Before the divorce, I wrote fairy tales. After the divorce, I exiled myself to Detroit and became a bestselling horror novelist. My readers asked why my style changed so drastically. I told them, “Before you die, you have to get a little wild.” The basement of this villa was my forbidden zone. Until the agent brought in a new tenant, Ethan Hayes, my ex-husband, whom I hadn’t seen in four years. He still had that cop’s sharp gaze, steady and stern, but beside him was a five-year-old boy whose eyes were exactly like his. We had only been divorced for four years. He handed me a handkerchief to wipe my coffee-scalded hand. “Elara Vance, there is no need to hold onto the past.” I clutched the handkerchief, remembering that rainy night four years ago, when he pushed the divorce papers toward me and said, “I betrayed you.” Now I finally saw the proof of that “betrayal.” Before turning to go back to the basement, I tossed out a line. “I just don’t want to get too involved with a married man.” As I brushed past him, he suddenly grabbed my wrist. A small packet of white powder fell from my pocket. He picked it up, his eyes instantly turning sharp. “What is this?” I snatched the powder back, looking up at him. “None of your business.” “Elara Vance, don’t tell me you have fallen that low.” He pinned me against the wall, bloodshot eyes staring into mine. I pushed him away with all my strength. “On the day we divorced, you said my affairs would no longer concern you.” Closing the door, I collapsed onto the table, trembling with pain. That packet of powder was morphine. The doctor said the blood vessel in my brain was pressing on a nerve, making surgery impossible. I could die at any moment.
Elara Vance POV Before the divorce, I was an unknown fairy tale author. After the divorce, I exiled myself to Detroit, one of America’s grittier cities, and became a bestselling horror novelist. All my readers thought I had been traumatized by the divorce, which was why my writing style had transformed into something with a violent aesthetic. Responding to the buzz on the forums, I quoted a line from one of my characters. “Before you die, you have to get a little wild.” … In the basement, lit only by a desk lamp, the glow from the computer screen reflected on my pale face. I lit a cigarette, my red nails making my hands look even paler. “Nightbloom: Alright, usual rules. Ten lucky readers picked yesterday can ask anything.” My message instantly made the fan group explode. “Piggle_Rider: I’m first. Will the heroine in the next chapter escape the loop? My heart can’t take it.” I blew out a smoke ring, typing with one hand. “Nightbloom: Depends on my mood.” As the message went out, questions about my current serialized suspense horror novel scrolled non-stop. “RiverFlows: Actually, I wanted to ask, why did you get divorced back then? I heard you and your ex-husband had a great relationship.” At this question, the lively chat went silent, as if everyone was waiting for my answer. My tongue lightly traced my teeth as I carefully formulated a reply. “Nightbloom: Our relationship broke down.” From that question on, the next few people became curious about my private life. “November_Moon: How long did you and your ex-husband know each other before you started dating?” “Nightbloom: He lived upstairs from me. We’ve known each other since childhood.” “TinyGrain: What’s your ex-husband like, and what does he do? If I became your ideal lover, would there be a way to trick you into giving me your unpublished works?!” Seeing these intrusive questions, I frowned, tapping my fingers lightly on the table, my interest fading. Suddenly, my phone rang. I flicked the ash off my cigarette and answered. “Ms. Vance, this is Mr. White, your agent. The tenant for the viewing is here. We’ll be there soon.” “Got it.” I hung up, gave a perfunctory answer to the remaining questions, then shut down my computer. I stubbed out the cigarette and went upstairs. Pushing open the basement door, the dazzling sunlight made me instinctively squint. The two-story, sun-drenched villa was a stark contrast to the gloomy basement. December in Detroit was especially cold. The ruined streets were covered in snow, burying sin and decay beneath. After opening the front door, I started making myself coffee. Amidst the hum of the coffee machine, a black car pulled up outside the villa. A moment later, two men walked in. “Sir, this is the house you wanted to see. The owner is also here.” Hearing Mr. White’s voice, I turned around. When my gaze landed on the man beside Mr. White, my pupils constricted. How could it be Ethan Hayes? My ex-husband of four years. He wore a black overcoat, his figure still tall and lean, but his handsome face no longer held the youthful confidence and tenderness I remembered. It was replaced instead by a somber maturity. A burning sensation on the back of my hand almost made me drop the mug. I frowned, setting down the full coffee cup. As I reached for a napkin, Ethan handed me a handkerchief. “Are you alright?” His voice was still that cool, alluring tone that could captivate any woman. I hesitated, then took it. “Thanks.” Mr. White noticed our familiarity. “Excuse me, you two know each other?” I looked at the man’s impassive eyes, my throat feeling a little dry. “Old friend.” Ethan’s gaze deepened. He turned to Mr. White and said, “No need to look any further. This is it.” My expression remained neutral. I knew Ethan was stubborn. He wouldn’t easily change his mind once he’d decided something, so I only stated one condition. “I only have one rule: the basement is my private space. You can’t go there.” Ethan nodded readily. “Alright.” Mr. White was surprised by how smoothly the deal went, but also happy to have closed a sale. “I’ll go get the lease agreement.” In the spacious living room, it was so quiet you could hear the wind outside. Ethan looked at me, calmly sipping my coffee, his eyes deepening. I had my long hair loosely tied up with a pencil, a black dress clinging to me, my amber eyes shadowed with a somber, gloomy aura. He asked, “What are you doing here?” I also asked, “What are *you* doing here?” Our simultaneous questions created an awkward silence. I pursed my lips. “The chaos and violence here… it suits my writing.” As I spoke, a hint of teasing entered my voice. “What about you? Don’t tell me you, a cop, came here to catch a fugitive.” Ethan’s expression shifted slightly. Just as he was about to reply, a five-year-old boy ran in. The boy hugged his leg, his round, bright eyes full of excitement. “Dad, is this where we’re going to live now?”
Elara Vance POV I felt like no plot twist I’d ever conceived for a novel could be as heart-stopping as this moment. The little boy in front of me had eyes exactly like Ethan’s, making it impossible for me to even pretend otherwise. Ethan looked at the boy, his gaze softening. “Yes.” “Then who is this pretty lady?” He hesitated for a moment before answering the child’s question. “This is Ms. Vance.” “Hello, Ms. Vance!” Hearing the boy’s clear, chirpy voice, I could only manage a strained smile. Ethan ruffled the boy’s hair, calmly explaining, “His name is Leo. He just turned five. He’s not very well, so I brought him here for treatment.” Just as he finished speaking, Mr. White came in with the contract. “If everything looks good, you can sign. For now, it’s a short-term lease for one month. If you have any issues later, feel free to call me.” After the contract was signed, Mr. White left, and Leo eagerly went to explore upstairs. The aroma of coffee filled the air, but the atmosphere in the living room was heavy. Finally, I broke the silence. “We’ve only been divorced for four years, but your child is five.” My tone was tinged with bitterness, sounding like an accusation, or perhaps a lament for myself. Ethan’s throat worked. “I told you when we divorced, I betrayed you.” Just like before, his answer was direct and unreserved. My hand, holding the coffee cup, trembled. Emotions that had lain dormant for years surged forth again. I thought I had moved on, but unexpectedly, my heart still ached with the same numbness as it had four years ago. I took a deep breath, turning my head so he wouldn’t see my eyes welling up. “You didn’t just betray me, you betrayed yourself.” With that, I turned and went back to the basement. Closing the door, I sank to the floor, feeling drained. As I closed my eyes, memories flashed through my mind. Warm sunlight, a bright study. I had just finished typing the end of a fairy tale when Ethan, home from work, gently hugged me from behind. “How was today’s story?” “The princess and prince lived happily ever after!” I snuggled contentedly in his arms, my eyes shining as I smiled. “I want our future children to read my fairy tales and grow up in our love.” But opening my eyes again, the endless darkness pulled me back to that night four years ago. Torrential rain, cold, untouched dinner. Ethan sat on the sofa, smoking, while I stared blankly at the divorce papers on the table. He said, “I’m sorry, I betrayed you.” That night, the gentle me turned into a madwoman. No matter how hysterically I pleaded and cried, Ethan remained unmoved. It wasn’t until dawn, my tears dried and my voice hoarse from crying, that I finally signed the ‘wife’s signature’ line. The memories were now rusted, crumbling into fragments with the slightest touch. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat, got up, and sat in front of my computer. I lit a cigarette, put it to my lips, and started typing. But after less than two lines, I felt a headache coming on. I collapsed onto the table, falling into a drowsy sleep. I don’t know how much time passed until I was startled awake by a knock at the door. I checked the time. It was already 7:30 PM. I got up to open the door. It was Ethan. He had changed into a gray turtleneck sweater, sleeves rolled up to reveal the distinct veins on his forearms. An apron tied around his waist made his shoulders seem broader and his waist narrower. “I made dinner. Let’s eat together.” Hearing Ethan, I looked towards the dining room. The table was set with dishes I hadn’t seen in ages, steaming hot. Leo was sitting obediently at the table, eating. My eyes darkened. “I remember you couldn’t cook.” Ethan pursed his lips, his voice a little lower. “Leo’s mom couldn’t cook, so I had to learn.” His words felt like needles pricking my heart. We had grown up together, and even after we married, Ethan had never cooked for me once. But I never felt wronged back then. He was a cop, always swamped with work. It was good enough that he even had time to eat. For a moment, I couldn’t tell if I felt more anger or more sorrow. I forced a bitter smile. “That’s nice. She’s luckier than your ex-wife.” With that, I started to close the door. “Thanks, but I’m used to takeout. Someone will deliver my meal soon.” Just as I finished speaking, the doorbell rang. “Hello, pizza!” I opened the door, took the takeout, paid the tip, and prepared to go back to the basement. But Ethan called out to me. “Elara, you don’t need to hold onto the past.” Listening to his somewhat helpless tone, my palm involuntarily trembled. “I just don’t want to get too involved with a married man.” Ethan was speechless, a flicker of struggle passing through his deep eyes. As I brushed past him, he grabbed my hand. “Wait!” Caught off guard, I stumbled. A packet of white powder fell from my pocket.
Elara Vance POV Time seemed to freeze at that moment. A flicker of panic crossed my eyes. I reached down to pick it up immediately, but Ethan was faster. He held the white powder, his gaze on me filled with a brewing storm. “What is this?” My face was grim. I reached out and snatched it back. “None of your business.” With that, I turned to leave. But the next second, his tall frame pressed against me, pinning me against the wall. “Elara Vance, don’t tell me you’ve fallen that low.” Ethan stared at me, his bloodshot eyes radiating a sharp chill. At such close proximity, I could see my own reflection in his eyes. I looked as disheveled as I had on the day of our divorce four years ago. I pushed Ethan away forcefully. “Don’t forget, on the day we divorced, you said my affairs would no longer concern you.” Throwing out that last sentence, I hurried down to the basement, slamming the door shut. Back in the basement, even the familiar dimness couldn’t alleviate my discomfort. My head throbbed harder and harder, the nerves in my brain twisting like red-hot knives. I sat down at my computer, dumped all the powder into my mouth, then pulled out my phone and dialed a number. After a few rings, a clear male voice answered. “Ms. Vance, what’s wrong?” My face was white as I rubbed my head. “Dr. Derek, my headache is getting worse.” Dr. Derek sighed. “Since you fainted four years ago and came for treatment, I told you the blood vessel was pressing on your brainstem, and surgery isn’t possible.” “I can only prescribe morphine powder for the pain, but given your current condition, you’re likely in life-threatening danger at any moment…” Hearing this, a pang of pain flashed in my eyes. I said “got it” and hung up. I slumped onto the table, letting the sorrow consume me. I wondered if fate just couldn’t bear to see me happy: first, my parents died young, then my marriage shattered, and finally, I was struck with a terminal illness… Thinking about it, I gave a bitter laugh. If life were a novel, my plot truly sucked. Night deepened. As before, I drifted into a heavy sleep, only to be woken by pain. This cycle repeated until dawn. I woke up at 8 AM. The pizza on the table was stone cold. I rubbed my head, and dragging my exhausted body, I washed up and walked out of the basement. Before my eyes could adjust to the light, I smelled the familiar aroma of breakfast. Ethan stood in front of the counter, which barely reached his hip, deftly flipping a fried egg in a pan with one hand. Our eyes met. After a moment of surprise, I remembered Ethan had become my tenant yesterday. I said nothing, making myself coffee as usual. In the morning stillness of the house, we were both busy with our own things. But I noticed many storybooks on the table. Looking closer, they were all fairy tales I had written years ago. “Leo really likes those books. He insisted on bringing them.” Ethan paused, his voice deepening. “He keeps asking me when you’ll write new stories.” I didn’t answer immediately, just stared intently. Each book cover had the publisher’s “NO.1” mark. I had intended these to be gifts for my and Ethan’s future children. But our story wasn’t a fairy tale. The gifts I’d meant for *our* children, he had ultimately given to his child with someone else. I took a sip of the bitter coffee. “I won’t be writing them anymore. Fairy tales are all lies.” Ethan understood my hidden meaning but said nothing more. Suddenly, a loud bang from outside made the window frames rattle. Almost instantly, Ethan pulled me into a corner, shielding me tightly. His heartbeat was close, and his distinct minty scent made me momentarily disoriented. But as I regained my composure, I immediately pushed him away. “This is Detroit. Such disturbances are common.” The alertness in Ethan’s eyes faded, replaced by a questioning look. “Why did you choose to come to this chaotic city?” I couldn’t answer. My throat felt tight. “I just wanted a change of environment.” Ethan pressed, “Then what was that packet of powder that fell out yesterday?” Our eyes met. Seeing him in full interrogation mode, I gave a self-deprecating laugh. I pulled out a cigarette, expertly lighting it. “You know, great works always require some forbidden methods for inspiration.” The wine-scented smoke blurred the distance between us. Ethan frowned, his gaze turning sharp. “If I ever get the chance, I’ll arrest you myself.” After delivering that flat warning, he carried Leo’s breakfast upstairs. Listening to his footsteps fading, I looked at the table full of brightly illustrated fairy tales, my eyes welling up. Don’t worry, Ethan. Neither I, nor the past, can ever go back.
Elara Vance POV Muffled thunder rolled through the dark clouds, and the basement felt cold and damp. I’d been writing for two straight days and finally decided to stop and rest. Rubbing my throbbing head, I walked out, intending to make myself a cup of coffee to wake up, only to find a sticky note on the coffee machine. “I have an urgent errand. Could you please look after Leo for me?” The handwriting was sharp, just like Ethan. Beside the coffee machine was a pre-made sandwich. I frowned, glancing at Leo playing with toys in the living room, and casually tossed the note into the trash. Why did Ethan think I’d look after his child with another woman? After finishing my coffee, I was about to go back for a nap when Leo suddenly ran over, pulling my hand to sit on the sofa. “Ms. Vance, play with me!” The soft, warm touch on my palm made me stiffen. Before I could react, the child added, “Your hands are as pretty as Mom’s.” Hearing him mention that woman I’d never met, I felt uncomfortable, yet couldn’t help but probe into Ethan’s other marriage. “Does your dad… love your mom very much?” Leo nodded, his eyes sparkling. “Dad loves Mom the most!” “I’ll tell you a secret: once, when Mom was sick, I saw Dad cry. He said big boys don’t cry, but he cried even uglier than I do when I get a shot.” “And then…” The child chattered on, and as he spoke, my mind conjured images of Ethan and a gentle, beautiful woman sharing a happy life in what used to be *our* home. It was almost subconscious, but my previously agitated heart found a sliver of comfort. Yet, when I came back to my senses, I felt only sorrow and absurdity. I was so deeply in love with a man that I could overlook his betrayal and still feel comforted by his stable, happy life… Leo soon got tired and fell asleep right on the rug. I looked at his innocent sleeping face, sighed deeply, and covered him with a blanket. Night deepened. It was already 11:30 PM. After sending the draft I’d finished to my publisher’s editor, I dragged my tired body upstairs. The living room was quiet, lit by the dim light of a floor lamp. As I reached the kitchen counter, I felt a nerve in my brain suddenly twitch violently, and I collapsed to the floor. My face went ashen, and I instinctively pounded my throbbing head. But the next second, a pair of strong hands lifted me, and the familiar minty scent brought a moment of clarity. “Are you alright?” His voice seemed to vibrate from his chest, a slight tremor that left me momentarily disoriented. When I regained my senses, I realized Ethan had placed me on the sofa. The faint night light illuminated his deep eyes and the subtle worry within them. But Leo’s words, “Dad loves Mom the most,” echoed in my ears. My heart tightened, and I immediately pulled away. “Thanks…” Facing my distance, Ethan’s gaze darkened. “Do you always have to be so strong?” Hearing that, I smiled bitterly to myself. If I hadn’t been strong, the four years of agonizing illness, the pain of being abandoned and betrayed by my loved one, would have crushed me long ago. But I was too tired to argue, so I changed the subject. “How long will Leo’s treatment take?” Ethan got up and poured me a cup of hot water. “If all goes well, a month.” He paused, then asked, “What about you? How long do you plan to stay here?” I suppressed the stabbing pain in my head. “…I don’t know. Maybe once I finish this novel, I’ll move somewhere else.” Suddenly, both of us fell silent. My fingertips traced the warm rim of the cup, trying to break the stiff atmosphere, when I suddenly heard Ethan say, “Once Leo’s well, I’m going to quit my job.” I looked up in surprise, meeting his steady gaze. We grew up together. I had witnessed all the efforts Ethan made to become a police officer. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say it was his life’s passion. My voice felt dry. “Being a cop was your childhood dream. Why…” “Weren’t you also determined to be a fairy tale author since childhood? Why did you switch to writing horror novels?” Faced with Ethan’s counter-question, I was speechless. He looked at me. “I’ve given a lot for my ideals. The rest of my life, I want to dedicate to the person I love. I want to protect her.” Bitterness climbed into my nose, warming my eyes. I used to worry sick about Ethan, but even when he loved me so deeply, he never gave up his passion. It just meant he’d found a woman who could truly make him give up everything. I lowered my eyes, hiding my bitterness. “You should get some rest. I want to be alone for a while.” Ethan looked like he wanted to say more, but just offered a “Goodnight” and went upstairs. The wind, laden with snowflakes, gently tapped against the French windows. I sat alone for a long time. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was my editor. I took a deep breath and answered. “Does the draft need revisions?” My editor’s voice was excited. “No revisions, no revisions! Elara, I just wanted to ask when you plan to finish it?” I pursed my lips. “A month.” The other end was silent for a moment. “Don’t you still have nearly 700,000 words remaining? Will you make it?” I looked towards the upstairs hallway, my eyes dark. “That’ll be enough.” A month was enough to finish my novel and my past.
Elara Vance POV For me, the days spent furiously writing flew by. Trapped in the basement with only a desk lamp, I couldn’t even tell day from night without checking my phone. It wasn’t until I felt I had no strength left to type that I stumbled to bed for a nap. I had barely closed my eyes when there was a knock at the door. “Ms. Vance, it’s Leo!” I frowned but roused myself to open the door. Ethan stood there, holding Leo’s hand. “Leo has a check-up at the hospital today. He wanted you to come with him.” As soon as Ethan finished, Leo tugged at my dress. “Ms. Vance, will you come with me, please?” Facing their identical eyes, my refusal caught in my throat. But then I remembered how long it had been since I’d gotten my medication from Dr. Derek, so I agreed. The three of us went to the hospital. Leo was very well-behaved. He didn’t cry or fuss, even around the cold medical equipment. Once he went into the examination room, I happened to glance towards a corner and saw Dr. Derek. Dr. Derek’s light gray eyes naturally held a touch of melancholy. He subtly gave me a signal, then turned and walked towards his office. Ethan was very observant. He had noticed our interaction the moment I turned my head. “I have something to do. I’ll be gone for a bit.” I ignored Ethan’s reaction, threw out that line, and left. In the doctor’s office. Dr. Derek looked at me, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I contacted my mentors. They reviewed your scans and all agreed that the risk of surgery is too great.” My expression remained neutral. I had already prepared myself for this. “I understand. You don’t need to feel burdened. I considered going to Switzerland for euthanasia, but I’m too tired to bother.” Hearing my lighthearted tone, Dr. Derek’s eyes showed pity. I knew he admired my free spirit and resilience, yet he couldn’t bear to see such a young life lost to the torment of illness. As I prepared to leave, he gave me a restrained and polite hug. “Ms. Vance, I’ll pray for you.” Feeling his pure kindness, my eyes welled up. “Thank you.” Stepping out of the office, I turned and almost bumped into Ethan, who was standing outside the door. He glanced at Dr. Derek, who was already back at work. “Who is he?” I continued towards the examination room. “A doctor.” “I asked what your relationship is.” Ethan’s brow bone was prominent. His current grim expression made him look rather fierce. I didn’t answer, instead changing the subject. “Is Leo okay?” Ethan’s face darkened, his tone growing a bit stiff. “Two more tests.” Just as he finished speaking, his phone rang. I glimpsed him from the corner of my eye. He answered directly. “You’re still awake?” His expression softened, and his voice became much gentler. “Ethan, it’s dangerous over there. You need to be careful. Is Leo causing you any trouble? Can you manage taking care of him alone?” They were close, and the woman’s gentle voice from the other end of the phone also reached my ears. And Ethan returned her concern with even softer words. “Leo’s doing great now. You need to take care of yourself at home. We’ll be back soon.” I clenched my hands. My mind couldn’t help but recall a night many years ago. We weren’t divorced then. On any stormy night, no matter how busy Ethan was, he would call me. “Elara, don’t be scared. I’ll be home soon.” His gentle, patient words made me fearless. Thinking of this, I couldn’t help but turn to look at the man beside me. Seeing his gentle eyes, I suddenly felt less resentful. Perhaps I was too tired to hate anymore. I was a person with no future. Leaving without any ties felt like peace. Ethan hung up the phone, his gaze sweeping over my deep, contemplative expression. “What’s wrong?” I forced a smile. “…Nothing.” The atmosphere became subtle with our silence. It wasn’t until we returned to the examination room door that Ethan spoke, somewhat abruptly. “I’ve been reading your serialized novel. It’s very good.” He paused, then added, “The heroine’s experiences are very similar to yours.” I gave a dry laugh. The protagonist of this book was based on myself. The only difference was that I didn’t give my character the same incurable illness I had. “Art imitates life, after all.” Ethan turned to look at me, his voice growing husky. “As your tenant, can I know the ending of the novel in advance?” My pupils trembled. Memories rushed through my mind. Happy, sad, touching… finally stopping at the moment four years ago when I stood alone on the chaotic streets of Detroit. “It should be… the heroine taking her own life.”
Elara Vance POV Screech. A nurse pushing a medical cart down the hallway masked my faint voice. At the same time, the examination room door opened. The doctor removed his mask. “The child needs to be hospitalized. Please, parents, follow me to the office to discuss the treatment plan.” Ethan glanced at me, a look of hesitation on his face, but ultimately said nothing and followed the doctor out. I looked at Leo, already asleep on the hospital bed, then turned and left. The cold wind was bleak. I returned home, ate the takeout that had been delivered, and went to sleep. For a long time after that, I locked myself in the basement to write. Several times, nosebleeds dripped onto my keyboard, or my headache was so severe that I had to take several packets of morphine powder to relieve it. Due to the side effects, my complexion worsened, and my sleep became increasingly scarce. My only comfort was the occasional faint sounds of Ethan cooking. I would also go to the hospital to see Leo, but I never stayed for long. Until this day, when my novel was almost finished, I decided to take a break and went to the hospital. The snow in early January was heavy, covering me from head to toe. As soon as I entered the ward, I heard Leo’s cheerful voice. “Ms. Vance, you’re here!” Ethan, who was peeling an apple, looked up, a slight frown on his brow. We hadn’t seen each other in days, and I had lost even more weight. I placed the toy I was holding on the table and gently ruffled Leo’s hair. “I’ll be leaving soon. I’m busy with my manuscript.” Ethan said nothing, just split the apple in half. He gave one half to Leo and offered the other to me. Looking at the apple, I hesitated for a moment before taking it, then handed it to Leo. A flicker of almost imperceptible stiffness crossed Ethan’s face. After playing with Leo for half an hour, I prepared to leave. “The snow’s getting heavy. I’ll drive you back.” Ethan also stood up, grabbing his coat from the sofa. Sensing he had something to say, I didn’t refuse. We walked in the cold wind, the dim streetlights casting two parallel shadows. Ethan spoke in a low voice. “You look so drawn.” My voice was hoarse. “Didn’t sleep well…” As I spoke, my foot caught on a stone, and I stumbled. He quickly steadied me, his voice tight, tinged with helplessness. “Watch your step.” I turned to look at him. In a daze, I felt like I was back in some afternoon years ago. Swaying tree shadows, blue and white school uniforms, and a boy gently blowing on my scraped knee after a fall. “Clumsy. Why do you always trip?” Back then, I would playfully throw myself into his arms, and he would wholeheartedly dote on me… I came back to reality, pulling free from Ethan’s hand. “Thanks.” Ethan looked at me. “Leo’s treatment over the past month has been positive. I’ll be sending him home tomorrow, and his follow-up treatment will continue there.” I froze. Had it really been a month already? I felt like only a few days had passed… I asked, “Not renewing the lease?” “No.” Hearing his low response, I gave a bitter laugh to myself. It was probably for the best that he left. After all, from the day of our divorce, our lives had already diverged. The next day. I pulled an all-nighter. The following morning, after submitting the rest of my manuscript to the editor, I left the basement and went to the living room. Ethan was coming downstairs, carrying a suitcase. I leaned against the counter, quietly sipping coffee, my gaze sweeping over the empty living room. The toys and fairy tales that had been everywhere were gone. The kitchen no longer held the familiar smell of cooking. The house looked as if they had never been here. It wasn’t until he got into the car that Ethan, who had been silent, looked towards me at the door. Something in his deep, night-like eyes seemed on the verge of spilling out. “Take care of yourself. We’re leaving.” Leo, in the back seat, waved sweetly at me. “Bye, Ms. Vance!” I wanted to say goodbye, but my throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I could only manage a muffled “Mmm.” Watching the car slowly disappear, a destructive emptiness, like a strange fishing net in the open sea, tangled around me, tightening with every struggle. I gazed into the distance, my slightly red eyes filled with a sense of loss. Four years ago, I had left without a word the day after the divorce, exiling myself to this chaotic city. Occasionally, I would fantasize that Ethan would regret it, that he would search for me like a madman. But it was laughable; he had lived a very happy life these past four years. Was I unwilling to accept it? Of course, but I couldn’t control the part of my heart that still wished him peace and happiness. I closed the door and returned to the basement. I took out the last cigarette from the pack, lit it, and typed a message on my social media. “Final book complete. Thank you for your companionship. This is my last.” After posting, I shut down my computer. I pulled open a drawer and took out a cold, gleaming handgun. Click! A soft sound, a bullet chambered. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Ethan. After a moment of hesitation, I answered. “Did you leave something behind?” “Can I keep the house? I might renew the lease.” Listening to his deep voice, my eyes dimmed slightly. “I’m sorry, I plan to sell it.” I paused, then added, “I forgot to tell you earlier, have a safe trip. I wish you and your loved one eternal happiness.” Those words came from my heart. Perhaps from the moment I heard from Leo that Ethan had a happy family, I had already let go. Ethan asked, “Where are you going?” My voice was desolate. “Maybe England, maybe Australia… Ethan, in the future, I’ll also have a happy family and adorable children. It won’t be any worse than yours.” This was the beautiful dream I was weaving for myself in my final moments. If there was a next life, I wanted to live it this way. A stable relationship, so perfect that no flaws or mistakes could be found. No illness, and no agony for love. The man on the other end of the phone was silent for a long time before giving a hoarse reply. “Then, I wish you all the best.” “Thank you. Goodbye.” I placed my phone face down on the table, tears silently falling onto the dark muzzle of the gun. A long while later, I looked at the cigarette burned down between my fingers, extinguished it, then took out paper and pen, writing my will little by little.
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