Chapter 3

I threw those words down and slammed the door behind me.

Behind me, my father shouted:

"Enzo, don't chase her. She has no job, no money, nowhere to go. She'll come crawling back once she hits a wall."

I rushed out of the clinic.

The cold wind cut through me, chilling me to the bone.

My former business partner sent a message.

"Have you reconsidered the studio partnership? The team leaves tomorrow. There's still time for a ticket."

It wasn't the first time he'd invited me.

I'd been tempted before.

When Enzo found out, he strongly opposed it.

"The West Coast is so far. If you go, we'll be separated. Natalia, I can't bear it. For me, don't leave, okay?"

My parents pulled the gratitude card.

"We raised you. It wasn't easy. When we get sick, we'll need you. Can you bear to leave us?"

Even my brother patiently persuaded me.

"Mom and Dad are old and in poor health. I'm busy with work and don't have time to care for them. I rely on you a lot. I'm begging you, don't go."

I was softened by their pleas.

And I'd finally gotten pregnant.

So I gave up the idea of leaving.

During the years I was treated for infertility, I spent all my savings.

I thought I was sacrificing for the family.

But it became their leverage over me.

Remembering my father's words—"She has no job, no money, nowhere to go. She'll come crawling back"—I opened my partner's chat and replied: "Book the ticket."

Five minutes later, he sent the order confirmation.

I saved it silently.

Then went home to pack.

I pushed the door open. A pair of pink women's slippers sat on the shoe rack.

My favorite yellow roses on the coffee table had been replaced with peonies.

Even my usual bar of soap was put away in a cabinet.

As I wondered, my phone received a message from Enzo.

"Vera will stay at our place for a while after discharge. It's easier to care for her."

I said nothing.

I turned off my phone and pulled out a large suitcase.

There was too much stuff.

Most of it was things Enzo and I had bought together when we were dating.

Matching mugs we'd fired at a pottery shop.

Tie-dye couple shirts from an old town.

Over eight hundred couple photos taken when we were deeply in love.

I threw the mugs and shirts in the trash.

I burned the photos on the gas stove.

Halfway through, Enzo's voice came from behind.

"What are you doing?"

When he saw what was in my hands, his face changed.

"You burned them all?"

I said calmly.

"Too much stuff. Takes up space."

Meeting his incredulous gaze, I calmly took out a divorce agreement.

"I've already signed. Just waiting on you."

I thought he'd sign without hesitation.

Instead, he glanced at it and tossed it into the fire.

"Who said I'm divorcing you?"

Anger flared in my chest.

"What do you mean? I'm willing to let you go. Why are you still dragging it out?"

He didn't get angry. Instead, he looked at me gently.

"Natalia, we've always been happy, haven't we? Do you really want to leave me?"

I felt like I'd swallowed a fly.

What did he mean?

What did he mean by "we've always been happy"?

His happiness was built on my pain. And now he wanted to have it both ways?