After returning home, it got dark. Thinking about how Caleb carried Michele away without looking back after leaving the police station, I felt incredibly depressed.

I picked up the carefully prepared dinner laid out on the table and gave a self-deprecating laugh. For ten whole years, Caleb had never let me cook. I never imagined that my first time cooking would ruin our wedding.

After throwing everything into the trash, something poked my foot. Looking down, I saw Caleb's wedding ring, with a childish brown hair clip stuck to it. They must have accidentally ripped it off in the heat of the moment.

I felt a wave of nausea. The scene of our wedding flashed before my eyes, Caleb holding me tightly and saying he would never betray me. He would never be like my heartless father, favoring his mistress over his wife. He would never leave me alone and helpless.

Tears streamed down my face as I nodded vigorously through my blurred vision. But he hadn't kept a single one of those promises. As for Michele, she saw me as her enemy rather than her teacher. And that ring we exchanged, engraved with both our names, now lay on the floor.

I thought I could hold back, but the physiological tears still wouldn't stop flowing. I bent down to pick them up, gently rubbed them between my fingertips and then threw them in the trash.

When exactly did this begin?

Was it love at first sight when I first introduced them to each other at the dinner table?

Or was it later, because I was busy with my exchange program abroad and entrusted Michele to Caleb, we saw each other more often and feelings developed over time?

I was lost in my own thoughts and didn't even notice that Caleb had returned.

He spoke in a hoarse voice, "Once she's calmed down and given birth, I'll send her away and remarry you."

I snapped out of my daze, took a few steps forward and slapped him hard across the face, "What do you take her for? A cheap object? You think you can just send her away whenever you want? I never realized you, Caleb, were so capable, letting her decide her fate?"

His face was undisguisedly fierce, "It's because of your defiant attitude that I cheated on you! I've never received a single bit of warmth from you."

I spat in his face, interrupting him, "I think I just don't get compliments."

After a long standoff, he sighed, "Why won't you give in to her? Michele is all alone here, with no one to rely on. How can she face anyone after all this?"

I shrugged, "So I agree to the divorce and I'll give you to her."

I wanted to appear indifferent, but the words of surrender still brought tears to my eyes. Because I didn't want to be looked down upon, I rarely cried in front of others and Caleb was no exception. It was obvious to him that for a moment he was at a loss, yet filled with expectation.

But after waiting for a long time, he didn't lower his head as expected. He angrily turned and stormed into the bedroom. Less than ten minutes later, he came out carrying his luggage. It seemed he had been prepared for this day for a long time.

Just before leaving, Caleb turned back and harshly took down the family photo hanging on the living room wall. It was a photo I had insisted on taking with Caleb and my mother the year we got married. Although she was quite dislike Caleb, she didn't want to spoil my mood, so she forced a smile. I never imagined that this would be the last photo of her in her life.

I looked at Caleb warily, "What do you want to do?"

Before I finished speaking, he slammed his hands down and the photo frame shattered. I froze on the spot, feeling my vision suddenly stretch out, leaving only shards of glass reflecting the light. He picked up the photo and tore it to shreds, as if disposing of a garbage item.

His voice held a hint of revenge, "I was afraid you'd be disgusted by me, so I destroyed it for you."

The loud slam of the door slammed shut woke me. Trembling, I walked to the pile of shards, but no matter how I pieced them together, I couldn't reconstruct my mother's face. I knelt there all night, clutching the pile of scraps.

Until my phone screen lit up along with the sun.

Caleb: [3 PM, see you at the City Hall.]

University: [Your application to study abroad has been approved. You'll depart next Tuesday.]

Although I hadn't slept a wink all night and my gait was unsteady, I still arrived fifteen minutes early, standing by the roadside in front of the City Hall, waiting.

Because Caleb was an extremely punctual person. Once, I was stuck in traffic and was two minutes late for a date. He impatiently abandoned me and went home alone. From then on, I always arrived early for dates with him.

Sure enough, just as 3 PM arrived, Caleb appeared in my sight, carrying a large bag of things. I looked closely and saw that it contained some mangoes.

He noticed my gaze, casually pulled one from the bag and handed it to me, "Want some?"

His tone was calm, even somewhat gentle. It was as if we weren't there for a divorce, but as a couple getting married. My heart suddenly ached.

I waved my hand and turned to walk towards the City Hall, "Thank you, but I'm allergic to mangoes."

He froze, as if he were seeing me for the first time.

When we reached the door, we realized it was a holiday and the City Hall was closed. I even faintly heard Caleb sigh with relief, even though his brows were furrowed. He must have been hallucinating from staying up all night.

I said weakly, "Maybe next time, I'll go back now."

He responded softly, "Okay, next time there definitely won't be any mistakes."

Then he turned to leave. I felt a tightness in my chest; his words made it seem as if I hadn't checked the time and wasn't prepared.

The already gloomy sky couldn't hold back any longer and within moments, large raindrops began to fall. We were frozen in place by this sudden turn of events.

Luckily, I always carry an umbrella. He knew that too and looked at me. In that instant our eyes met, memories flooded back. The image of that thinly dressed boy, soaked by the rain, turning to look at me, overlapped with my own now.

Overwhelmed by emotion, I blurted out, "Remember when we first met...?"

"I lent you my umbrella. I told Michele I'd take her out to play at four o'clock."

I snapped back to reality. I realized then that the shimmering light in his eyes back then had long since transformed into an emotionless calm. The cold wind, mixed with dampness, cut into my bones, causing my limbs to tremble.

I bit my lower lip, forcing a smile that was more like a grimace, "It's almost four o'clock now, why don't you take a taxi?"

The next second, his words completely shattered my spirit. He said, "It's okay, she's usually half an hour late. I'll be there just in time."

At first, I wanted to maintain appearances and leave a perfect image of my ex in his mind. I naively thought that once he discovered Michele's many flaws, there would be a day when he would regret it and be chasing after her.

Now it seemed he could be infinitely tolerant of Michele, while I would forever remain that indifferent ex-wife.

I didn’t know how I got home. Only after the warm water was poured over my head did my vision gradually clear.

A rapid ringing of my cell phone urged me out of the bathroom.

"Miss Patricia, Michele wants to drop out! You must go and persuade her!"

If I felt regret and hatred towards Caleb, all I felt towards Michele was overwhelming rage. Back then, I discovered her talent and couldn't bear to waste it, so I used my position to vouch for her admission to the principal.

I transformed her from a flower girl abandoned by her family because of her gender into a highly educated talent with a good reputation. Back then, she cried and said I was the savior who changed her life and she wanted to learn from me for the rest of her life.

Now, with only six months left until graduation, she couldn’t help but want to drop out. I sent her a message, only to find that I had been blocked without my knowledge. The scarlet exclamation mark reminded me once again of my foolishness.

I found her number again to call her, but her call came in just then. After answering, I angrily questioned, "Michele! What do you want?!"

She not only ignored me but also asked me with a grin, "Miss Patricia, I remember you know someone at the hospital. Could you use your connections to check on my baby? I want to have a boy."

Before I could refuse, my mother-in-law's voice came from the other end of the line, "Why are you calling her? A sick hen that can't lay eggs has wasted ten years of Caleb's time!"

Her sharp and sarcastic words made me tremble with anger.

Back when my career was on the rise, Caleb promised he would never hold me back and would always take his medication beforehand. I worried his domineering mother would cause a scene, but Caleb assured me he’d handle it. His plan was to say I was sick and couldn’t have children.

I warned him sharply, “I will never agree to you dropping out. I’ll approve your leave of absence and you can come back to class after you give birth.”

Michele clearly hadn’t expected me to be so forceful and was speechless.

The even more forceful mother-in-law took over the phone, “Get out! Get out! The chemicals in the lab are so harmful to the baby! You just can’t stand to see us doing well! Get out of here!”

With that, she hung up and when I tried to call back, I was blocked.

Caleb’s text message popped up, [Even if you don’t agree to Michele’s withdrawal application, we won’t be stopped by you.]

I opened the phone management page, but my finger lingered on the block button, hesitating to press it. It wasn’t out of lingering affection, but because we weren’t divorced yet and needed to contact each other to get our marriage certificate. I scratched my head, my emotions churning with nowhere to go.

Just then, a pop-up message pushed a trending topic to my head. The moment I saw the title, I suddenly felt this whole thing was utterly pointless.

[A student surnamed Jones publicly accuses university professor Patricia Connor.]

The information Michele presented was explosive. Keywords that could pique human curiosity appeared like they were free in her case. At the end of the video, Michele’s eyes were red and she pleaded with the camera with a pitiful look.

“Miss Patricia, I’m sorry for what I did, but you almost drove me to my death. We’re even now. Please let me go and let me pursue my happiness.”

As expected of my student, she was very good at downplaying the seriousness of the situation and using euphemisms. So much so that the comments section overwhelmingly believed that I was the one who was too forceful and wrong.

[What kind of teacher is she? Driving a student to jump off a building, thankfully the police arrived in time.]

[I know her husband. She’s always been a very domineering person, the kind who won’t give in a single word.]

A few students did speak up for me, but they couldn’t overcome the prevailing opinion.

The uproar quickly caught the attention of the principal, who was clearly suppressing her anger, “Patricia, what happened? What promises did you and I make?”

I smiled wryly, “I just disagreed with her withdrawing her child and I got posted online.”

Upon hearing this, the principal gritted her teeth in anger, “Just having a child, does that warrant withdrawal? Michele took your efforts for granted...”

Afraid she would go on and on, I quickly interrupted, “Alright, Ma’am, don’t worry, I’ll handle this. I’ll leave the public relations to the PR team.”

The principal agreed, “Okay, just let me know if you need anything. The university gets your back.”

Those warm words hit me like a ton of bricks, unexpectedly bringing tears to my eyes. The recent events had brought me back to my dark childhood.

After organizing all the materials, I opened the backend and approved Michele’s withdrawal application. No matter how much I cherished her talent, how disappointed I was, or how compassionate I was, at this moment, I couldn’t find a reason to forgive her.

As soon as I approved, a screenshot of Michele appeared in the comments section.

“Thank you everyone for your support! The teacher has approved it. I’m sorry for wasting public resources.”

I replied, “Don’t rush, you’ve finished speaking, I haven’t even started yet.”