I left calmly.

Inside, the atmosphere suddenly relaxed, and everyone resumed drinking and laughing loudly.

Not a single person condemned their behavior or questioned whether they owed me an apology.

I was no longer in love, so there was no need to dwell on it.

I was tired and didn't want to keep fixating on them.

There were more important things in life that deserved my energy.

On the way home, I felt an unprecedented sense of calm.

I wasn't tormented by memories of their passionate kisses.

But once I got home and finished washing up, I still struggled to sleep.

Even with sleeping pills, I couldn't find rest.

I couldn't increase the dosage anymore.

Three years of insomnia couldn't simply be cured by deciding to let go.

I used to spend countless nights watching Ethan's sleeping face to get through the long, dark hours.

Now, I would have to rely on myself.

Ethan stumbled home at three in the morning, completely drunk, calling my name incoherently at the entrance.

In the past, no matter how late he returned from socializing, I would always wait for him.

I'd help him take off his shoes, ask if he felt okay, prepare his favorite hangover remedy fruit tea, and give him a massage to help him relax.

But tonight, I did nothing.

Even after he called my name three times, I continued to lie in bed pretending to be asleep.

"Emma!"

He shouted again, his voice laced with evident anger.

I remained unmoved.

Outside, I heard the sound of hurried, unsteady footsteps.

The next moment, Ethan was in the bathroom, throwing up noisily.

The next day, he fell asleep on the bathroom floor, still in his clothes, without even changing his shoes.

I took a deep breath and kicked him hard twice.

Ethan groggily lifted his head and glanced at his watch.

"Why are you just getting up now?" he asked, bewildered.

Usually, I would wake up at five to make him a heartfelt breakfast.

Today, I had the rare luxury of sleeping in until six-thirty. Even though I had only managed a couple of hours of sleep, it was still better than staying awake all night.

He clumsily got up from the floor, ripped off his dirty clothes, and confronted me.

"Why didn't you wait for me to come home? Where's the kudzu tea? Why did you let me sleep in the bathroom all night?"

He was still drunk, and I couldn't be bothered to engage with him.

"Emma, I'm hungry."

"There's a breakfast shop downstairs. You can grab something on your way to work."

I quickly washed up and cleaned the toilet since I would need to use it too.

Ethan frowned in disbelief.

"Emma, are you still mad about last night?"

"I'm really not angry. You said it was a 'mistake,' and I believe you."

Ethan pressed his lips together, suddenly turning on the shower and drenching me with water.

I instinctively gasped.

He showered with me, humming the love song he had sung with Sophie the night before.

How childish!

The entire day, I threw myself into work, not sending Ethan a single message or making a call.

Instead, it was Ethan who took the initiative to text me.

He said he was going to have dinner with Sophie because she had just gone through a breakup.

When you don't love someone, you really can become as tough as iron, with no soft spots.

I replied casually.

[Okay.]

My indifferent attitude shocked him again.

He immediately called me on video.

His brow was furrowed, and he seemed to be in a low-pressure state, ready to explode at any moment.

"Aren't you going to say something? You used to stop me from going out with her."

I smiled gently.

"You and Sophie are just ordinary friends, engaging in normal social activities. What's there to stop?"

His dark expression instantly froze, his face filled with disbelief.

Ethan sent me a photo of him and Sophie drinking together in the evening.

They were as close as they were the night before.

Sophie had her head resting on his shoulder, her hair cascading down to cover half her face, obscuring her expression.

I was surprised because he never shares these kinds of moments.

Usually, I have to pry details out of him, and even then, he reluctantly reveals just a hint.

I can't help but imagine various scenarios based on the little details he shares—what they talked about, what they did, whether there are signs of them rekindling their relationship.

Sometimes, these thoughts drive me to the brink of mental exhaustion.

While Ethan's distance from me grows, I feel trapped in a dead-end.

Yet now, my heart is as calm as a still pond.

[Enjoy your meal.]

I typed, but the chat with Ethan remained stuck on "typing..." without any response.

I didn't care what he wanted to say or what had happened to bring them so close. I was indifferent to how he might comfort Sophie, who had just gone through a breakup.

In fact, a strange sense of relief washed over me; I no longer had to stay up late waiting for him to come home or wake up early to prepare him a heartfelt breakfast.

Tonight, I didn't bombard him with calls like before.

Instead, I calmly went through my evening routine, took three sleeping pills, and quietly drifted off to sleep.

Miraculously, I fell asleep quickly.

It felt so peaceful, so comfortable.

It was a long-lost sense of relaxation.

Ethan returned early the next morning, his face bruised.

He rubbed his forehead and explained.

"I got drunk last night and fought with Sophie's boyfriend. I spent the night in jail."

I tilted my head and stared at his face for a couple of seconds, not concerned about his pain but asking the question a bystander would care about most.

"Oh, did you win?"

Ethan looked taken aback, frowning slightly.

The air felt thick and silent.

He probably expected me to rush to get ice for his injuries or run downstairs to buy him some ointment for bruises.

When I didn't respond, he silently nodded, offering no further explanation.

It was the weekend, but I had to support an exhibition downtown as a key member of the operations team.

Before I even arrived at the exhibition, I received a message from Sophie.

Opening it revealed a photo of a red heart tattoo with special effects.

My heart sank; that was Ethan's tattoo.

I had insisted he get that design.

I told him it represented my "heart," one that would always beat for him.

"Emma, where did Ethan get that cool tattoo?" Sophie messaged.

"I love sunflowers and have always wanted to get a sunflower tattoo on my arm, but I haven't found a reliable artist. Please tell me, Emma, haha."

At that moment, my already numb heart felt a sharp pain.

It was so vivid and raw.

I was reminded that I had a golden sunflower tattoo on my chest.

Ethan once said, "Get a sunflower tattoo; I love sunflowers..."

Whenever he felt lost in passion, he would gently caress the sunflower, treating it with utmost care.

I mistakenly thought that in those moments, he genuinely cherished me.

But it turned out he was merely reminiscing about someone who loved sunflowers.

Ethan's tattoo was in a private area, on the left side of his groin.

Only the closest people could see it during intimate moments.

Clearly, they had spent the night together again.