Lydia's eyes held no concern. Instead, there was only disdain.

"Clean this up and hurry up with the food. Everyone's starving."

The door closed behind her.

She didn't know about the tumor in my stomach that needed immediate attention, or that I'd just discovered at the hospital that our marriage was a complete sham.

My life had been nothing but a joke from the moment I fell in love with her.

The following day was Saturday.

Lydia left early in the morning, saying she had an urgent client to meet.

Philip, naturally, went with her.

The apartment was dead silent.

Suddenly, my phone lit up with a notification.

The profile picture, a candid shot of a woman from behind, looked familiar. But I recognized the woman's watch right away, as it was the one Lydia often wore.

I tapped open the profile.

The account didn't have many posts, but every single one made my blood run cold. The earliest was from five years ago, shortly after Lydia and I had "gotten married".

A photo showed two hands wearing matching wedding rings, resting on a marriage certificate. The caption was written in Astorian.

"Though it has to stay a secret for now, what the law recognizes is the only thing that lasts forever. Thanks, Ly."

A post from three months ago read, "She said she'd sponsor my PR card. All the documents have been submitted. Once it's approved, I'll officially be a Starbrougher."

Another post from two months ago read, "Someone secretly got me the new phone, saying I should have the best. I told her she didn't have to, but she said I deserved it."

There was a comment beneath. "Is that guy who's been hanging around your wife still bothering her?"

He replied, "Yep, he's like a stray dog that won't leave. Back in college, he used to wait outside her dorm building. Now he's followed her all the way abroad. He should take a look in the mirror—does he really think he's good enough for her?"

I stood in the middle of the living room with my phone in hand. The March sunlight streamed, yet I felt cold all over.

He wasn't wrong. I was the one who pursued Lydia.

On the first day of freshman year, I was taking photos around the campus with my camera when someone appeared in my frame. She stood in a white shirt, silhouetted against the sun.

The moment I pressed the shutter, I was done for.

After that, I followed Lydia all over campus.

She was the unattainable beauty of the law school, while I was the art major always trailing behind her with my camera.

Everyone said I wasn't good enough for her. However, with nothing but reckless courage and devotion, I somehow managed to become her boyfriend.

The year we graduated, my photography career was just starting to take off. I'd won two awards and received commissions from several magazines.

Then, she said she wanted to move to Starbrough. Without a second thought, I packed my bags and followed her there.

She held my hand, her eyes reddening. "Nathaniel, I promise I'll treat you right for the rest of my life. The marriage procedures overseas are complicated, so let's register our marriage here first."

After coming to Starbrough, I wanted to continue with photography. But with the language barrier, I hit dead ends everywhere.

Once, I took on a job but messed it up because I couldn't understand the client's instructions.

I came home and cried about it to Lydia.

"You didn't even pass Astorian Level Four, so why push yourself?" she asked with a frown. "Just quit it—I'll provide for you."

From then on, she deposited two thousand dollars into my account every month for living expenses. But that was barely enough to get by.

When I said I wanted to go back home to visit my family, she would frown and say, "I'm in the middle of an important case, so I can't leave just yet."

When I suggested going alone, she said, "What's the point of you going back by yourself? Wait until I'm less busy, and we'll go together."

I ended up waiting five years.

It turned out that all those excuses over the years—"I'm busy", "It's inconvenient", and "It's insensitive because of my profession"—were never the real reasons. The truth was, she never saw me as her husband at all.

My phone buzzed. It was a reminder from the hospital confirming surgery scheduled in three days.

What Lydia didn't know was that in the past five years, I'd never truly given up on myself.

I hadn't let Astorian slide. Even though I never passed Level Four, I could chat with locals for three hours without stumbling. Sometimes, I even secretly took on small photography gigs online.

Lydia never asked what I did during the day.

The day before my surgery, I got a call from an editor named Gary Floyd at a Luxorian-owned magazine I'd worked with before.

They were doing a feature on distinguished Luxorian professionals in Starbrough, and this issue's subject happened to be Lydia.

Gary knew I lived in Starbrough and had done some decent work in the past. So, he asked if I could take on a photography gig, offering generous pay.

I found myself saying yes.

I wanted to see what would happen when I showed up in front of Lydia's colleagues at her office, not as her husband, but as a photographer.

On the day of the shoot, I arrived at the law firm first.

The receptionist asked about my purpose. Just as I showed her my press credentials, a familiar voice cut through like a blade.

"Nathaniel? What are you doing here?"

Philip strode over in his leather shoes, looking at me as if I were something filthy.

"This is a workplace. No unauthorized personnel are allowed in here," he said, his tone laced with undisguised contempt.

"I'm here to work."

His smile faltered. He looked me up and down, then smirked again.

"What kind of work? Are you here to deliver food?" He let out a laugh. "Stop messing around, Nathaniel. This is a law firm, not your kitchen. Unauthorized personnel aren't permitted here."

I held up my press credentials. "I'm scheduled with the magazine to do a feature shoot with Ms. Lydia Payne at 3:00 pm today."

Philip raised an eyebrow. "What kind of magazine would be stupid enough to hire you? You didn't even pass Astorian Level Four."

After taking a deep breath, I took out my phone and called Lydia.

She answered and barked impatiently, "What is it? I'm busy!"

"I'm down at the law firm."

There was a pause on the other end, followed by the sound of footsteps.

When she came out and saw me, Lydia immediately frowned.

"What are you doing here? Go home right now. I have things to deal with tonight."

"I'm here for work," I replied, holding up the assignment letter.

She glanced at it without taking it, her expression as if she'd just heard a joke.

"What work could you possibly have?"

"Photography."

She looked at me with that familiar disgust in her eyes.

"You haven't touched a camera in five years. What could you even shoot? Don't embarrass yourself, and just go home."

Before she could finish, the elevator doors opened.

The magazine's chief editor, Max Welch, stepped out with his team.

"Ms. Payne, I've been looking forward to meeting you. Oh, Nathaniel, you're already here?" Max turned to me. "Shall we get started? Would you like to check the lighting first?"

Lydia's expression froze on her face, and Philip was stunned as well.

The interview went smoothly.

After it ended, we moved on to the photo shoot. I raised my camera and looked at Lydia through the viewfinder.

I'd spent all my youth loving and worshiping this woman. But now, in my lens, she was nothing more than a beautiful stranger.

I took three sets of photos. Max nodded approvingly.

As we wrapped up, I crouched down to change lenses. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Philip approaching.

"Nathaniel, sorry about the misunderstanding earlier," he said with a smile.

Then, his foot suddenly caught something, and he lurched straight into me.

The camera flew out of my hands and crashed against the metal trash can in the corner.

The lens shattered with a crack, and a split ran through the body.

My mind went blank.

That camera was passed down to me from my father, Christopher Hardy. The night he passed, I held that camera and cried until dawn.

Philip's voice was flustered as he poured out apologies, but a flash of satisfaction flickered in his eyes.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Clumsy me. Nathaniel, please don't be mad."

A surge of rage shot through me. I got to my feet, eyes reddening, and threw a punch.

"Nathaniel, have you lost your mind?"

Lydia grabbed my wrist, yanking me back with force. Then, she stepped in front of Philip, glaring at me.

"Philip didn't mean to break your camera! Besides, are you seriously going to make a scene over a crappy camera? Just take a look at yourself! What, you think you're some big shot thug?"

I stared at her face, suddenly at a loss for words.

She was protecting him.

The blood in my veins gradually turned cold.

The magazine crew exchanged uneasy glances.

Max smoothed things over, saying they'd reschedule another time, and left with his team.

I crouched down to pick up the shattered camera.

Lydia walked over and handed me a few bills.

"Get it repaired. That's enough drama, so quit it."

I didn't take the money, and they fluttered to the floor.

I stood up and looked at her, then at Philip behind her. He was biting his lip, wearing a perfectly practiced look of grievance.

Without a word, I turned and walked away.

I went to the hospital. When I lay down on the operating table, the cold touch of the instruments sent a shiver through me.

After the keyhole surgery, I felt a dull pain in my abdomen. It was as if something had been taken out of me.

I stood on the street corner, leaning against a lamppost for support. It took me ten minutes to get a taxi.

When I got home, I lay down in bed and drifted into a hazy sleep.

In the middle of the night, my phone rang.

It was Lydia's number. However, when I answered, Philip's voice came through instead.

"Nathaniel? Ms. Payne had too much to drink tonight. She insists you come get her, or she won't leave otherwise. We're at the bar. Hurry up."

I glanced at the time. It was 2:00 am.

My abdomen still ached, and I felt weak all over.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat was too dry to make a sound.

I hung up and lay back down.

The phone rang again. I rejected the call, only for it to start right back up.

The third time, I got up and put on my clothes. Every moment pulled at the pain.

Old habits, I supposed.

For five years, I'd grown used to being at her beck and call, to setting aside my own needs, and to always putting her first.

This time, I told myself, would be my final farewell.

The bar was in Medburg, so I took an hour-long subway ride.

I pushed open the door. The lights were dim, the music pounding. I searched the place but didn't see Lydia.

I called her phone. When the call connected, I asked, "Hello? Lydia, where are—"

From the receiver came the rustle of fabric, followed by Philip's cry.

"Lydia, kiss me."

"Okay," Lydia replied, her voice low and husky with alcohol.

I stood at the entrance of the bar, phone pressed to my ear, listening to the sounds on the other end.

My stomach churned violently. I braced myself against the wall and dry heaved, but nothing came up.

I hung up and turned to leave.

Suddenly, several figures appeared before me.

Three tall, drunk men gave me a hostile once-over.

"Hey, Luxorian, are you alone? How about lending us some cash?"

One of them stepped closer and shoved my shoulder. I stumbled back, my back hitting the wall.

Another grabbed me by the collar. His grip was strong, and I couldn't break free.

"Back off! My friends are on their way!" I shouted in Astorian, but my voice trembled.

"Friends? Where?" They laughed and closed in on me.

I was about to cry for help when a fist slammed into my stomach. The pain doubled me over instantly, black spots swimming before my eyes.

Then, the blows came like rain. Fists and boots pounded my body, my back, and my head. I curled up on the ground, shielding my head, as my consciousness began to fade.

With shaking hands, I called Lydia again, praying she'd hear what was happening and come to save me.

The nauseating sounds from the receiver seemed to pause for a moment, then the line went dead.

I called again, but she'd already turned her phone off.

My own phone was kicked out of my hand. Someone yanked me up by my hair and punched me in the face.

Warm liquid trickled from my nose, the taste of blood flooding my mouth.

I closed my eyes.

Just as I was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, a blinding white light cut through the darkness.

"Hey! What are you doing? Let him go, or I'm calling the cops!"

The beating stopped. Cursing loudly, the men turned and ran.

The man who saved me was middle-aged, with a Luxorian face. He asked if I wanted to call the police.

I shook my head. After thanking him, I picked up my phone and staggered to my feet.

By the time I got home, dawn was approaching.

I stood in the bathroom and turned on the faucet. Then, I looked at myself in the mirror.

My lip was split, my nose was swollen and red, my hair was a tangled mess, and my eyes were rimmed with red.

I opened the deepest corner of the closet and pulled out the carry-on suitcase I'd packed long ago.

On the way to the airport, my phone kept ringing. Lydia's name flashed on the screen again and again, yet I didn't answer.

At the airport, I pulled out the Astorian SIM card and tossed it into the trash bin. Then, I walked into the departure hall.

The overhead announcement echoed through the terminal, "Flight to Gilland is now boarding."

I stood up and walked forward with my suitcase.

At the security checkpoint, the staff asked, "Sir, are you traveling alone?"

I nodded.

"Welcome home."

I looked out the window at the white aircraft and suddenly smiled.

Goodbye, Starbrough.

Goodbye, Lydia.