I lay in the hospital for three days.

In those three days, Roger sent no calls or messages.

He seemed to have completely forgotten that he had a wife named Josie Walton.

Sonya came to keep me company every day. She cared for me while handling the follow-up matters.

I used a newly purchased phone card and sent a message to Roger's assistant in a stranger's tone. "Ms. Josie Walton will travel out of town for a one-month retreat. Please do not disturb her with any matters during this time."

The assistant replied quickly. "Understood. Received."

I knew he would definitely pass the message to Roger.

Roger would only think I was considerate for tactfully disappearing when he needed to care for Sylvie.

On the morning of the fourth day, I pulled out the IV tube from my hand.

With Sonya's help, I completed the discharge procedures and left the hospital quietly.

I did not go home. I asked Sonya to make a trip for me.

I did not want to set eyes again on that house filled with my efforts and despair.

Sonya followed my request and placed the ring on the nightstand in the bedroom, next to the photo frame I once wiped clean every day.

In the picture, I smiled brightly while his expression remained distant.

When she returned, she told me, "I put away your photos from the bedroom and the living room. I cleared every spot where your face could be seen."

I nodded. "Thank you."

She hesitated as if wanting to say more. "Josie, are you really sure about this? Once you leave, you might never come back."

I looked out the window. The distant sky hung gray and heavy, much like my past five years.

But I knew the sun would break through eventually.

"I'm sure." My tone stayed firm. "The world is so big. There has to be a place without Roger and without Sylvie."

The moment I boarded the train, I glanced back at the city where I had lived for over twenty years.

It held my youth, my love, my pain.

Now I left all of it behind here.

The train started moving slowly and carried me toward an unknown future.

Josie Walton had died.

She died in that car accident and in Roger's indifferent gaze.

From now on, I was just myself.

A free person who lived for herself.

Roger returned to the place he called "home" only after a full week.

For those seven days, he never left Sylvie's side until the doctor confirmed her complete recovery. Then he personally drove her back to her house.

When he pushed open the villa door, no familiar aroma of dinner greeted him. Only cold silence filled the rooms.

He frowned. An inexplicable irritation rose in his chest.

Josie was not home?

He remembered the message his assistant had passed on about her going out of town for a month-long retreat.

She certainly picked the right time.

He changed his shoes, tossed his coat onto the sofa, and headed straight to the bedroom on the second floor.

As he pushed the door open, he almost asked out of habit, "Is this the one?" But he noticed the sticky note that once read "Bedroom" was gone.

Not just from the door. Every sticky note he knew so well had vanished from the entire room and the whole house.

The large wedding photo still hung on the wall, but the label marking the anniversary underneath had been torn off.

The house felt excessively clean. All of Josie's personal belongings—cosmetics, clothes, books—had disappeared without a trace.

It was as if this woman had never lived here at all.

The irritation in Roger's heart grew stronger.

He walked to the nightstand and immediately spotted the platinum ring lying quietly on top.

Next to the ring stood the photo frame that once held a picture of him and Josie.

Now the photo had been removed, leaving only an empty white backing.

He picked up the ring. Its cold touch spread from his fingertips.

He suddenly recalled how Josie treasured this ring and refused to take it off even for showers.

Yet now she had left it behind.

What did this mean?

A panic he had never felt before slowly enveloped Roger like an invisible net.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he had never called on his own initiative.

"The number you have dialed is powered off."

He hung up irritably and called his assistant instead. "Find out Josie's itinerary. Where did she go for her retreat? When is she coming back?"

The assistant replied quickly, but the answer only deepened his unease. "Sir, there are no travel records for Miss Walton. No flights, trains, or long-distance buses show any ticket purchases in her name."

No travel records?

Then how had she gone out of town?

An absurd thought flashed through his mind.

She had left.

Not for a retreat, but truly left.

At that moment, his private phone rang.

The caller ID showed an unknown number from a remote city in the neighboring province.

He answered with a harsh tone. "Who is this?"

A calm, formal male voice came from the other end. "Is this Mr. Roger? The husband of Josie Walton?"

Roger's heart sank heavily. "Yes. What happened to her?"

The man paused for a few seconds as if choosing his words carefully. "Mr. Roger, this is the West River City Police Department. We recovered a female body downstream from the Azure River. Based on initial item comparison, we suspect it may be your wife, Josie Walton."

"...What?" Roger's mind buzzed and went completely blank.

The voice on the phone continued clearly and coldly. "The facial features of the body are severely damaged and cannot be identified visually. We need you to come as soon as possible to assist with DNA comparison and confirm the identity of the deceased."

The air in West River City felt damp and bitterly cold.

Roger stood outside the forensic identification center. Bloodshot veins filled his eyes after a sleepless night.

From the moment he received the call, he had driven here like a madman.

Only one thought occupied his mind. It could not be Josie.

She was just throwing a tantrum and trying to get his attention this way.

How could she possibly be dead?

A police officer led him toward the room lit with the Autopsy Room sign.

The cold metal door swung open. A mix of formaldehyde and decay hit him in the face.

Roger's stomach churned violently.

He saw a human outline covered by a white sheet in the center of the room.

The officer stepped forward and signaled him to prepare himself mentally. "Mr. Roger, the body has been in the water for a long time. The condition... is not good."

Roger felt his legs weigh a thousand pounds. Each step came with unusual difficulty.

He reached out. His fingertips trembled yet hesitated to lift the sheet.

He was afraid.

This undefeated general who struck fear into countless opponents in court felt bone-deep terror for the first time.

In the end, the forensic expert beside him lifted a corner of the sheet.

A swollen, rotting face unrecognizable in features lay exposed to the air.

Roger's pupils contracted sharply. His breathing stopped for an instant.

Though the facial features could no longer be distinguished, the familiar long brown hair and the red cord bracelet on the wrist—bleached white by water—made his heart pound wildly.

That bracelet was a gift from Josie's mother on her eighteenth birthday. She had always worn it.

"It's not her..." Roger's voice sounded hoarse and dry as if convincing himself. "Her hair wasn't this long."

The expert handed him an evidence bag without expression. "We found this in the deceased's clothing pocket."

Inside the bag lay an ID card soaked until the text blurred.

But the name "Josie Walton" and the outline of the one-inch photo remained clearly visible.

Roger's entire world spun violently in that moment.

He staggered back several steps and crashed into the cold wall.

Impossible...

This was absolutely impossible!

He mobilized all his connections and demanded a thorough investigation from the West River police.

He stayed in West River for three days like a caged beast—restless and irritable.

Until the afternoon of the third day when the final DNA comparison results came out.

No match.

The deceased was not Josie.

The moment Roger received the report, all his strength drained away. He collapsed into a chair.

Immense joy and lingering fear left him nearly exhausted.

He gasped for air in huge breaths as if expelling the suffocation of the past few days.

She was not dead.

She was still alive.

But immediately after, a greater question surged into his mind.

Where was she?

Why had she faked her own death?

Did she want to escape from him that desperately?

Roger returned to Eldoria. The first thing he did was rush into the study and pull up all the surveillance footage around the villa.

He reviewed it frame by frame. Finally, in the footage from the early morning of the day Josie "left for her trip," he spotted her figure.

She wore a plain trench coat and pulled a suitcase as she got into a taxi.

She never looked back.

Roger immediately sent people to track the taxi's destination and investigate the source of the forged ID.

He applied the same obsession and sharpness he used on cases to finding Josie Walton.

Meanwhile, in a small coastal town called Seavelt thousands of miles away.

I rented an attic room with a view of the ocean and gave myself a new name, Serena.

I slept until I woke naturally each day, walked along the beach, or spent afternoons in the town's old bookstore.

The sunshine here felt warm. The sea breeze blew gently.

I sensed myself coming back to life little by little.