The morning after a heavy night of drinking, Dominic’s head felt clouded and heavy.

He struggled to sit up, washed his face, and followed the enticing aroma drifting from the dining room.

When he walked in, he found that Valerie had prepared a table full of food.

He glanced at the calendar, noting that it was an ordinary day, which left him slightly puzzled.

"Why did you suddenly cook so much?"

"Just to celebrate," Valerie said as she set the table, her voice soft and casual.

Celebrate?

Was she celebrating his recovery?

Dominic could only think of that as the reason.

But as he looked at the array of fragrant and spicy dishes, he recalled the doctor’s advice about a light diet.

His initial excitement waned, and a flicker of doubt crept into his mind.

He didn’t dwell on it, though. As he pulled out a chair to sit, his phone suddenly rang.

It was Camilla.

After hesitating for a few seconds, he set down the utensils he had just picked up and answered the call.

A few minutes later, the call ended. He stood slowly, his gaze drifting back toward Valerie.

She had already taken her seat, peeling the shell off a shrimp, her attention focused on her task. It appeared she wasn’t particularly concerned about whether he joined her for the meal.

But the fact that she had prepared the feast to celebrate gnawed at his conscience. Unable to shake the unease, he cooked up an excuse.

"I have something to take care of. You have something to eat first. I’ll take you out to celebrate later."

"There’s no need for that. Just focus on your business," Valerie said, shaking her head. She looked calm and yet it was hard to read her expression.

For some inexplicable reason, the moment he met her eyes, his heartbeat quickened, and a strange sense of unease rose in his chest—like an unspoken warning.

But what it meant, he couldn’t quite figure it out.

They stared at each other across the table. Eventually, Dominic turned, breaking the gaze, and left the room.

As the door clicked shut, Valerie looked at the empty chair across from her and smiled to herself.

What she wanted to celebrate was her freedom—learning to love herself, independent of anyone else. No one else needed to be a part of it.

After finishing her meal, she cleaned up the kitchen, gathered the last bit of trash, and took it downstairs to throw it out.

She then pulled out her suitcase from the cabinet and left the apartment.

She flagged down a cab and headed to the tattoo shop—the same one she had visited years ago.

The tattooist recognized her immediately and asked what she wanted this time.

She looked at the familiar little shop, her voice soft but resolute.

"I want to remove the one I got last time."

The tattooist studied her expression and nodded in understanding.

He looked slightly regretful at her request.

"Removing a tattoo is very painful, Miss. Perhaps you’d like to reconsider?"

Pain?

Valerie had already experienced the most desperate, unbearable pain the world could offer.

Why would she fear such a slight torment to the skin?

She knew that the tattoo carried the weight of her past—a constant reminder. Its removal would be painful, would scar, would tear at her body, but that was part of the healing process.

She kept silent and sat in the same spot she had occupied years ago. She lifted her shirt and exposed the tattoo on her side.

A sharp, fiery pain shot through her as the process began, searing its way into her mind. She couldn’t stop the tears—raw, involuntary, mixing with the sweat on her smiling face.

It felt as though a century passed in those moments, but in reality, only seconds had gone by.

The tattooist had finished the procedure and handed her a box of tissues.

Valerie thanked him before wiping her tears and sweat.

She stood, pulling her suitcase with her as she left the small shop.

She hailed a cab, pulled out her phone, and sent a message to Dominic. Then she deleted all contact information related to him.

The cab had pulled to a stop at the station when she finished.

The afternoon sun blazed down on her, hot and unyielding.

She took out the train ticket from her pocket and looked back at the city one last time.

Then she stepped into the station and never looked back.