“Ms. Hazel Nelson, are you certain you want to serve as the test subject for this research project? I must warn you upfront that participating in this project has only one outcome—you will travel to any random time and space, disappearing from the modern world. The company executives still hope you’ll reconsider…” Before the staff member could finish, I cut him off: “No need to think about it. Disappearing is exactly what I want.” Only this way would my husband Timothy Roberts and son Laurence Roberts be unable to find me. The voice on the other end was clearly surprised, but maintained professional composure: “There’s one more thing I need to explain. After you disappear, everyone in this world except those who love you and those who hate you will forget you completely. Can you still accept this?” I thought to myself: “Who in this world still loves me? Those who hate me… maybe there are some.” I gave a self-mocking smile: “I can accept that.” The staff member said: “Very well, Ms. Nelson. The project will officially launch in ten days. We look forward to your arrival.” After hanging up, the tech company sent me an electronic liability waiver. This meant that even if I entered the time machine and died accidentally during the journey, the company wouldn’t bear any responsibility, and my family would have no right to pursue legal action—everything was voluntary on both sides. After a moment’s hesitation, I signed my name decisively. Once the project launched, Timothy, Laurence, and I would never meet again in life or death—exactly what I wanted. Lost in thought, I returned to the bedroom from the balcony, only to be swept up by Timothy and placed on the bed. His eyes burned with desire, and what would happen next was obvious. Nausea rose in my stomach. “I’m tired. I want to sleep early.” In ten years of marriage, I had never refused him once, but this time, ignoring his bewildered expression, I turned my back to him and lay down. He said: “Are you really angry? I admit I shouldn’t have skipped the movie with you over a little work issue. To make it up to you, I’ll have that brand you love most deliver their latest handbag collection to you tomorrow. Forgive me, okay?” His tone was gentle and pleading. I gave a perfunctory “mm-hmm.” “I knew you were easy to please.” His eyes were full of tenderness as he wrapped his arm around my waist and buried his head in the crook of my neck to sleep. He would never know that a woman’s willingness to be appeased is built on her love for the man. But now, he had long passed the point where he could “appease” me, far beyond the line where I could forgive him. Three nights ago, I groggily got up in the middle of the night to find my son Laurence—whom I had carried for ten months—holding a woman’s photograph, gazing at it with longing. The woman in the photo wasn’t me. Timothy looked on with satisfaction, praising: “You’ve really grown up, finally realizing how wonderful Lauren is.” Laurence said: “Dad, every time you tell me stories about you and Lauren, I feel so happy. Not like that woman who only nags me about studying—she’s so annoying!” The blood in my veins turned ice cold, and my heart clenched in pain. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I never would have believed that my well-behaved, sweet Laurence despised me so completely in private. Watching Timothy open a thick German book and Laurence carefully slip the photograph inside, I finally understood why this book was always placed on the highest shelf, and why Timothy and Laurence claimed to hate German. They had repeated it several times because they knew that anything they disliked, I would never touch. Using my love for them to hurt me—is this how my closest family punishes me? Tears streamed down my cheeks like broken pearls, yet I never found the courage to voice my questions. Only after Timothy and Laurence had fallen asleep did I gather the strength to examine that photograph carefully. The familiar spaghetti strap made my eyes widen instantly. Timothy’s friend’s words from our wedding day echoed endlessly in my ears: “More influential than a first love is a dead first love.” It turned out that meaningful remark was meant for me, and today it was proven true. Because the woman in the photograph was Timothy’s deceased first love—Lauren Lynch. A bitter smile crossed my lips as everything became clear. Lauren was the first love Timothy could never forget. This name permeated every corner of my life, omnipresent. My son was named Laurence, Timothy’s computer password was “Lauren,” and even our wedding rings were engraved with the name Lauren. I had always thought this reflected Timothy’s deep love for our son, his cherishing of our love’s fruit. I had once felt sweet about it. Turns out everything he did was to commemorate his first love. My so-called sweetness was nothing but a complete joke. Before meeting Timothy, I had already heard about his story with his first love. Given my personality, I wouldn’t pursue a man whose heart belonged to someone else. Not until Lauren died in a car accident. I was promoted to department manager after landing a major deal, and under my boss’s guidance, I participated in numerous business collaborations, including with Roberts Group. Through our interactions, Timothy and I became acquainted. He officially began pursuing me after Christmas. Besides jewelry and accessories that women love, he also used business contracts to win my favor. Any collaboration that went through me, he would sign without even looking. To make him back down, I imposed many harsh conditions, all of which he agreed to. Projects that should have been highly profitable became losses, and he nearly got kicked out by his parents. I pretended not to know about his difficult situation. He remained gentle and soft-spoken as always, never speaking harshly to me, never showing impatience, indulging my reckless behavior in business dealings, which led to my rapid promotion from manager to company vice president in just a few months, my status rising dramatically. Discovering my reservations about him, he even declared in a public interview that he would marry no one but me. Countless netizens cheered for our love story, and I had no choice but to give a definitive answer—I rejected Timothy. He couldn’t believe I was so resolute and insisted on knowing why. I said, “Your previous relationship was too passionate and dramatic. I don’t want my future husband to forever hold a place in his heart for his first love.” Timothy said, “I can’t deny the facts of the past, but I can guarantee, Hazel, that you will be the only true love of my life.” I asked, “Can you really forget her?” He said, “Yes! For you, I can do anything.” He made such sincere and passionate vows countless times. What truly moved me was an accident. That day, we attended a jewelry gala together. To secure a partnership with the Riffins couple, I brought the only memento my parents had left me—a hairpin adorned with a rare ruby. Due to the makeup artist’s improper placement, the hairpin fell from mid-air just as Timothy and I got out of the car and walked toward the venue. By the time I noticed and turned back to look for it, it was too late. A luxury car following closely behind was about to crush the hairpin. In that moment, I could almost hear the sound of the gemstone shattering. At the critical moment, Timothy threw himself forward without hesitation and saved the hairpin. But he didn’t escape unscathed. Three of his ribs were fractured, and his arm was bleeding profusely, the wound so deep you could see bone. As he was being loaded into the ambulance, he specifically asked his personal assistant Alex Brewer to stay behind and help me complete the partnership deal. He was even worried that his parents would develop deeper prejudices against me because of this, so he went through the surgery and stitching all alone. I actually believed he could forget his first love. Under the dim glow of the night light, I could still clearly see that scar running across his arm. Ten years had passed, yet that wound hadn’t faded in the slightest. And my heart had long since died. After tonight, there would be nine more days. Once I left, they could continue living with Lauren’s photograph. I believed this would be a result everyone could accept. In the morning, Timothy got up and tucked the covers around me, habitually giving me a gentle kiss on the forehead. Laurence ran over and mimicked Timothy’s actions, then was promptly urged by him to go to school. “Laurence, you’re going to be late again!” Timothy stood at the doorway, looking at us with helpless yet doting eyes. Such ordinary, warm daily routines played out every day. I used to think this was the happiest life possible. But now, I only found it ironic. I thought that after making my decision, I could face them with complete composure, but I ultimately overestimated my control over my emotions. Especially when the name Laurence came from Timothy’s mouth again and again, I felt as if I were being pierced by countless arrows, the pain making it impossible to breathe. In the bathroom, I threw away the toothpaste Timothy squeezed out for me every day into the trash can. Just as I was about to turn and leave, I was drawn by some commotion in the living room and walked out. The room was empty except for a pile of luxury handbags scattered across the living room. Unfortunately, I had no desire whatsoever to open this roomful of “apology gifts” he had presumptively sent over. As I turned to leave, I saw a note on the table. [I wasn’t able to go to the movies with you before. I’ll clear my afternoon schedule to spend time with you. Hazel, wait for me to finish up, and I’ll come pick you up at the company.] For these final days, let’s leave each other with some dignity. I had no intention of refusing, but since I was about to leave anyway, why bother continuing this charade with them? I called Timothy. “You don’t need to pick me up at the company. I finished my resignation paperwork yesterday. Just come home to get me.” He was momentarily stunned, then his voice clearly brightened with joy. “After all this time, you’ve finally decided to quit. You don’t know how happy I am every day when I come home from work and see you. From now on, I can keep you by my side every day.” I let out a soft laugh, tinged with sarcasm. Then cherish your so-called happiness. Because starting today, I’ll be waiting for you to come home every night. After all, you only have a few days left in your life to experience this “happiness.” That afternoon, he came back to pick me up. Our first stop was the movie theater, to make up for the film we hadn’t been able to see together. I had expected this, but I hadn’t anticipated how interesting the movie’s content would be. The male protagonist in the film was emotionally unfaithful, unable to forget his former lover, wavering between two women. I stared masochistically at the screen, not missing a single frame. As the plot progressed, Timothy’s expression grew increasingly cold. “How did Alex choose this movie? He can’t even handle such a simple task!” “Really? I think it’s quite good.” I smiled faintly and turned to ask him, “If you were the male lead, who would you choose in the end?” Timothy froze for a moment. I continued, “Would you choose the passionate, enchanting former lover, beautiful as a rose, or the wife who has been by your side for years?” He smiled then, his eyes full of affection. “I’m not the male lead, so I can’t make his choice for him. But Hazel, you know that without you, I couldn’t survive. No matter who you’re compared to, you’re my only answer.” He indeed wasn’t the male lead. Compared to the protagonist in the film who deceived his wife while entangling himself with his first love, Timothy, this liar, was far more sophisticated in his methods. I said, “Really? But from what I know about you, you seem to prefer that alluring, blooming rose.” I wore a faint smile, as if it were just a casual remark, yet it made Timothy squirm uncomfortably. After the movie ended, he hurriedly pulled me away, trying to cheer me up with thrilling activities at an amusement park. We rode the roller coaster and the drop tower, not missing a single ride. I used to genuinely enjoy these things. But honestly, he was terribly afraid of heights. The day he proposed to me years ago was at an amusement park. I had jokingly said, “Want me to say yes to your proposal? Ride the roller coaster with me first.” It was just a casual joke, but he took it seriously. After that four-minute roller coaster ride, he threw up for a full half hour. That was the only time he ever rode it with me. Memories came flooding back, making my eyes well up with tears, nearly making me cry again. I said, “Are you really willing to…” “Ride it with me one more time?” Before I could finish the second half of my sentence, his phone rang and interrupted me. I’d never been on a roller coaster, but I found myself in a taxi instead. Timothy took a phone call and hurried off, leaving me standing there alone. This was the first time something like this had ever happened. I told the driver to follow his car at a distance. The route became increasingly familiar, and eventually the car stopped at the entrance to our residential community. A security guard was blocking a mother and daughter from entering. The guard said, “This is an upscale community. I know all the homeowners’ parents. You two are trying to impersonate family members, but you’ve come to the wrong place!” The mother and daughter refused to back down. Just as the guard was at his wit’s end, Timothy walked over, and the guard finally breathed a sigh of relief, greeting him with a smile. But Timothy walked straight toward the mother and daughter, his eyes full of concern: “Camila, Grace.” They turned around, and I recognized them immediately—Camila Lynch and Grace Lynch, the mother and sister of Timothy’s beloved first love, Lauren. It wasn’t for any other reason than that the young girl bore a face seventy percent similar to Lauren’s. Before I could think further, she had already sweetly linked her arm through Timothy’s: “Timothy, if you hadn’t come, that security guard would have bullied us terribly!” “It’s okay, don’t be afraid. I’m here now, aren’t I?” His tone was gentle, full of indulgence. Facing that face, he couldn’t bring himself to say a single harsh word: “How did you two get here?” Camila let out a heavy sigh: “It’s all Lauren’s father’s fault. He took all the money you gave us and gambled it away again—a whole million dollars! He lost every penny! What are we going to do next month?” Grace shivered at just the right moment, making Timothy’s heart ache. He said, “Don’t worry about the money. Let’s go inside and talk. Grace, you’re shivering from the cold.” Grace said, “I like you the most! You care about me the most!” She smiled like a blooming flower, momentarily captivating Timothy. At that moment, his mind was probably filled entirely with thoughts of his first love. I watched helplessly as Timothy led them through our front door. I figured I’d be getting a text from him soon. Sure enough, my phone buzzed shortly after. [Hazel, I have some urgent business to handle, so I can’t spend time with you right now. But I’ve already sent Alex over—he’ll show you a good time.] Your urgent business is entertaining Lauren’s family while having Alex distract me so I can’t come home? I forced down the pain in my heart. The moment my phone screen went black, it reflected my pale face. I could no longer deceive myself. From the moment he saw them, from the moment he gazed at that face seventy percent similar to Lauren’s and fell into reminiscence, from the moment I realized he’d been secretly supporting Lauren’s family all these years—it had all been a slow, silent torture. After our marriage, Timothy voluntarily handed over management of our household finances to me. I knew every expense. But every month, a million dollars would mysteriously disappear. When I asked about it, he would gently wrap his arms around my waist from behind, looking aggrieved: “Those friends of mine have been picking on me. They’re jealous of my happy family, so they always make me pick up the tab.” The places this group frequented were expensive, so spending a million dollars a month seemed reasonable enough. But why was Timothy always the one paying? Did they think my husband was a pushover? I was indignant at the time and gave them a piece of my mind that very night, standing up for Timothy. But that million-dollar monthly expense continued. I began to suspect, but one sentence from him put my guard down again: “It’s fine, Hazel. Every million dollars we spend each month, I’ll earn back in business.” I thought men’s affairs should be left for them to handle. So I marked that million dollars as a fixed monthly expense, and it continued for ten whole years. How ridiculous—our marital assets had been supporting his dead first love’s family all along. Sharp pain shot through my palm. I unclenched my tightly gripped fist to find my palm covered in bloody marks. But no matter how much it hurt, it couldn’t compare to even one ten-thousandth of the tearing pain in my heart.
Timothy called me: “Hazel, where are you? Alex is already at the amusement park but couldn’t find you.” I said while walking upstairs, “It was too cold outside, so I came home first.” “You went home?” His voice carried tension and panic. “Yeah, I’m already at the front door,” I said. As I fumbled for my keys to unlock the door, I heard Laurence’s anxious voice from inside: “What should we do? What if Mom kicks them out? Grace looks so much like Lauren—I don’t want her to leave!” Timothy’s voice came softly, trying to comfort him: “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to make them stay.” The moment I pushed open the door, Laurence immediately put on his well-behaved act, taking my bag from my hands and running off to put it away. Timothy personally helped me change into slippers: “Hazel, we have relatives visiting. I’ll introduce you to them in a bit.” “So mysterious? Even I haven’t met them?” I forced a smile, maintaining basic courtesy. But Laurence seemed afraid I’d get suspicious and quickly ran over to take my hand: “They’re Dad’s distant relatives! Mom, you know Dad’s family is huge—it’s totally normal that you haven’t met them.” With that, he led me into the living room, where I immediately saw a mother and daughter. They sat there with the air of hosts, their gazes fixed directly on me with wariness and defiance, only quickly restraining themselves when Timothy looked their way. I glanced at Timothy, and he seized the opportunity to introduce them according to his pre-rehearsed story: “This is my aunt Camila, and next to her is her daughter Grace. They’ve been back in the country for a while now, and they specially made time to visit us.” Camila kept smiling—a smile that, to the uninformed, might seem genuine: “Yes, seeing how loving you two are as a couple puts my mind at ease!” Then she pretended to check the time: “It’s getting late. Grace, we shouldn’t disturb their rest any longer.” Just as she was about to get up and leave, Timothy and Laurence exchanged glances, and Laurence suddenly rushed over to hug Grace’s thigh: “Mom, I really like Grace the moment I saw her. Please let her stay!” Timothy and Laurence took turns speaking, clearly having already made the decision for me. Grace stayed, supposedly because she couldn’t bear to leave Laurence. But honestly, was it really my son she couldn’t bear to leave? That evening, Grace sat on the sofa in revealing clothes, playing happily with Laurence while occasionally glancing at Timothy. The fabric on her legs kept sliding down with her deliberate movements—I could even clearly see her underwear. Timothy noticed her behavior too. With just one look, the nanny understood and took Laurence upstairs. Before leaving, Laurence was still worried about Timothy and the woman who was seducing his father. He said: “Dad, Mom’s definitely asleep by now. You better seize this opportunity!” Only after Laurence’s figure disappeared at the top of the stairs did Timothy begin scolding Grace: “Lauren would never do something so degrading, let alone seduce a married man. As her sister…” “Timothy, do you think I’m cheap? But I’m clearly trying to protect Lauren’s man for her.” Grace’s slender fingers gently traced across Timothy’s chest, her gaze seductive. She said: “Why don’t you just pretend I’m Lauren? Looking at this face, don’t you want to do something to me?” One moment, Timothy was speaking with righteous conviction and unwavering determination. The next, he easily crossed his final moral boundary because of a face that bore a seventy percent resemblance to his first love. In the room separated from my bedroom by only a wall, their intimate sounds drifted over intermittently, amplified endlessly in my ears. My stomach immediately churned violently. I rushed to the bathroom, where physical discomfort mixed with psychological revulsion. I hunched over the toilet, dry heaving with reddened eyes. When I stood up, dizziness overwhelmed me, and I stumbled, knocking over an uncapped bottle of spaghetti sauce that scattered across the floor. This happened to interrupt their passionate encounter. The sultry moaning stopped abruptly. “What was that noise?” Timothy seemed to remember something and suddenly grew tense. “Hazel?” Footsteps approached, hurried and panicked. “Hazel?” He ran over barefoot and, seeing the glass shards scattered everywhere, immediately pulled me into his arms. “How could you be so careless? Are you hurt?” When I didn’t respond, he anxiously examined me from head to toe. A small cut on my hand made him extremely nervous. “You’re bleeding?” I had been desperately suppressing my inner anguish, but a tear still silently fell onto the back of his hand. As if burned, he immediately looked up at me, anxious and heartbroken. “Hazel, don’t cry! I’ll get the first aid kit right now.” He didn’t know that no medicine could heal the wound in my heart. Taking advantage of Timothy’s absence, Grace walked in with a smile, the lingering flush on her face stinging my eyes. She slowly crouched down in front of me, brazenly asserting her dominance right in front of me, his wife. “You’ve known who I am all along, haven’t you? Then you should also understand that Timothy was always mine. If Lauren hadn’t died when I was still young, how could Timothy have married you? So you’d better behave yourself and stop trying to get his attention.” My long-suppressed grievances completely spiraled out of control after hearing these words, and I demanded, “What gives you the right to warn me? Just because of that face?” As soon as the words left my mouth, a flash of shock and resentment crossed her face, and her gaze became aggressive, as if I were the one destroying someone else’s family. She shouted, “That’s enough!” Before I could react, I watched helplessly as she picked up a glass shard from the floor and unhesitatingly slashed it toward her face, followed by a piercing scream. “Don’t cut my face! Please! Don’t cut my face!” Hearing the commotion, Timothy rushed in and went straight to Grace. She cried pitifully. “Timothy, what should I do? Am I going to be disfigured?” Timothy’s eyes were full of heartache, and without asking for any explanation, he scolded me: “When did you become so vicious?”
I said, “What if I told you I didn’t do it? Would you believe me?” Timothy replied, “What woman would mess with her own face as a joke? If you didn’t do it, did she hurt herself?” His tone—both questioning and accusatory—left me speechless for a moment. I wanted to say “check the security footage,” but in the end, I kept quiet. The man who once promised he’d always trust me gave me a cold look, picked up Grace, and left with the first aid kit. Turns out his “always” had an expiration date too. I watched them walk away, then slowly turned my gaze to the calendar on the corner of the table. Three more days. During this tense period between Timothy and me, it seemed like the lady of the house had been replaced. Laurence and Timothy acted like I didn’t exist, while Grace laughed happily around the father and son. Only I felt like an outsider. It wasn’t until the evening of the second day that Timothy reluctantly took my hand: “Hazel, this whole thing was your fault to begin with. Just apologize to Grace and we can put this behind us, okay?” “You’re awfully eager for me to apologize. That doesn’t seem like typical concern from a cousin to his cousin,” I said flatly. Timothy’s expression clearly stiffened: “Hazel, don’t let your imagination run wild. She’s finally visiting our home, and now her face is injured. If Camila finds out, it’ll disrupt family harmony.” “Disrupt harmony?” I thought to myself. What you’re really worried about is whether that face—so similar to your first love—will be scarred. Ever since Grace’s face was injured, she’d been deliberately making excuses not to get treatment, saying that since I couldn’t stand looking at her face, she simply wouldn’t bother treating it. She was obviously trying to disgust me and force me to apologize. Timothy must have seen through this too, which is why he had no choice but to come to me today. He said, “Hazel, just go apologize to Grace.” I said, “Okay.” He seemed surprised that I’d agreed so easily and was momentarily stunned. A flicker of inexplicable unease crossed his mind, but it quickly disappeared, as if it had never been there. He immediately returned to his usual intimacy: “That’s wonderful, Hazel. Don’t fight with us anymore, okay? You have no idea how upset we’ve been these past two days when you wouldn’t talk to us or acknowledge us. Laurence cried twice, and I’ve been miserable too.” Timothy looked up at me, as if afraid something might affect my mood. I said, “You know I’m a germaphobe—both physically and emotionally. Once something gets dirty, I won’t want it anymore.” His expression grew tense, showing a panic I’d never seen before, and he immediately held me tight: “That won’t happen, Hazel. Don’t abandon Laurence and me. We can’t live without you.” I smiled, my tone gentle but my eyes completely cold: “Of course I know that. You’re not that kind of person. You wouldn’t have feelings for someone else, and you’d never cheat. Laurence would never accept another woman as his mother either.” As soon as I finished speaking, Timothy’s arms around me began to tremble slightly. He tightened his embrace and said with reluctance yet determination: “Let’s have Grace go home tomorrow. I still hope our family of three won’t be disturbed by outsiders.” I said: “Alright, then come home early. We’ll have dinner together—I’ll wait at home for you and Laurence.” I agreed so readily because tomorrow was the day I would leave. That dinner would be the last meal the three of us would share together. On the morning of my departure, Laurence hugged me reluctantly: “Mom, see you tonight. I’ll think about you every moment at school.” I nodded expressionlessly and quietly slipped a severance agreement into his backpack. He asked curiously: “Mom, what did you put in my bag?” I said: “A gift for you.” He asked: “Does Dad have one too?” I said: “Of course.” After Laurence left, I quietly placed a divorce agreement on Timothy’s study desk. At noon, I began thoroughly removing all traces of myself from the house: jewelry, clothes, hats, photos, paintings, even the fresh flowers I had arranged in the living room. Everything that belonged to me was packed up and sent to a disposal center. What I needed to do was completely disappear from their lives. After finishing all this, I spent the entire afternoon until evening preparing our final dinner together. However, when the appointed time came, neither of them returned home. I made three phone calls, and Grace finally answered: “Are you annoying or what? Timothy came with me to the cemetery to visit Lauren, and he won’t be coming home tonight. If you want to wait, wait until dawn.” I asked: “What about Laurence? He…” She said: “He’s here too, of course.” The call ended, and my arm slowly dropped. The appetizing dishes on the table now seemed glaringly irritating, so I dumped them all into the trash can. The only brightness was extinguished. Looking around, the entire room was left with only black and white, and within this cold palette, traces of the laughter I once shared with Timothy and Laurence still lingered. Before I knew it, tears blurred my vision, only to be silently wiped away. The clock struck eight with a soft “tick”—this was my final deadline to leave. The tech specialist sent a message: [Ms. Nelson, time’s up. You still have a chance to change your mind.] I replied: [No, I’m ready.] Then I sent Timothy one final message: [I’m leaving. We’ll never see each other again.] I decisively snapped my phone card in half, turned around without a trace of nostalgia, my eyes filled only with resolve. The car carried me toward Sunrise Technology and toward an unknown future. Since they chose to miss this final chance to see me, there would be no more chances. Because from now on, I would no longer be Timothy’s wife, nor would I be Laurence’s mother. I would simply be Hazel—the one who had completely disappeared. From this day forward, no one would ever be able to find my trace again.
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