The air froze.

Lucas’s face turned pale, his fists tightening at his sides, yet he said

nothing.

I turned away and went into the kitchen to turn off the faucet.

Only then did I realize the water had overflowed, running down the white

tiles and pooling at my feet.

Suddenly, a hand reached from behind me and twisted the valve shut.

Lucas’s voice brushed against my ear, low and tight with restraint.

“Are you really going to leave?”

I didn’t look back.

“Yes,” I said softly. “I already gave you my heart. What else is there

for me to stay for?”

He was silent for a few seconds.

When he finally spoke, his tone was a bitter blend of laughter and sigh.

“You’re too naive, love. Without me, you’re nothing.”

I turned to face him.

“Then after I’m gone,” I said, meeting his gaze, “let’s see whose heart

stops first.”

I picked up my bag and walked to the door.

The moment it closed behind me, a gust of wind swept in, brushing

against my face.

And right then, I understood—

I had once saved his heart, but now, I was finally learning to save my

own.

Nova’s laughter still lingered in the air, sharp and thin, pricking at

my eardrums like needles.

I stood there, barely breathing.

That dress.

That color.

That fragment of a past he had once buried—

now draped across another woman’s body.

It hit me then: this house had never belonged to me.

I had lived here for five years—

washing his shirts, cooking his meals, sorting through his files—

a machine disguised as a wife, programmed to serve.

And even that title, wife, turned out to be nothing more than a

convenient lie.

Nova leaned against his chest, her face upturned, smiling.

Her lips brushed his jaw in a featherlight kiss.

“You once told me,” she murmured, “that after your surgery, you never

wanted to remember those dark days again.”

“Yes,” Lucas answered quietly, his gaze soft, almost tender—so tender I

barely recognized him.

“I just want to live again.”

For a moment, I nearly laughed.

Live again?

The only reason his heart still beat today was because I had spent those

endless nights begging, pleading, searching for a way to keep him alive.

I remembered that snowy night at the hospital—

the hallway lights going out one by one,

my knees pressed against the freezing tiles as I signed the

authorization form.

“Are you willing to donate part of your own tissue? The match rate is

low, but it might save him.”

I hadn’t hesitated.

Back then, I believed love meant giving away pieces of your heart—

even if it had to be cut out by hand.

But now, that same heart gave me no warmth at all.

“Me?”

Nova’s voice pulled me back from the memory.

She tilted her head, lips curling in that sugar-sweet, taunting smile.

“Do you think this dress is pretty? Lucas said this color reminds him of

spring—fresh, young, alive.”

Alive.

I almost laughed again.

So that’s what I was now—

an empty shell of the woman who once saved him.

“It’s pretty,” I said at last.

Then I lifted my head, meeting her gaze, my tone calm—almost gentle.

“But that color’s too bright. It’s not really suitable for being around

a heart patient. It might... excite his heartbeat.”

The air went still.

Nova’s smile froze on her lips.

Lucas’s brows drew together, a faint twitch betraying the discomfort he

didn’t want to show.

I looked at him and added, almost casually,

“Didn’t the doctor say your heart still can’t handle too much

stimulation?”

His expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.

That was the past he never wanted mentioned again—

the night of the failed heartbeat, the surgery that nearly ended him,

the same fear I had lived with for five long years.

He never thought I’d bring it up.

Not in front of her.

I stepped forward and gently picked up the coffee cup on the table.

“The temperature’s just right,” I said, handing it to him with a faint

smile. “Don’t let it get cold.”

In that moment, I looked exactly like the woman I had been five years

ago—

obedient, quiet, considerate.

Only this time, my heart was empty.

“I…” He started, his tone laced with something complicated. “Maybe you

should get some rest.”

I nodded.

“All right.”

I set down the cup and walked toward the door.

My shadow stretched long in the morning light spilling through the

window.

“Lucas,” I said softly, stopping in my tracks. My voice was so light it

almost dissolved into the air.

“Five years ago, I saved your life.”

He froze.

“But now,” I continued, “it’s time I saved my own.”

The door closed behind me, and I heard him take a long, heavy breath.

Nova leaned toward him, her voice a whisper, tinged with amusement.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just jealous.”

I didn’t look back.

Sunlight poured through the glass window, falling across the back of my

hand.

The scar there still burned faintly—

a mark left from the day I signed the surgery consent form five years

ago.

A seal that would never heal.

Kendall—

her smile faltered, cracking at the corners. My words had stolen

whatever composure she had left.

Lucas stood beside her, brow furrowed, his expression outwardly calm,

yet betraying a trace of unease.

The air hung silent for several seconds.

The kettle in the kitchen kept boiling softly.

While they said nothing, I untied my apron, turned around, and left.

My footsteps were light, yet carried a weight of finality I hadn’t felt

in years.

Back in the bedroom, I leaned against the door and took a deep breath.

The divorce would take effect in a week.

Seven days—

after that, I would no longer be Mrs. Lucas.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through rental listings, one after

another.

Old apartments on the edge of town, single rooms, shared flats…

Each title looked like an escape route, a map leading out of this life.

Just then, Lucas’s voice came from outside the door—low, cold.

“I’m going to the office this afternoon. Kendall will stay here. My body

hasn’t fully recovered—you’ll take care of me.”

I looked up, my tone so even it barely carried emotion.

“Take care of you? Are you sure I’m your maid… or your nurse?”

He hadn’t expected me to answer that way. His face changed slightly.

“Have you forgotten,” he said after a pause, voice heavy with warning,

“who allows you to still live here?”

That familiar note of threat—low, deliberate—

sank between us like the echo of a locked door.

I gave a small, tired smile. “I haven’t forgotten. But I also remember

the doctor saying that day—

I nearly went into cardiac failure saving you.”

He froze, a flicker of stiffness flashing through his features.

It was the one memory he could never bear to face.

“Don’t bring that up again,” he said coldly. “You saved me, and I gave

you five years of life.”

I lifted my head. For the first time, there was no fear in my eyes.

“Five years?” I said quietly. “That wasn’t life. It was imprisonment.”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak.

His expression twisted—part anger, part guilt—

but the flicker of remorse vanished almost instantly.

“When I’m gone,” he muttered, his voice sinking into a low, restrained

growl,

“don’t cause trouble. If anything happens to Kendall…”

He paused.

“You know the consequences.”

Then he bent down and kissed Kendall on the forehead.

That scene—

one I had imagined in countless dreams—

was never meant to belong to anyone else.

The door closed.

He was gone.

The living room fell silent.

Kendall slumped onto the sofa, her posture lazy, a mocking smile tugging

at the corners of her lips.

“How touching,” she said, her tone dripping with false sympathy. “Five

years of marriage, and he still can’t stand to waste a single glance on

you.”

I didn’t answer.

I simply sat there, scrolling through the listings on my phone.

My calm seemed to infuriate her. She suddenly stood up, laughter

spilling from her lips as she swayed the coffee cup in her hand.

“Did you know?” she said sweetly, “Last night he told me his heartbeat

was even faster than it was after his surgery—because I was in his

arms.”

The cup tilted in my hand—

I dodged, but the scalding coffee still splashed across my clothes.

A few drops landed on my wrist. The pain was sharp, and I gasped,

falling to the floor in a half-cry that sounded almost theatrical.

“Lucas!” I screamed.

Footsteps thundered from the hallway.

He burst in, eyes flaring when he saw my reddened wrist.

“What the hell are you doing now?!”

Before I could speak, his palm came down hard.

The slap rang in my ears, and for a second, the world went white.

He gathered Kendall into his arms and rushed out, leaving me kneeling

among shattered porcelain and spilled coffee.

The heat soaked through my thin nightgown, burning my skin.

But the pain in my chest was worse—

a hollow, carved-out ache where something once lived.

I braced myself against the table and forced myself to stand, gasping

for air.

My gaze landed on the old medicine box by the window.

Inside were the leftover heart pills from his surgery—

carefully sorted, one by one, by my own hands.

Now they sat there quietly, as if mocking me.

So this is what I saved, they seemed to whisper.

Not a man. Just a heart without a soul.

I closed my eyes, my throat tightening.

It was time to leave.

For good.

I didn’t go back to the bedroom.

I just picked up the old suitcase beside the bed.

The zipper was rusted, and when I pulled it open, it screeched—

an ugly sound, yet strangely beautiful,

like a reminder that the escape route hadn’t been sealed completely.

Night wind slipped through the cracks of the window, lifting the

curtain’s corner.

Moonlight spread across the table where the divorce papers lay—

black ink on white paper, cold as a gravestone.

I reached for it, my fingertips icy.

Five years of marriage—

nothing but a few pages of paper.

And yet I had built those years with blood and bone.

I signed my name and smiled faintly.

There was no hatred left in that smile, no resentment—

only emptiness.

The next morning, I went to the hospital.

The burn on my leg had begun to fester.

The doctor frowned as he cleaned the wound, his tone half reproach, half

pity.

“How did you get burned like this? Where’s your family?”

“I don’t have family,” I said softly.

He didn’t ask again—only sighed.

Laughter drifted from the next examination room.

“That girl only burned her wrist a little,” a nurse said between

giggles,

“and her boyfriend rushed here in the middle of the night—dragged the

hospital director out of bed, demanding compensation.”

“Tch. Rich people,” the doctor muttered, shaking his head.

“But that girl’s lucky,” the nurse replied. “At least someone cares.”

I lowered my eyes, the corners of my lips barely moving.

Yes. Being cared for is a kind of luck.

Mine, though, had run out five years ago—

the night of that operation.

After the bandages were done, I sat alone on the bench.

Raindrops streaked down the glass, blurring the world outside.

Then, from the end of the hallway, I heard a voice—

low, familiar, and unmistakable.

“Me?”