Abigail lowered her head and let out a bitter laugh at herself. He truly saw her as nothing more than a nanny.
She was done arguing with him, so she simply nodded and headed to the kitchen to clean up the dishes.
Afterward, she made her way to the flower room to put away the pot of flowers, intending to take it later. But as soon as she reached the door, her gaze fell on Gabriella, who was holding the pot of ashes.
A sharp, ringing sensation filled her head, and her voice shot out before she could stop it: "Put it down!"
The command startled Gabriella, making her flinch. Immediately, Sebastian frowned, his voice sharp with irritation. "It's just a flowerpot. You scared Gabriella."
Abigail ignored his words. She didn’t care what he said. Her only focus was getting the pot back.
She walked toward Gabriella, reaching out to grab it, but Gabriella, sensing her urgency, pretended to accidentally let go of the pot.
The pot hit the ground with a sickening thud, shattering into pieces. Brown soil, black ashes, and white ceramic fragments spilled across the floor.
For a moment, the flower room seemed to fall into silence, the world frozen. Abigail stood frozen, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Rage began to burn in her chest. She clenched her fist, and without thinking, she raised her hand and slapped Gabriella across the face.
A sharp crack echoed in the greenhouse, and Gabriella staggered back, her hand flying to her cheek, stunned and disbelieving.
Both Gabriella and Sebastian stood motionless, shocked by the sudden violence. Sebastian’s shock quickly morphed into fury. The day's building irritation exploded, and his face darkened with anger. He stormed forward, shoving Abigail hard.
"What’s wrong with you? It’s just a flowerpot!" His hands pushed her so forcefully that she stumbled back two steps.
Her vision blurred as she fought to steady herself. Her red eyes met Sebastian’s, now filled with rage. She watched as he turned away, pulling Gabriella to him, walking away with the broken pot under his feet.
Abigail stood there, her heart aching as she looked at the soil scattered across the floor, now marred with four distinct footprints. A tear slid down her face, slipping past her burning gaze.
She knelt to the ground, trembling as she gathered the mess into her hands, trying to piece it together. She carefully placed it into a new flowerpot, her hands shaking with the effort to restore what had been lost.
Once the room was clean, she took a deep breath, pulled out her phone, and dialed a number. "Hello, I need to draft a divorce agreement."
Sebastian was no longer the man she once knew. She had been the one trapped in the illusion of the past, holding on to memories that no longer mattered. She should have left long ago, but only now, after being scarred, was she ready to let go.
The divorce agreement arrived shortly after, and as she thought about when to give it to him, Sebastian returned.
He entered the room, sitting on the sofa with a stern expression, as if interrogating her. "Go apologize to Gabriella. You hit her too hard the other day, and her face is swollen."
Abigail’s frustration flared. He was being utterly unreasonable. A sharp, sarcastic laugh escaped her lips as she replied coolly, "She touched my things first and then deliberately dropped them."
"Deliberately?" Sebastian’s voice rose with anger. "Gabriella dropped it by accident. Even if it was intentional, it’s just a flowerpot. Does it really matter?"
His words stung, and it felt as if she were the one in the wrong. She stared at him, a deep sadness welling up inside her. She couldn’t understand how the man she once knew had become so foreign.
People’s hearts are so fickle.
She didn’t plan to tell him the pot had contained ashes. It was better if he never knew—some truths were too painful to remember, and revealing them would only bring more suffering.
Seeing her silence, Sebastian assumed she realized her mistake. He crossed his arms, his voice more condescending now. "If you apologize, this will all be over. Otherwise, I’ll end the contract of repaying gratitude."
The words felt like a hollow threat, and Abigail couldn’t help but chuckle darkly. She turned toward the dining room, her laugh confusing him.
As she entered the dining room, Sebastian was about to call her when he saw her return, holding something in her hand.
Abigail tossed the divorce agreement onto the coffee table, her voice cold and ambiguous as she muttered, "Okay."
Sebastian stared at the document for a moment, frozen. He picked it up, flipped it open, and his eyes immediately landed on the bold words at the top: Divorce Agreement. He scanned through it repeatedly, as if unable to believe what he was reading. When he reached the section on property, his eyes widened in disbelief. "You don’t want anything?" he asked, his voice tinged with surprise.
Abigail didn’t want nothing—just what was hers. Her own money. Nothing more from Sebastian. She had no desire to explain herself and simply replied, "Sign it, quickly."
Her words, laced with impatience and a clear desire to be rid of him, ignited a flicker of rage in Sebastian. He grabbed the pen, his grip tight and angry, and signed his name on the paper.
Though his heart ached as if it were breaking into pieces, he forced his voice to remain steady, unwilling to show weakness. "You don’t want anything? Don’t come crawling back for favors that aren’t yours in the future!"
After signing, he slammed the pen onto the table with frustration, his face contorted in pain. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the villa, suppressing the ache in his chest.
Abigail watched him leave, her expression unreadable. She took her share of the property, placed it in a suitcase, and made her way upstairs to pack her belongings.
There wasn’t much to pack; most of her things had been gifts from Sebastian, and she hadn’t bought many items herself. It was his insistence that she wear the things he bought her, a control she had learned to live with.
As she finished packing, her phone rang. It was the institute, informing her that her plane ticket was scheduled for 1 p.m. the day after tomorrow.
For the next two days, Sebastian didn’t return, nor did he push her to move out. The silence between them allowed her a sense of relief—she could finally breathe.
The day before she was to leave, her phone rang again. It was her college class monitor. "Abby, we’re having a class reunion tomorrow. Don’t forget to come."
Abigail hesitated for a moment. Tomorrow was the day she was leaving, and there was no time. She declined politely, "I can’t, I have something to do."
But her classmate’s response surprised her. "Aren’t you coming? Sebastian is coming, too. Why are you both coming but not together?"
Abigail froze, stunned by the news. She hadn’t expected him to attend, but it had nothing to do with her anymore. She forced a faint smile, offering another excuse. "I have something to handle," she said before quickly ending the call.
On the day she left, Abigail dug up the wish bottle from the yard. It was something she and Sebastian had buried together the day they moved into the house. Each of them had buried one, neither knowing the other’s wish.
Now, as she held her own bottle, she read the words she had written: I hope Abigail and Sebastian can grow old together, and I hope he can be healthy forever.
A bittersweet ache tugged at her heart. That wish would never come true—not for them. With a deep sigh, she tossed the bottle into the trash can, as if erasing the past with a single motion.
At 11 a.m., she left the house, suitcase in tow, leaving behind everything, even the memories of the two years she had spent there. As she stepped outside, she paused for a moment, glancing back at the place where she had once been happy. For three seconds, she stood still, then turned away, resolute.
By 12:30 p.m., she was at the airport, and the plane was ready for takeoff.
As soon as she boarded, her phone began vibrating incessantly. She checked the screen—dozens of messages from Sebastian. Without hesitation, she powered off her phone, removed the SIM card, and slipped it into her bag. Silence.
Two hours later, the plane landed. When she exited the airport, she was greeted by the director of the institute, a familiar face—her former university mentor, now the director of the very institute she was joining.
"Abigail, welcome to Luna Isle," the director said warmly.
Abigail smiled faintly, giving a brief hug. The director had been the first person to think of her when this project came up, and now she was here, far from the life she had left behind.
Once in the car, the director spoke again, a smile in her voice. "Our research this time is strictly confidential. Our whereabouts must remain a secret. For now, it’s still fine, but you should call Sebastian, or he might come looking for you."
