It was the dead of night when Emma finally returned home, dragging a suitcase behind her. Seeing me still awake on the couch, she paused, "Why aren't you asleep?"

Before I could respond, I noticed Jack standing just behind her, a smug, challenging look in his eyes.

"Jack hasn't found a place yet, so he's staying with us for now. Go prepare the guest room," Emma ordered. "And make sure the sheets are silk—his skin is sensitive to cotton."

Suppressing my anger, I met her gaze. "Don't you care at all about what happened today?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "What's there to worry about? Surely everything was resolved, right? They caught the guy, didn't they?"

As her eyes swept the mess around us, her demeanor changed instantly. "Can't you keep the house tidy? I'm busy enough with work! Why can't you do anything right?"

Busy, sure—busy meeting an ex-boyfriend.

I let out a bitter laugh. "Am I supposed to clean up to make room for you two?"

Jack coughed strategically, stepping in. "James, I'm really sorry for imposing. If you'd prefer, I'll leave."

He tried to take the suitcase from Emma, but she gripped his hand instead, turning to me with venom in her voice, "Enough already. This house? I bought it. Everything here—I paid for it. Why are you acting all high and mighty?"

Then she pulled Jack into the guest room, slamming the door and leaving me isolated on the outside.

Pain and helplessness washed over me, and I slumped back down. My mind drifted to the day before, when Emma stormed up to me in a fury.

"James, did you send Lily money again? I saw her in a new outfit today. Did you buy it for her?"

Caught off guard, I nodded. "Yeah, my bonus came in this month. I sent her a thousand for living expenses."

Emma was visibly livid, her chest heaving with unspent emotion. "Why give her anything? How long are you going to keep supporting this freeloader?"

I tried to explain—though we'd been over this countless times. Lily was three years younger than me and left school to work because of our family's preference for me. After our parents died, we scraped by, supporting each other.

"She's my sister. Since the accident took her right hand, she has little choice but to rely on me. Our family could only afford one of us to go to school, and she offered to step back."

Emma scoffed at my explanation, clearly unimpressed. "Poor people's problems are such a hassle," she muttered dismissively, looking away.

This morning, Lily and I had planned to visit our parents' graves, but I never got her reply. Then Detective Miller called with grim news—Lily had been taken by a kidnapper.

Panic set in, and when I arrived at the scene, there was Lily, held by a tall, wiry man, a knife to her throat. Her eyes found mine, desperate.

"Brother, please help me!"

Instinct urged me forward, but Detective Miller held me back, his face grave. "The situation's volatile. We need Officer Emma Johnson to negotiate," he insisted.

The kidnapper spun wild-eyed, shouting at the gathering crowd, "Stay back, all of you!"

Emma stood at the perimeter, surveying the scene impassively, periodically glancing at her phone. Desperate, I begged her to intervene, but she brushed me off with nonchalance.

"There are so many people to see every day. Why him? And Lily will be fine—look at all these officers here."

Panic surged, and with desperation, I grabbed her sleeve, begging, "But he said he'd only talk if you came—"

"Enough with the whining!" she snapped, shaking me off. "I said it's fine—why don't you believe me?"

Her phone screen flashed with the name "Jack," and I saw joy flood her face. She left the crowd, rushing to meet him. The wind carried fragments of her words to me.

"…yes, I'm coming right away."

Emma brushed past once more, and I sank to the ground as she drove off, severing the last thread of hope I held for her.

The following morning, I went to the precinct to deal with Lily's affairs. The kidnapper was still undergoing questioning—his motives for targeting Lily were a mystery, but such concerns now seemed trivial.

Lily's ashes rested in a small urn, beside a photo we'd taken when she was eighteen. Tears veiled my eyes as memories flooded back.

I carefully lifted the urn, cradling it against my chest as snippets of conversation drifted around me.

"Poor girl—caught at random by the kidnapper yelling at passersby. Such a tragic ending."

The words I overheard cut deeply, each phrase piercing through my grief-ridden heart.

"It's a tragedy. Who would've thought Officer Johnson would just leave like that, so irresponsible."

"She's taken a week off, and nobody knows why. Her hubby's sister died because of her, and her husband is as useless as they come. He can't even make a complaint."

Nobody noticed my clenched fists or the tears I was trying to hide as people briskly passed by. It seemed the world had decided I was still the pathetic husband, undeserving of Emma. To everyone, Emma Johnson was perfect—gorgeous, wealthy, not lacking anything. How could she fall for someone like me from a simple rural background?

We married quickly after I happened to save her parents during a crisis. At the time, she and Jack were breaking up. Maybe it was an act of gratitude or revenge against Jack, but either way, our marriage was hasty.

Soon after, she regretted it. She cried Jack's name when drunk, indifferent to my raging fever. She even left me alone on my birthday to meet him at the airport over a vague promise he'd made. Jack let her down, and it was me who picked up the pieces in the dead of night, bringing her home.

I loved her, loved her beyond reason, beyond sanity. I accepted her lingering feelings for Jack and the gossip that trailed me. But in the end, I lost everything. Our love was a mistake from the start.

The phone suddenly rang, Emma's voice biting and accusatory. "Where are you? How dare you disappear? Weren't you supposed to clean up? Are you even a man?"

I was silent for a moment, exhaustion washing over me. "You know Lily is dead, don't you?"

She laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. "James, you really have no limits to keep me around. Lying about your sister dying? Lily would be furious."

"Maybe she's in on it with you. You two really are despicable!"

The words stuck in my throat, leaving me speechless. It was time to accept that my love, that I fought so hard for, would never be returned. Emma never even asked how things ended. Perhaps she believed she was so above everything that it could be dismissed as jealousy. But Lily—Lily was gone, and that was a real life.

Enough. None of this matters anymore. It's time I signed the divorce papers.

When I arrived home, Emma was on her way out with Jack. She wore an elegant dress, her hand looped through his arm. She gave me a disdainful smile.

"So you do come home. Is this place a hotel, where you come and go as you please?"

I glanced at her, noting something unusual in her eyes. She'd always disliked me being at home.

Working remotely meant I was there every day, and whenever she returned from work, she'd throw her bag at me, ordering, "Get to work. Don't just laze around."

So, I quietly did the chores, hoping it would improve her mood.

Looking around, the house was a mess. Takeout boxes lay around, filling the air with an unpleasant odor. It was clear she had left it all for me to clean.

"Well, if that's what you want," I said, ready to fulfill her wish one last time.

I caught Emma's surprised look as I pulled out my suitcase and began packing. "I won't be living here anymore."

She paused, then started her mocking tirade, "Playing hard to get, are you? You really think you're so desirable? Let me tell you, without me, you're nothing."

I looked at her quietly, devoid of any former affection. Emma's face was lined with impatience, yet there was still confidence—confidence that I wouldn't dare leave her. Everyone believed it, too. She came from a wealthy family; the house and car were her contributions to the marriage. Even my monthly allowance came from her.

I was the classic "boy from the village," trailing her like a dog without principles, they said. But no one knew that I never touched the money she sent. I used my earnings to preserve my dignity.

A week ago, I sold the rights to my novel, earning a substantial sum. I had intended to share it with Emma, to show her I was no longer the useless man she thought I was. But now, I was simply too tired. I no longer wanted to offer my heart up for her to trample on.

"The divorce papers?" I asked.

Emma seemed momentarily surprised, then pulled the documents from her bag with a clenched jaw. "You're signing them? Don't worry, I'll give you everything you're entitled to. You and your Lily can go enjoy your lives."

Without lifting my eyes, I signed my name quickly. "Don't worry, I won't take anything that's not mine."

When I handed the papers back, her expression faltered, tinged with disappointment.

"Fine. You're decisive, I'll give you that. I suppose you've already found someone else," she accused.

It was clear she was angry, but I didn't care to analyze why. I had no more apologies or comfort left to offer.

Emma stormed out with Jack in tow, leaving me to pack. It struck me as odd that after five years, I had so few belongings—fitting neatly into a small suitcase. Perhaps I had never really lived for myself during those years.

As I rummaged through things, a photo slipped from the couch cushions. It was taken when I saved Emma's parents, a snapshot they had wanted to commemorate the occasion. In the picture, Emma's face was slightly petulant, young and puffed with annoyance, while my gaze stayed fixed on the face I once loved to the point of self-loss.

I had fallen in love at first sight back then. Fate had granted me a chance, only to snatch it away again.

But perhaps that's for the best. Lily's death opened my eyes. Love that cannot be forced is love better set free.