That year, when I was twenty, I married Damien, my father’s closest friend. He was eight years older than me, a formidable business elite in the city’s elite circles, known for his decisive and tough demeanor in the business world, always keeping women at arm’s length. But with me, he showed an extraordinary tenderness. He’d have multi-million dollar jewelry delivered to me the very next day, just because I’d casually mentioned, “That necklace is pretty.” When my period cramps had me curled up in bed, he’d drop a massive project, personally brew me comforting ginger tea, and gently coax me to drink it spoon by spoon. In moments of passion, he’d cup my waist, his voice low and husky, calling me “baby,” saying I was so good, so addictive. Even all his social media accounts bore the name “Für Elise.” I always thought it was to commemorate the day we first met, when I played that very piece on the piano. Until that day, when I found an old photo album in his study. The album was filled with pictures of the same girl, who bore a striking resemblance to me, smiling as she stood by a piano. On the back of one photo, it read— “Für Elise, my dearest Isabelle.” … After uncovering the truth, I did only two things. First, I went to the hospital and terminated my five-month pregnancy. A five-month-old baby already kicks in your belly. On the operating table, I gritted my teeth and held back tears, but when the nurse asked, “Do you want to see the baby?” I broke down, shaking my head. Second, I drafted a divorce agreement. Then, I called Damien. Before, he’d always answered my calls instantly, his voice soft as he’d ask, “What’s wrong, baby?” But this time, I had to call twenty-three times before he finally picked up. A jumble of voices came from the other end, followed by his friends’ mocking tones: “How important is a first love, really? The moment Isabelle came back, Damien just ditched his five-month pregnant wife at home.” “What do you expect? The girl was just a stand-in. You should’ve seen how much Damien loved Isabelle back then; he practically drank himself to death after they broke up. He never forgot her all these years, even coaxed some girl into being her replacement.” “And that girl’s still clueless, clinging to Damien like a shadow every day. Last time I saw Aurora kissing Damien, the way she was acting all cute and sweet? It totally melted my heart. If I had a sweet, bubbly girl like that at home, I’d have forgotten Isabelle ages ago.” “Ah, well, Damien might seem cold, but he’s incredibly devoted. He only loves Isabelle. Look, Isabelle just casually complained about her feet hurting in heels, and he immediately scooped her up to buy her flats…” I gripped my phone, tears silently streaming down my face. Suddenly, the other end of the line went quiet. “Who picked up my call?” Damien’s voice abruptly cut through. “Huh? I don’t know, maybe someone accidentally pressed it…” Footsteps sounded from the other end, and soon the background noise returned to silence. When he spoke again, that intoxicatingly gentle voice of Damien’s whispered through the receiver: “What’s wrong, baby? Is it thundering? Can’t you sleep?” “Husband has a business dinner, I’ll be back later to keep you and the baby company, okay?” I took a deep breath: “I’m calling to sign the divo—” Before I could finish, a woman’s voice chimed in: “Damien, my feet hurt…” He paused for a moment, then hastily told me: “Be a good girl, go to sleep first. Husband will be back later to be with you.” And then, the call ended. I smiled, wiping away all my tears, then looked up at the desktop. Two “gifts” lay there, both for Damien. A divorce agreement, and a gift box containing the baby we’d aborted. Those who betray a sincere heart deserve to swallow a thousand needles. I might be young, but I wouldn’t tolerate such deceit. I wouldn’t keep the person who deceived me. I could love wholeheartedly, and I could let go just as completely. I don’t know how long I sat there, but finally, I stood up and put the gift box with the baby into the freezer. Just then, a sound came from the main entrance of the villa. “Baby, why aren’t you asleep yet?” Damien walked in, shedding his suit jacket, his tie loosely around his neck. “What are you looking for in the fridge? Are you hungry?” I didn’t answer, just watched him silently. He seemed a bit unaccustomed to my coldness. He pulled out an exquisite lunchbox from behind him, his eyes soft: “I ran all over town to buy this. Haven’t you been craving this lately?” He meticulously laid out the pastries, all my favorites during my morning sickness these past few months. In the past, I would have thrown myself into his arms and kissed him. But now, I only felt a bitter irony. “Why are you standing there without saying anything? Is the baby in your tummy bothering you again?” As he spoke, his hand reached out to caress my lower abdomen. I blocked his hand and handed him a document: “Sign this.” He paused, about to open it, when his phone suddenly rang. I saw the caller ID – it was Isabelle. After he answered, I didn’t hear what was said, but his expression changed slightly. He hung up the phone without even looking at the document, quickly signed it. Then he grabbed his car keys and started to leave. “Baby, I have an urgent matter to deal with. You go to bed early.” At the door, he added gently: “From now on, just buy whatever you want; you don’t need my signature. We’re husband and wife, what’s mine is yours.” I clutched the signed divorce agreement in my hand, a faint, bitter smile touching my lips. “Damien, we won’t be husband and wife for much longer.” That night, I had a very, very long dream. In the dream, it was the first time I met Damien. I was eighteen that year, attending the Sterling family’s gala with my father. He stood by the piano in a crisp black suit, long fingers holding a champagne flute, his face perfectly sculpted. It was love at first sight. Later, I boldly stole a kiss from him. He paused, then chuckled softly: “Little girl, that’s not how you kiss.” Then he cupped the back of my head and taught me what a real kiss was. That kiss was so long, so long, it left me breathless. Even now, thinking back, it feels like an ethereal dream. When I woke up, my pillow was soaked. Daylight had broken. After a long while, I picked up my phone and called my dad. “Dad, I got divorced,” my voice was hoarse. “After I get the divorce decree, I’ll come abroad to be with you.” “Did Damien bully you?” Dad’s voice immediately rose. “No,” I gazed out at the brightening sky outside the window, “I just don’t love him anymore.” Actually, it was Damien who didn’t love me. And I, too, would never love him again. I didn’t utter those words, feeling as if I’d swallowed a piece of broken glass, letting it tear me apart inside. After hanging up, a SnapChat friend request popped up. On a whim, I accepted it. The person immediately sent a video. In the video, Damien was lightly dozing on the sofa, his brow furrowed, murmuring a name: “Isabelle…” Immediately following the video, a long message arrived: `This is Isabelle, Damien’s first love. I never thought that after all these years, even after he got married, he still hadn’t forgotten me. When I came back to the country today, I found he still has my name tattooed on his inner wrist, and all our photos, all the diary entries he wrote, are perfectly preserved. See, he’s still calling my name in his dream; he must be dreaming of our past, after all, those were the first love days he’ll never forget.` I stared at the long message, my heart aching to the point of numbness. I only replied with one sentence: `What do you want?` The other person replied after a long pause: `Nothing, just want to take back what’s mine. He’s about to wake up. Don’t you believe me? If I just say I had a nightmare, he’ll stay with me for the next five days and won’t contact you once.` I didn’t reply again. Ten minutes later, Damien’s message came through: `Baby, I have an urgent project and need to go on a five-day business trip. My secretary will be with you; feel free to contact him if you need anything. Take good care of yourself and the baby.` I stared at the screen and suddenly laughed. As I laughed, tears streamed down, splashing onto my phone screen. For the next five days, Damien was indeed completely silent. But Isabelle’s messages kept coming. Damien walking with her on the beach, taking her to watch the sunset from a mountaintop, driving her around the countryside… Isabelle messaged: `These are all places we used to go when we were dating.` I read every single message, then suddenly remembered Damien had taken me to those same places too. Back then, I thought he was being romantic. Now I understood; he was just revisiting old haunts, seeing someone else through my reflection. On the evening of the fifth day, I started packing. The jewelry Damien gave me, the bags, the clothes… Everything related to him was packed into cardboard boxes and thrown into the storage room. When Damien rushed home, dusty and tired, he saw a walk-in closet that was half empty. He clearly froze for a moment: “Baby, what are you doing?” I didn’t even lift my head: “Nothing, just throwing away some useless stuff.” Damien didn’t overthink it, just smiled and handed me the gift in his hand—a limited edition set of illustrated books. Last month, I had casually mentioned wanting to collect them; I hadn’t expected him to remember. “Baby,” he naturally pulled me into a hug, his large hand caressing my lower abdomen, “Is your morning sickness still severe? Tomorrow’s your prenatal check-up; I’ll go with you.” “No need.” I pulled away from his embrace. “No need anymore.” Damien finally sensed something was wrong: “What do you mean, no need? Are you feeling unwell lately?” A housekeeper chimed in: “Madam hasn’t had much appetite these past few days; she’s barely eaten anything.” Damien immediately loosened his tie: “I’ll go buy groceries and cook for you. All your favorites. Come on, eat a little, alright?” As he turned, he didn’t forget to instruct: “You all take good care of Madam. Make sure she doesn’t bump or bruise herself.” The housekeepers whispered enviously: “Mr. Sterling is so good to his wife…” “You should find a husband who’s older and knows how to dote on you…” I listened quietly, a flicker of self-mockery in my eyes. Once, I too believed I had found the best love in the world. But only now did I understand that it was nothing more than a meticulously planned stand-in game. No sooner had Damien left than the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and a woman stood there, holding an exquisite box of pastries. “Hello, I’m Isabelle, the Isabelle who sent you messages.” Isabelle smiled sweetly yet provocatively: “Damien has been taking such good care of me lately, so I made some pastries to thank him. A guest is a guest; you wouldn’t be unwelcoming, would you?” Without waiting for my answer, she simply walked in and began to look around. Passing by the garden, Isabelle paused: “These roses are my favorite kind. I can’t believe Damien still grows them.” My fingertips trembled. I remembered Damien personally tending to these flowers every morning, never letting anyone else touch them. I once thought it was his hobby, his personal touch. By the pond, several turtles basked lazily in the sun. “Oh, they’re still alive!” Isabelle exclaimed in surprise. “I raised these when I was little. I left them when I went abroad and thought they’d died long ago.” I thought of Damien, feeding these turtles religiously every day, and a suffocating tightness filled my chest. In the living room, Isabelle’s gaze swept over the display cabinet filled with dolls: “These are my most cherished collectibles.” She looked around again: “The furniture style is also my preferred Nordic minimalist design.” I followed behind her, each step feeling like I was walking on razor blades. This home, where I had lived for two years, suddenly felt alien. In the bedroom, Isabelle ran her fingers over the suits and ties in the wardrobe: “These were all gifts from me. I can’t believe he’s kept them so new.” I remembered myself ironing these clothes by hand every day, and my throat felt clogged. It turned out he never let me touch them, not because he was a germaphobe, but because these were all traces of Isabelle. Finally, Isabelle stopped in front of our wedding photo. “What a coincidence,” she tilted her head and laughed, “Damien and I used to talk about wanting three themes for our wedding photos: desert, ocean, and forest. I can’t believe you chose those three too.” My face instantly went pale. When we took our wedding photos, Damien insisted on these three themes. I thought he simply loved the romance of nature. “What are you doing here?” Damien’s voice suddenly came from the doorway. He strode in quickly, his face not looking pleased. Isabelle immediately put on a sweet smile: “I made some pastries, so I came to bring you some. Your lovely wife enthusiastically invited me in as a guest and even said she’d keep me for dinner.” Damien’s brow slightly relaxed. He turned to me: “This is Isabelle, my childhood neighbor. We’re like brother and sister. She was abroad before and just came back recently, so you haven’t met her.” I watched him silently. Childhood neighbor? Like brother and sister? He kept their relationship well hidden, didn’t he? Isabelle also played along: “Yes, Damien has always taken care of me since I was little. When I was a picky eater, he specially learned to cook for me. His braised pork ribs, steamed sea bass, and braised meatballs… they’re all my favorites.” My fingers dug into my palms. These were all Damien’s most frequently cooked dishes. I had naively thought it was because I liked them. I couldn’t force a smile, so I excused myself, claiming to feel unwell, and went upstairs. But not long after, Isabelle came knocking on the door, holding a bowl of a pregnancy tonic. “Damien brewed this for you; he asked me to bring it up.” She smiled innocently. “Drink it while it’s warm.” I took the bowl; the medicine had a pungent smell. “Oh, right…” Isabelle suddenly asked, “Are your baby’s names by any chance Asher for a boy and Lily for a girl? Those were the names Damien and I had picked out before.” My hand trembled, and the bowl of medicine almost spilled. Those two names were precisely what Damien had chosen when I first got pregnant. So, even our child was to be used by him to commemorate Isabelle? My heart suddenly twisted in a violent spasm, and before I could react— “Oh, no!” Isabelle suddenly “accidentally” knocked over the medicine bowl. The scalding liquid splashed onto my arm, instantly turning red and blistering. I gasped in pain, too preoccupied to acknowledge Isabelle’s apology, my face pale as I turned to go downstairs for ointment. But just as I passed the top of the stairs, I felt a sharp shove from behind. “Ah!” I tumbled down the stairs, landing heavily on the first-floor landing. Blood spread beneath me, staining the beige carpet crimson. The next second, Isabelle also tumbled down, seemingly after me. In the kitchen, Damien was about to open the fridge when he heard the commotion and rushed out. Seeing the scene, his pupils instantly contracted. “Isabelle!” He flew over, catching a stumbling Isabelle, anxiously checking her ankle, “Are you alright?” “I… I’m fine,” Isabelle said weakly, “Quick, check on Aurora…” Damien finally looked at me, lying in a pool of blood, but Isabelle suddenly “fainted” in his arms. “Isabelle!” His usually composed voice was now laced with urgency. He scooped Isabelle up, striding quickly out, not even sparing me another glance. I watched their retreating figures, my consciousness gradually blurring. In the last moment before darkness consumed me, I seemed to see the fridge door slightly ajar, revealing a corner of the box containing the “gift”… When I woke up again, the blinding white light made me squint uncomfortably. A doctor was examining me, and Damien stood by, his face grave. “How’s the baby?” he asked the doctor. The doctor looked up in surprise: “The baby? Miss Aurora’s baby was terminated long ago, wasn’t it?”
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