The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the hospital window, pale and cold against Anne's skin.

She lay motionless on the bed, the light tracing the fragile lines of her thin face, glinting in the hollow of her tired eyes. A week had passed, and everything around her remained oppressively white, the walls, the sheets, the sterile smell of disinfectant heavy in the air.

Anne had regained consciousness three days ago, yet she neither asked for anyone nor expected anyone to come. The doctor told her she was out of danger, that she simply needed rest.

Rest?

She almost laughed. What was there left to rest from?

Since that loveless marriage two years ago, time for Anne as an unseen wife had simply... stopped.

Outside this room, the world went on, people still loved, still lived, while she remained trapped inside a still frame, a fragment of a forgotten life where pain had taken the place of motion.

...

That afternoon, the door to her hospital room stood slightly ajar.

A man in a dark suit approached and paused at the threshold. He did not step inside. He stood there in silence, his shadow long across the white floor.

Through the frosted glass, Edric could see her, a small figure lying still on the bed, her fragile hand pale against the blanket, her body almost blending into the whiteness around her.

A doctor walked by and glanced at him.

"Family of the patient? She's still weak and needs a few more days of observation."

Edric nodded once, his voice low and rough.

"I understand, thank you doctor. Take good care of her. I'll cover all the expenses."

The doctor nodded again, but when he turned back, Edric was already gone.

He couldn't bring himself to enter that room.

The image of her collapsing in the kitchen haunted him, her lips colorless, her trembling fingers clutching the phone, the cruel words he had sent flashing on the screen like a blade.

Yet even after calling for help, he left before she could see him.

He couldn't face her.

Because one looked into her eyes, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stay cold enough to finish what he'd started, to wait for the day their marriage would end.

Anne never knew that Edric had come.

All she knew was that for seven days, there were no messages, no calls, no one waiting for her to return.

When the doctor finally told her she could go home, the room fell back into silence, filled only with the fading scent of medicine and the wilted flowers in a glass vase.

On the bedside table, her phone blinked. She turned it on.

No messages.

No missed calls.

An odd emptiness spread in her chest. Not because she had expected anything, she had long stopped expecting, but because even silence, when too familiar, could still hurt.

A whole week gone, and not one soul in the world seemed to notice she had disappeared.

When Anne left the hospital, a light drizzle had begun to fall.

She pulled her thin coat tighter, called a taxi, and returned to the mansion. The enormous house loomed in the misty dusk, dark and hollow as ever.

Inside, everything was spotless, unchanged and as though no one had been gone, as though no one had almost died.

The faint scent of Edric's cologne lingered in the air. It stung. She used to smell it on his shirts when she did his laundry.

Anne sat on the sofa and texted him.

'I'm home.'

A moment later, her phone buzzed.

A short, detached reply.

'I have a dinner party tonight. Don't wait up.'

She stared at the screen for a long time, then quietly set the phone aside.

On the refrigerator were the medicines the doctor had prescribed. She arranged them neatly, brewed herself a cup of ginger tea, and sipped it slowly, as if the warmth might fill the emptiness inside her chest.

The phone lit up again.

It was a news post: "Welcome Party for Bella Hadris After Two Years in Europe."

The attached photo showed Edric standing beside Bella. He wore a black suit, his familiar polite smile in place. Bella, in a scarlet dress, her golden curls shining under the light, leaned toward him with effortless charm.

Anne stared at the image, numb.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen them together. Even before their marriage, she'd heard stories about their relationship, seen their pictures on social media. But this time, something inside her shifted.

Her mind echoed with his words that morning:

'Take the pill. I don't want any more mistakes.'

Mistake.

So that's what she had always been.

Anne set the phone down. Her chest tightened, but no tears came. She had cried too much already so there was nothing left to spill.

She walked to the bedroom, to the drawer she rarely opened.

Second drawer from the bottom... she whispered.

Inside was a white folder, its corner slightly bent. She pulled it out, opened it, and read the bold heading:

Marriage Contract Duration: 24 months.

Two years.

A bitter smile curved her lips. Less than a month remained. This arrangement, this mockery of a marriage, was about to expire which just as he had planned from the beginning.

The last page bore both their signatures so neat, distant and soulless.

"Upon the end of the contract, both parties shall dissolve the marriage, with no emotional, legal, or financial obligations."

She read it slowly, each word cutting deeper, as if she were reading her own sentence.

He had prepared for her departure long before she had ever thought of staying.

Anne's fingertips brushed the paper. It was smooth, cold, and sharp.

Just like Edric.

She took out a pen. The nib touched a blank sheet.

Divorce Agreement.

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the sound of dry leaves scraping the pavement, fragile, lifeless, like the love she had spent two years tending to.

She paused, staring at the page.

There was no hatred left in her, no resentment. Only an aching hollowness, a quiet space where his presence used to be.

If their marriage had been a contract, then perhaps her love for him had always been an unsigned clause, one that never truly existed.

Anne folded the paper neatly, slipped it into an envelope, and laid it on the desk.

The clock struck eleven.

Outside, headlights flickered past, slicing through the darkness for a brief moment before fading again, like fate blinking one last time.

She stood by the window, watching the garden. The rain had stopped, leaving droplets shimmering on the leaves under the dim yellow lights.

Her voice trembled, barely a whisper:

"Edric... You taught me how to love someone who would never love me back. Now, I only want to learn how to forget."

It was time to find a life of her own, one where his shadow no longer followed.

A soft breeze stirred the curtains. The envelope on the desk fluttered, catching a faint shimmer of light, fragile as her final resolve.

Anne turned away, lay down, and pulled the blanket over her chest.

She closed her eyes.

Silence filled the mansion, the quiet of a woman who had finally chosen to let go. Not because love had vanished, but because she had finally learned that love, perhaps, had never begun at all.

In the vast, empty house, only the sound of the clock remained, ticking steadily toward the end of their marriage contract.

Two weeks had passed, yet Edric had not once set foot inside the mansion.

Rumors about him and Bella began to spread throughout high society. Newspapers, gossip columns, and social media were flooded with photos, Edric in a black tuxedo, standing beside Bella, the woman who had once been his first love. Their smiles were so familiar, so intimate, that no one could possibly doubt their closeness.

Bella had returned and was starting her own career as an independent businesswoman. Edric, of course, had used his vast network of connections to help her build her new empire.

Their circle of friends, friends of both Edric and Bella, were more than eager to show their support for the pair. After all, they had never truly accepted Anne.

All Anne needed to do was sit at home with her phone, and she could easily follow Edric and Bella's every move. Those same friends never missed a chance to send her new photos of the two, always with comments sharp enough to cut.

Anne had once tried to ignore those messages. She had always known Edric's friends despised her.

But this time, she refused to look away.

"Bella's back. Maybe it's time you left."

"She's the one he really loves."

"Stop clinging to something that was never yours."

That evening, Anne read through each message, line by line. Then she typed a single sentence in reply, and sent it to them all.

"I'll make the right decision soon."

No anger. No defense.

She was simply done living like a woman begging for scraps of affection.

After that, the group chat went silent. But soon, her inbox began to fill again, this time with new photos, more intimate than before.

They came from Bella's own account.

Anne opened every one of them.

Edric's hand on Bella's shoulder. Their glasses touch mid-toast. The way he smiled down at her, softer than he ever had with Anne.

Anne didn't delete them.

Instead, she took screenshots, then sent them all to Edric, with a brief message attached:

"She sent these to me. Do you have anything to say?"

"If not, at least tell her to stop. It's getting tiresome."

No reply.

No message.

No call.

But from that day onward, Bella stopped.

Anne supposed Edric had dealt with it in his usual way, cold, efficient, without drama, yet just merciful enough to spare Bella's pride.

In the quiet that followed, Anne realized how long it had been since she'd felt peace. No whispers. No pity. No chaos.

Just silence, the kind that lets a person finally hear their own heartbeat again.

She began to rebuild her world from small things.

Each morning, she opened the window wide, letting the scent of jasmine drift in.

She sorted her clothes, her own in one pile, Edric's shirts neatly folded and placed aside.

No resentment. Just detachment.

The things that no longer belonged to her deserved a quiet corner of their own, far from the new life she was beginning to imagine.

By afternoon, she organized the shelves, the drawers, and the books.

A photo frame, once turned facedown, was lifted upright. In it, Edric was smiling faintly, looking at the camera, not at her.

Anne stared at it for a long moment, then took the picture out and placed it into a drawer.

No tears came this time. Only a strange lightness, as if a stone had finally been lifted off her chest.

She pulled her suitcase from under the bed, brushed off the dust. The wheels clicked softly against the floor, a delicate, decisive sound.

From the closet, she packed a few dresses, some books, and a nearly empty bottle of perfume. No room for nostalgia.

On the table lay the house keys, beside an envelope filled with their marriage papers, bank documents, and legal files Edric had once asked her to manage.

Anne slipped everything into a new envelope and wrote two words across the front:

"To Return."

She placed it beside a cold cup of coffee, and the gold ring she had just removed from her finger.

The room felt still. Perfectly still. No trembling, no pain. Only the steady rhythm of quiet breath.

Anne zipped her suitcase.

The sound sliced through the silence, sharp and clean, a line drawn between past and present.

She looked around the room one last time, at the fragments of a loveless marriage.

Everything was quiet now. Beautifully quiet.

She whispered softly to herself,

"Finally... it's time to leave this cage."

The lights went out.

Only the small bedside lamp remained, its golden glow falling on the suitcase by the door.

Outside, rain began to fall, the first of the season.

But inside her heart, the storm had already passed.

Still, Edric's silence, his endless avoidance, sparked a deep, simmering anger in her chest.

What a coward he was.

He should have faced her by now, should have looked her in the eye and spoken of divorce like a man. Yet he hadn't even bothered to send a single message.

Anne's hand tightened around the envelope holding the signed divorce papers.

"Fine," she murmured. "If you're too much of a coward to end it, then I will."

A cold smile curved her lips, one sharp enough to draw blood.

That morning, the sky was crystal clear, yet cold as steel. Pale sunlight spilled across the glass window, tracing a faint shimmer on Anne's calm face.

Before leaving that house, Anne stood still for a long while. Everything was achingly familiar, from the beige curtains to the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Yet that very familiarity made her feel like a stranger lost inside what once was called home.

She took a deep breath, straightened her collar, and stepped outside.

Today, she would go to Edric's company, a place she had never once set foot in during the two years of their marriage.

The Raymond Group towered over the city center like a monument to power and prestige. Its glass façade reflected the dazzling light, and streams of employees moved in and out, disciplined and efficient.

From across the street, Anne looked up at the massive metallic sign - Raymond Corporation.

Those three words carved into her heart like cold steel.

She walked into the grand lobby. The rhythmic tap of her heels echoed against the marble floor, blending with the hum of chatter and the whir of photocopiers.

Then she caught the faint sound of whispering behind her.

"Isn't that President Edric who just arrived?"

"Looks like he's with Miss Bella. Oh my god, those two are perfect together."

Anne turned slightly.

The VIP elevator doors slid open, revealing Edric. He looked as flawless as ever, tailored black suit, matching tie, exuding the cool confidence that once drew her in.

Beside him was Bella, the woman from his past, now walking beside him once more as if they had never been apart. She smiled faintly, her hand brushing his arm. Edric neither moved away nor resisted.

The sight pierced Anne's chest like a silent blade.

She kept her expression composed, though her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag until her knuckles turned white.

She remembered the times she'd offered to visit him at work, just to have lunch together or bring him a homemade meal. And every time, he would say:

"I don't mix personal matters with work. Don't come, Anne."

His tone had always been gentle, but it was a gentleness edged with frost, one that kept her forever at a distance.

Now she knew the truth. It was never about keeping work separate, it was about keeping her hidden. Keeping space open for the woman who was bound to return.

Anne approached the reception desk.

A young woman in uniform looked up with a professional smile.

"Good morning, miss. Who would you like to see?"

"I'd like to meet President Edric Raymond."

Anne's voice was calm, almost soft.

The receptionist paused, giving her a quick once-over.

"I'm sorry, do you have an appointment?"

"I don't." Anne hesitated for a breath. "But I'm his wife."

She said it so quietly it sounded like she wasn't even sure it was still true.

Silence lingered for several seconds before the receptionist frowned and glanced at her screen.

"I'm sorry, miss. According to our records, President Raymond is currently single. Perhaps there's some misunderstanding..."

Anne smiled faintly, a cold, brittle smile.

"A misunderstanding?"

She pulled a thin envelope from her bag and set it on the counter.

"In there is our marriage certificate. You can give it to him if you don't believe me."

The receptionist looked uncertain. Another staff member leaned over and whispered,

"I think that's the rumored wife... But the president's never confirmed it."

Anne heard every word.

She straightened her posture, meeting their eyes with quiet steadiness.

"It's fine. I only came to return something that no longer belongs to me."

She pushed the envelope toward them, then turned to leave.

"Excuse me, miss... who should I say it's from?"

Anne paused but didn't look back.

"Give it to the man who forgot he once had a wife."

She walked across the gleaming lobby, feeling the weight of curious, pitying, and scornful gazes following her. But she didn't falter.

Each step, though heavy, was firm and unyielding.

Outside, the noon wind swept through the streets, carrying the scent of sunlight and dust. Anne stood still for a moment, facing the tower behind her.

That building, once a symbol of Edric's success, of love she had tried so hard to believe in, was now just glass and metal, reflecting her own thin face.

She looked at her reflection. Pale. Tired. But her eyes no longer trembled.

Taking out her phone, she opened their message thread.

Edric Raymond.

No replies. Just silence.

She typed a few words, deleted them, and finally sent one short message:

"I've returned what you needed."

Then she slipped her phone away and walked into the crowd.

For the first time in two years, Anne felt something close to freedom, lonely, hollow freedom, but freedom nonetheless.

Far above, on the top floor of Raymond Group, Edric stepped out of a meeting when his secretary approached with an envelope.

"She said she's your wife, sir."

Edric frowned, his expression darkening.

He opened the envelope. Inside was a divorce paper, and an old wedding ring, still glinting faintly under the light.

His hand tightened around the paper. For a moment, something unreadable flickered across his eyes.

Then, just as quickly, his expression smoothed out.

"Dispose of it," he said evenly.

Outside, Anne sat by the bus window, watching the city blur past, buildings, lights, strangers.

There was no pain left. Only silence.

She closed her eyes, letting the sunlight touch her cheek, and smiled faintly.

From this day on, her life would begin anew-no longer as Mrs. Edric Raymond,

but simply as Anne.

A girl with no family, no home, and nothing left to lose.