In the days that followed, Geston practically made the hospital his second home.

Using her post-transplant weakness as an excuse, Daphne Primrose summoned him for everything, big and small. Today, it was pain at the incision site. Tomorrow, it was insomnia.

Geston became her on-call personal attendant, circling around her twenty-four hours a day.

When he did come home, it was only in passing—to grab a few changes of clothes before rushing back out.

Meanwhile, Daphne, like a queen who had finally won her war, began provoking me with increasing boldness. She sent me intimate photos of herself with Geston. In one picture, he was bending his head to peel an apple for her, his gaze tender in a way I had never once seen.

She sent me screenshots of his social media posts.

That post was visible to everyone—except me.

[My wife is so understanding, more and more like the lady of the house.]

The photo beneath it, however, showed his hand clasping Daphne's.

She even called me late at night. On the other end of the line came her syrupy voice and Geston's impatient murmurs of protest.

"Vi, I'm sorry to bother you so late. I'm just a little scared. Could you ask Geston to stay with me a bit longer?"

I listened to the performance without a ripple of emotion.

I simply saved every recording and screenshot in silence.

Then, alone, I went to the hospital and scheduled an abortion.

Lying on the cold operating table, the sensation of the instruments entering my body was sharp and unmistakable.

I didn't cry. I didn't shed a single tear. I only stared at the harsh white light on the ceiling and told myself over and over, 'Violet, this is what you owe yourself. From now on, you live for yourself.'

When the surgery ended, I dragged my weakened body back to a place that could no longer be called home.

I began slowly packing my things.

Everything I had once treasured—everything connected to him—now looked like nothing but a joke. I boxed them up one by one, ready to throw them away.

One week after Daphne's successful surgery, Geston suddenly called me. His voice sounded utterly exhausted.

"Vi, are you free today? Could you go to the hospital and take care of Daphne for me?"

I held the phone, almost thinking I had misheard.

"There's an emergency meeting at the company. I really can't leave. Daphne is alone at the hospital, and I'm worried."

He wanted me to care for the woman who had taken my kidney source and torn my family apart?

'Geston—just how confident did you have to be to make such a ridiculous request?'

I was silent for a moment.

Then I answered softly with a single word. "Okay."

He seemed to exhale in relief, thanked me repeatedly, and reminded me of things like "what Daphne likes to eat" and "she still can't get out of bed," before hurriedly hanging up.

I set the phone down and looked at my pale reflection in the mirror, tugging my lips into a cold smile.

Of course, I would go. How could I miss such a splendid performance without seeing it with my own eyes?

Carrying the fruit basket I had prepared long ago, I walked into Daphne's VIP ward. She was leaning against the bed, playing on her phone. When she saw me, surprise flickered across her face before it turned into the smug smile of a victor.

"Well, if it isn't Vi. What brings you here?"

"Geston asked me to come," I said lightly as I placed the basket on the bedside table.

Her smile widened. "He really knows how understanding you are."

She looked me up and down, her eyes full of display and disdain.

"See, Vi? I told you—Geston cares about me the most. For me, he was even willing to take the kidney that was supposed to save your life."

I said nothing. I only pulled out a chair and sat beside her bed.

My calm reaction seemed to dissatisfy her. She decided to add fuel to the fire.

"Oh, right. I almost forgot to tell you something."

She leaned closer, lowered her voice, and spoke with a venomous, triumphant tone, "Actually, my kidney wasn't in serious trouble at all. I just wanted to see whether, in Geston's heart, you mattered more… or I did.

"And look—he chose me without a second thought."

Daphne laughed until her shoulders shook, as if savoring the collapse and despair she expected to see on my face.

Instead, I only looked at her quietly and nodded.

"Mm. I know."

Daphne's laughter cut off abruptly. She stared at me in disbelief, as though she had seen a ghost.

"That's all the reaction you have?"

"What else should I do?" I asked calmly. "Cry and beg you to give Geston back to me?"

"You—" She was left speechless, her face flushing red with anger.

I stood up and looked down at her from above.

"Daphne, I'll give you everything you want. I just hope you can hold on to it."

With that, I didn't spare her another glance and turned to walk out of the ward.

Behind me came her shrill, furious screams and the sound of something shattering.

After that, Geston came home less and less often. He had to tend to his fragile first love, while also dealing with the crushing workload at the company. His entire person withered at a pace visible to the naked eye.

He thought he was simply exhausted and never once suspected something was wrong with his body. I had no intention of telling him.

He grabbed my hand, a trace of vulnerability and pleading in his eyes.

"Vi, I feel terrible…"

I pulled my hand back and handed him a glass of water.

"Drink more warm water."

I returned his old, dismissive words to him exactly as he had once given them to me.

His expression darkened instantly.

But he said nothing, only drank the water in silence.

From that day on, there was an added note of scrutiny and unease in the way he looked at me. He seemed to sense my change, yet couldn't put his finger on it.

He didn't know this was only the beginning.

The day Daphne was discharged from the hospital, Geston deliberately took time off to pick her up. He left early in the morning, saying he was going to buy her a bouquet of her favorite champagne roses.

As I watched his cheerful figure disappear, I pulled out the suitcase I had already packed. Then I went into the study and took three items from the drawer.

A divorce agreement with my signature already on it. A medical report diagnosing Geston with late-stage uremia. And my own abortion medical record.

I placed them side by side in the most conspicuous spot on the desk.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting clear shadows across those thin sheets of paper.

When everything was done, I dragged my suitcase and took one last look at the place where I had lived for three years. It had once held my most beautiful dreams—and given me my deepest despair.

Now, I was finally leaving without the slightest trace of attachment.

I boarded a flight bound for overseas.

Just as I took out my phone to turn it off, the screen lit up.

Caller ID: Geston.