her came gift boxes that filled half the living room.

A rare black diamond from Sotheby's, a nineteenth-century oil painting I'd once lingered over, a custom Swiss watch...

"Anniversary gifts. Do you like them?"