I stared at him. Then, I started laughing until my tears slipped out. "Anthony, you didn't use to be like this."

Back then, he would zone out when watching me paint and tell me I was the most beautiful woman in the world. When I forgot to wash the paint off my hands and felt embarrassed, he'd argue that was what a true muse looked like.

I even remembered that rainy day when we first met so vividly because he'd suddenly stopped by my side when walking by with an umbrella. Then, he'd smiled at me and asked, "You're Ms. Lancaster's daughter, right? I'm a big fan. I've always loved her paintings."

It turned out that I was the only one who'd never walked out of that rainy day.

My heart finally settled at that moment. I pushed Anthony's hands away and turned to head back to my room.

As I closed the door, he suddenly jammed his hand against it, stopping me cold. "There's only one day left before we remarry. Giselle, you'll be there, right?"

I was quiet for a heartbeat. Then, I smiled. "Yeah."

…

The next day, Emma came with a team to help me pack. I was leaving the country, so a lot of things had to be checked. Everything had to be wrapped extra carefully.

"Giselle, do you want to bring these paintings?" Emma pointed at the portraits on the studio wall.

They were all paintings of Anthony; I'd painted them.

On our wedding night, he'd said he had a surprise. He'd carved out a studio of over 200 square feet for me in our tiny 500-square-foot place. In exchange, he'd asked me to paint a portrait of him every year because he wanted to live forever in my eyes.

I'd agreed. After that, I'd painted him working, exercising, studying… I'd poured 100% of my love into each one.

Anthony had loved them, too. Every time I finished a painting, he'd had a gift ready.

In the first year of our marriage, the gift had been a felted wool figure that had taken him half a month to learn to make.

In the second year of our marriage, the gift had been rare pigments he'd hunted down across the entire city.

In the third year of our marriage, the gift had been exhibition tickets he'd waited three days in line to get.

In the fifth year, the gift had been a Cartier bracelet he'd instructed his assistant to order.

In the sixth year, the gift was a Chanel bag exactly like the one Tanya had. The night it arrived, Tanya had openly implied on her social media that I was copying her.

In the seventh year, the gift was… our divorce papers.

Time was a ruler. It measured how far Anthony and I had drifted apart over seven years.

Two messages popped up on my phone.

One was from Anthony. "Giselle, I'll see you at 9:00 am tomorrow. Don't forget."

The other was from Tanya. "It's the last night of our seven-day romance. Anthony says he wants to try something thrilling with me."

My lashes trembled as I took one last look at the portraits and locked my phone. "No, I'm not bringing them."

…

Night had fallen by the time I was done packing. I slept in a room much emptier than before; it was restful.

At 7:00 am, I headed to the airport. Anthony called to ask when I was leaving for City Hall. I brushed him off, then blocked his number.

At 8:00 am, I cleared security. Anthony posted a photo of City Hall on his social media. "After all the twists and turns, I still go back to you."

I opened his profile and blocked it.

At 9:00 am, I boarded the plane. As I was deleting every photo and message connected to Anthony, my phone rang. It was a call from Emma.

I answered.

The voice that rang out on the other end of the line was Anthony's. He sounded like he was choked up, and he spoke through clenched teeth. "Aren't we supposed to remarry today, Giselle? Where are you?"