'So Marianne got into a car with her sugar daddy. Was she going to keep him company?'

'Is that why she broke up with me?'

'No. No way. She can't break up with me!'

When Marianne woke up, she realized she was resting against someone's chest—warm, strong, familiar.

'Kennedy?'

Her first instinct was to push away, and the movement startled the man awake.

"Anne? Anne, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick?"

Gene leaned his forehead against hers as he brushed her cheek with his hand.

"You're…" Her voice trailed off, her fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin, and for a second, she couldn't even process what was happening.

"Anne," he said gently, pulling her closer. "Say my name."

She thought for a moment, then met his smiling eyes. "G-Gene?"

"That's right! As long as you still remember me, it's enough." He hugged her tighter. "What happened, Anne? Why didn't you come to me when things got hard?"

He waited for her to say something, anything. But she didn't. She just let her tears fall silently.

"Gene," she finally whispered. "Can you take me home?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation. "Whatever you want, I'll do it."

He drove her back to Kennedy's place.

Marianne stepped out and ran her hands along the walls of the home she'd lived in for years. It felt frozen in time like she could still hear the echoes of laughter from when she first moved in.

"Babe, we have a home now! No more bending over backward for anyone!"

"Babe, let's have a daughter, okay? Someone as sweet as you."

"Wait, no, what if she loves me more than you? Would you get jealous?"

Babe, babe… Eventually, that just became Marianne.

"Suzanne's just staying here for a while; she won't bother us."

"I'm only checking on Suzie, why are you upset again?"

Suzanne, Suzanne… Until it was just Suzie.

The only thing in life that doesn't change is that everything changes.

Marianne gave the place one last look before turning to Gene with a small smile.

"Help me pack. It doesn't matter where we go."

And just like that, she began to pack her things.

Clothes from Kennedy? Thrown out.

Jewelry? Packed up to pawn.

"Anne, what about these?" Gene pointed at the wall of photos.

He wanted to rip them down and toss them into the fireplace, but he waited for her answer.

"The ones with me and Kennedy? Trash them. If they have Suzanne in them too, cut me out."

She said it calmly, with great resignation.

Gene didn't question her. He did exactly what she asked. The wall that once held happy memories became empty, torn, and bare in minutes.

When she finished cleaning, Marianne pulled out an old, cracked trophy from the bottom of the box.

It was Kennedy's first award—a Best Supporting Actor win.

She remembered how he promised to take care of her after she jumped into an icy lake and hurt herself. He swore he'd succeed, make her life better, make her happy. He'd even engraved her name on the trophy, along with the word "baby."

"Babe, I'll protect you forever. I'll take care of our little family."

Ten years later, and look where that got them.

Marianne grabbed a small knife off the table and scratched her name and "baby" off the trophy, pressing so hard her hand started to bleed. She didn't even notice.

"It's done," she said finally, looking around the house one last time. A deep breath, a slight smile. "Let's go."

'Let's go. I'm really leaving this time, Kennedy,' she whispered in her head.

Gene draped his coat over her shoulders and silently walked with her out the door.

'Whoever hurt you will pay for it, Anne. I'll make sure of that.'

Moments later, as they drove away, Kennedy's car pulled up outside.

Kennedy was helped back home by Suzanne, limping as he leaned on her for support. He needed to rest and recover from his injuries.

He was frustrated and planned to question Marianne about what she had been so busy with, wondering why she hadn't come to see him.

But the moment he opened the door, a chilling emptiness washed over him. The house felt… off.

"Marianne? Are you home?"

He hobbled to the master bedroom, only to find the door wide open, and the bed linens for two had been cut in half.

He turned to the wardrobe, yanked it open, and was met with shelves emptied of Marianne's clothes and jewelry.

"Uncle Ken," Suzanne muttered cautiously. "Looks like Aunt Marianne took everything with her. She must have found a rich man. Is she really that short of money…"

She trailed off as soon as she saw the storm brewing in his expression.

Kennedy moved toward the photo wall in the hallway—every picture of Marianne was gone.

Suddenly, her words a few days ago echoed in his mind.

"Kennedy, let's break up."

Could she have meant it?

"Marianne? Where are you?" he called out anxiously, and then his gaze fell on an old trophy on the bookshelf.

The scratches carved into it were deep and jagged. Bloodstains marred the surface, dried but still vivid.

She'd done this. She was serious.

"Why?" he whispered. "Marianne, how could 10 years of love be lost to some sugar daddy?"

In a fit of rage, he slammed his fist into the bookshelf, sending books and newspapers scattering across the floor.

Then something caught his eye—a folded piece of paper with the logo of Seattle Medical Center.

It seemed to be… an ultrasound report.

His hands trembled as he unfolded it, eyes scanning the lines. His hand began trembling uncontrollably, and his expression turned fearful and desperate.