I finally booked my plane ticket. In ten days, I would leave for Parisoir.

The Parisoir School of Fashion Design was where I once chose to put love before all else.

My father had been the driver for Eric's father. He gave his life, taking a bullet meant for Eric.

During that time, my mother sank into depression and made the heartbreaking decision to end her life.

All of this happened when I was only 15.

One day, while I was curled up in the corner of an unfamiliar villa, Eric suddenly extended his hand to me.

He became my closest companion, driving away my darkest fears and standing up to the kids who tormented me.

At my father's gravesite, he promised to look after me forever, and I believed him.

Then one day, Shirley arrived.

From that moment, he began to pull away, shutting me out.

He even asked me to be Shirley's bridesmaid. He was going to marry her.

At the time, Greta believed Eric wasn't keeping his promises to me, and they ended up in a heated argument.

After Shirley was sent away, Eric spent his days drinking and weeping.

Greta said he needed a wife—someone to hold the family together.

So I gave up my career without protest, quietly locking myself away in the villa.

One day, I found out Shirley had come back to the country. Eric had met her at the airport, carrying 999 red roses.

I hesitantly confessed my jealousy to him. "I want red roses too."

"Red roses are for those who deserve them," he said with a sneer.

Then, glancing at my flour-dusted hands, he added, "You? Don't be ridiculous."

I stared at my roughened knuckles, marked by ten years of tireless labor in the kitchen.

The elegance I once displayed while holding a paintbrush had all but vanished. These worn, calloused hands had prepared his lunch without fail for a decade.

What started as a meal for one quietly became a meal for two.

Even when I was sick and in the hospital, Eric said, "Shirley loves the healthy, delicious lunches you make. We can't live without you."

But at last, I was free to cast off this heavy apron, its fabric still steeped in the fading scent of the kitchen.

I reached for my paintbrush, ready to trace the outlines of the freedom and dreams I had once imagined.

Without warning, a phone call cut through my thoughts.

Eric rattled off, "Shirley wants lobster rolls, sandwiches—"

"I'm not your maid!" I snapped, my patience worn thin.

From now on, I would no longer be the one making their lunches.

Furious, Eric snapped, "If you're not cooking, then what are you even good for?"

I said nothing.

Perhaps realizing his words had landed too harshly, he softened his tone. "Anna, I'll get you something nice to make it up to you. Just stop with the childish tantrums, okay?"

Soon, he tossed me a bright pink dress.

It was the birthday gift he'd given Shirley last year.

Back then, he'd asked me to pick it out, but it had been lost among countless other presents.

Shirley absolutely despised it. She ended up crushing it beneath her heel and wiping her shoes on the fabric.

The faint imprint of her shoe still stained the hem, lingering like a silent, cruel reminder.

Even the gifts Eric gave me were leftovers Shirley no longer wanted.

Back then, I envied Shirley for having Eric's favor, which was exactly why I had chosen that bright pink dress.

But in the end, the one who felt the most disgust was I.

As waves of nausea crashed over me, Eric's eyes burned with fury. "You're not going to the charity gala tonight. Shirley's coming with me."

Attending charity galas with one's spouse was the accepted custom. Yet, to my disbelief, Eric insisted on bringing Shirley instead.

It felt like a cruel slap right across my face.

Though I was leaving, the hurt lingered deeply.

After all, I had loved him for 15 years. While some of that love remained, I was utterly drained.

Layla wanted Shirley to shine at the charity gala. She brazenly pulled her through my walk-in closet.

"Mama Shirley, these are all yours. Wear whatever you like."

I didn't try to stop them.

I wouldn't take back a single thing that carried Eric's presence, not the designer gowns nor the jewelry.

In the end, Shirley chose the couple's outfit I had lovingly designed and hand-sewn.

It was meant for Eric and me to wear on our tenth wedding anniversary, just ten days away.

Sadly, it could no longer serve its original purpose.

As they tried on the outfits in front of the mirror, Layla smiled brightly and said, "It looks perfect. If only I were your real daughter, maybe I wouldn't feel so ugly."

My breath caught in my throat.

Layla's scorn struck me like a thousand piercing arrows, and the pain was overwhelming.

With trembling hands, I took off my wedding ring and placed it on Shirley's finger.

Eric's gaze clouded with a mix of shock and confusion.

"Do you even understand what you're doing?" he demanded.

Overwhelmed, I shouted, "Your passionate kisses for Shirley say it all. She's the one you love. You never truly loved me. I'm done. I want a divorce!"

Eric's irritation flared. "Stop making a scene. If you want to kiss me, just say so."

I stood frozen, tears slipping silently down my cheeks.

With a heavy sigh, I whispered, "No, I don't want your lips. I want my freedom. I want to be happy."

At the charity gala, Eric proudly flaunted a 15-carat diamond ring—a bold symbol of his devotion.

"Ms. Shirley Huxley is my one true love," he announced.

The media swarmed the story, and Shirley quickly became the center of attention.

Layla sat holding a tablet, watching the interview videos on repeat.

"Mom, how many carats is your wedding ring?" she asked.

I looked down at my bare fingers, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.

"Half a carat," I said.

She snorted. "How pathetic."

That ring was the very one Eric had carefully slipped onto my finger on our wedding day.

Though I knew it was initially a birthday gift meant for Shirley, I still cried tears of joy when he placed it on me.

After we got married, I felt a sense of contentment and happiness. Even though Eric never kissed me, we appeared like any other married couple.

He remembered my birthday and looked after me when I was ill.

Because I feared the pain, he accepted my decision not to have a second child.

In those days, he seemed to have let go of Shirley, and for the first time, happiness felt close enough to touch.

But unexpectedly, Shirley returned to the country. She accused me of telling Greta to evict her while she was pregnant—an ordeal that drove her into depression and resulted in the loss of her baby.

After that, everything shifted.

But in the end, none of it mattered anymore.

At this point, the only thing I looked forward to was the day I'd finally set foot in Parisoir.

Early the next morning, Eric walked into my room after a night out.

"Anna, you're so cruel," he suddenly said.

I was bewildered.

It turned out their public display had sparked a wave of online gossip.

Rumors began swirling that Shirley wasn't really Eric's wife. Then, using their striking outfits as a clue, someone had even tracked down my old social media profile.

Back then, I had proudly posted about finishing those matching outfits.

Overnight, Shirley was dragged through the mud as the other woman.

Eric's immediate response was to accuse me of revenge. "Anna, I already told you I'm fine with you asking for a kiss. So why are you still going after Shirley?"

I was too worn out to respond.

Just then, Layla burst in, holding a water gun.

"I hate you!" she yelled, pulling the trigger without hesitation. "You're a bad woman! Mama Shirley said we'd be happy without you!"

Cold water splashed across my face, blending seamlessly with the tears I couldn't hold back.

Nonetheless, the chill was nothing compared to the sting of Layla's words.

Even so, I chose to forgive her. I was leaving, after all.

From now on, she could stay with the "mother" she truly wanted.

Suddenly, my social media was flooded with new followers.

Most of them encouraged me to expose Shirley. Some even wanted to hire me as their personal fashion designer.

Meanwhile, Shirley's accounts were bombarded with hateful comments and insults.

Eric, feeling sorry for her, made a cruel suggestion. "Anna, maybe it's time you admit you're the homewrecker who tore me and Shirley apart. Remember, you were the one who drove her away and caused her miscarriage."

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

Despite ten years of marriage, I meant nothing to Eric.

Not only did I have a husband who betrayed me, but also a daughter who couldn't distinguish right from wrong.

In that instant, I knew I had made the right choice in walking away.

Despair wasn't sparked by impulse. It was forged from years of mounting disappointments.

"Fine. Take this as my wedding gift to both of you!" I declared.

Eric's fury ignited immediately. "What wedding gift are you talking about? Anna, I already said you can kiss me. What else do you want? Quit talking about divorce, okay?"

Humiliation, bitterness, and anger twisted within me.

A smile broke through my tears.

I couldn't wait any longer. I needed to draft the divorce papers right then and there.

All I wanted was to leave as soon as possible.

While interviewing me, the entertainment reporter's eyes were filled with sympathy. "Did you know the home you shared with Eric has already been handed over to Shirley?"

As I looked into the camera, tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. "Yes, I know. The down payment for that house came from my father's compensation."

The room fell into silence.

I could hardly believe that the place I once called home had quietly slipped through my fingers.

It was time to go.

I set the divorce papers on the dining table and took one last look around. What I had thought was my sanctuary had become nothing more than rubble.

When I closed the door behind me, I didn't glance back.

The moment I reached the airport, Eric's call came through.

"Is it time for my birthday trip?" he asked.

After a moment's silence, a bitter smile tugged at my lips. "Yup."

Unsurprisingly, he didn't try to stop me. It seemed he hadn't even noticed I'd left.

I had quietly saved money from my side work in fashion design to book this trip.

It was meant as a birthday gift for Eric and to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary. Though the destination wasn't finalized, my heart was set on the peaceful banks of the Solane River.

From the other end of the line, Layla's joyful voice burst out, "We're finally going on a holiday!"

For a brief moment, I escaped into a wistful daydream.

As I held Layla close, I leaned against Eric as we shared a quiet, romantic coffee by the Solane.

Maybe this long-awaited trip could be the graceful end to our story.

Just then, Eric's voice snapped me back to reality. "Anna, the houseplants need your care. If they die, Shirley will be upset. Layla and I will go without you this time."

"Mom, my goldfish needs you too!" Layla piped up.

Just as the call was about to end, her voice echoed once more. "Mama Shirley."

It dawned on me that I had been deceiving myself all along.

Perhaps the joy of the Solane was never mine to experience. Maybe it was my own greed that led to my downfall.

Before boarding, I sent Eric a message. "Your gift is on the dining table. Happy birthday."

"Okay," he replied.

I decided to leave so that he and Layla could have the chance to pursue their own happiness.

Though I was letting go, a part of me still loved them, and a spark of joy remained alive within me.

…

On my third day in Parisoir, I finally persuaded myself to walk to the Solane alone.

Wrapped in the golden hues of the setting sun and a gentle breeze, I quietly sipped a cup of coffee.

For a fleeting moment, my sadness faded.

But when I raised my eyes, I was met with Eric's cold and disapproving stare.

"Anna, you're such a coward, aren't you?" he snapped.

He must have finally found the divorce papers.

"Why must you act out and use divorce as a threat?"

My breath quickened, but I did my best to stay calm.

"I didn't—I—"

"Enough!" Eric snapped, cutting me off sharply. "If you didn't do it, then why did you follow me here?"

While disdain clouded his eyes, it was his pride that burned the brightest.

He was convinced I'd never walk away.

Suddenly, Layla rushed over, holding an ice cream cone.

"What are you doing here? Who told you to come?" she snapped.

I blocked out her words.

My mind was consumed by the fear of when she had previously fallen ill and passed out.

"Sweetheart, you shouldn't be eating ice cream," I said without thinking.

In response, Layla flung the cone to the ground in anger. "Whatever! I don't need a nag like you bossing me around."

She refused to listen, pulling out two lollipops and quickly shoving them into her mouth.

"I'm not just eating ice cream. I'm having candy too!"

She had cavities, and the dentist had advised her to cut back on her sugar.

I wasn't trying to stop her without reason. I was genuinely concerned for her health.

Nonetheless, children often favored indulgence over the quiet discipline of love.

"You should just divorce Dad already," Layla said firmly.

She turned to Shirley with a hopeful smile on her face. "Mama Shirley, will you marry Dad and be my real mom?"

Each word struck like a dagger, slicing through my chest and leaving me hollow.

A victorious grin played on Shirley's lips as she savored the moment.

I forced a bitter smile. "Fine."

The pain became too much to contain. I sank to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

Eric stepped forward and extended his hand.

"Shirley's been in a foul mood from all the online hate, so I took her out for some fresh air. There's no need to be so petty," he said dismissively.

I shoved past him, my legs shaky beneath me.

Behind me, Shirley's mocking voice cut through the air. "She doesn't look too well, does she?"

Eric shrugged coldly. "It's fine. She can't live without me anyway. This is just another tantrum she's throwing. I'll talk to her once we're back home."

…

Two weeks slipped away after that.

Unable to track me down, Eric finally decided to call.

His voice trembled with panic. "Where the hell did you disappear to? I'm done with all this drama. Get your ass back here!"

Meanwhile, I was too drained to fight or raise my voice.

I didn't want him anymore. Neither he nor his home belonged in my life any longer.