Chapter 4
The divorce agreement crumpled in my clenched fist, nails digging deep, yet the sharp pain was nothing compared to the anguish tearing through my heart.
With acting like that, Vivian really deserved an Oscar.
If I had to give this performance a name, I'd call it "The Art of Being a Bitch".
And Samuel was the blind and heartless Best Supporting Actor in this farce.
No, Samuel was the director.
This entire five-year farce, titled "Melissa's Folly", was all his doing.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.
After that wave of excruciating pain passed, an uncanny calmness enveloped me.
It was the numbness of utter despair.
I lifted my eyes, letting my gaze calmly skim over Vivian's perfectly innocent yet unmistakably smug expression, before finally settling on Samuel's cold, chiseled features. His eyes were completely unreadable, as if what Vivian said was nothing more than an ordinary fact. I could almost see a hint of tacit approval in his gaze.
It suddenly dawned on me that I'd never truly known Samuel. Or rather, the Samuel I knew was just the role he allowed me to see, and he was just an actor playing the devoted husband. Now that the show was over, he couldn't even be bothered to keep up the act.
Vivian toyed with the glass ornament, her fingertips lazily gliding over its smooth surface.
"Melissa, you look pale. Are you unwell?" Vivian asked with concern, though a glint of amusement shone in her eyes.
I didn't answer Vivian.
I tore my gaze away from Samuel and let it fall on the crumpled divorce agreement in my hand.
Everything was spelled out in black and white.
Samuel asked me to leave with nothing.
How ironic.
I spoke slowly, and my voice sounded eerily calm, even to myself, as if I were reciting lines from someone else's script.
"Fine," I said and paused, lifting my gaze to meet Samuel's eyes. Gone was the infatuation and pleading that used to fill my eyes. Now, there was only a hollow chill. I continued, "I'll pack up my things as soon as I can."
This was both a response to Vivian's earlier remark about the decor not suiting Samuel's taste, and my way of telling Samuel I'd accepted the end.
I caught the faintest twitch of Samuel's brow, almost imperceptible.
Was he surprised by my composure, or just pleased I'd learned to "behave"?
Vivian's smile faltered for a split second before she quickly slipped back into her signature delicate, doe-eyed facade.
"Melissa, don't misunderstand. That's not what I meant at all..." Vivian blurted out, her overly eager explanation only making her seem more suspicious.
I cut Vivian off, my voice still calm.
I said, "No need to explain."
I said, "Soon enough, this won't be my home anymore."
With those words, I turned away from them without a second glance.
Step by step, I walked toward the bedroom.
Each step was like treading on the tip of a knife, but I kept my back straight.
No way was I going to let them see me break.
This was my last shred of dignity, the only thing I could still hold onto.
Behind me, I could hear Vivian's muffled sobs and Samuel's stiff attempt to comfort her.
"Stop crying. This isn't your fault," Samuel said.
How laughable.
I was the one being thrown out, and I hadn't even shed a tear.
Yet Vivian was already putting on her performance.
I gently closed the bedroom door behind me, shutting out the nauseating performance of that sickening "sweet couple" outside.
As I was leaning against the cold wood, my legs finally gave way, and I slid down slowly to the floor.
Tears came pouring out uncontrollably.
I was not crying over losing Samuel.
These tears were for my five wasted years.
For the foolish, pathetic me who loved the wrong man.
The cold door separated me from that despicable pair outside.
My body slid down until I collapsed onto the carpet.
All the strength I'd been clinging to drained away in an instant.
Tears fell like scattered pearls, hitting the carpet and leaving dark stains behind.
What was I crying for?
Was it because Samuel was heartless?
Or because Vivian was a master manipulator?
No.
I was crying for myself.
For that fool Melissa, who wasted five years performing a delusional one-woman show, thinking it was love.
In the end, I was just the opening act, keeping the stage warm for the headliner.
When Vivian returned and the spotlight came on, this opening act had to exit the stage.
Without even a word of thanks, Samuel only said, "Just looking at you makes me sick."
My chest felt hollow, as if my heart had been violently ripped out.
Was it hurting?
Not anymore.
Just numbness.
Like phantom pain after an amputation, when the agony faded, all that remained was this hollow absence, a constant reminder of what had been lost.
Five years.
More than one thousand eight hundred days and nights.
I had copied Vivian's fashion style, mimicked the way she talked, and even secretly bought and wore her favorite perfume.
I had thought if I could be like Vivian enough, docile enough, and understanding enough, Samuel would eventually notice me.
I had even thought Samuel might love me.
How laughable.
No matter how flawless a counterfeit was, it could never replace the original.
Now the real one was back.
This counterfeit and the five years I spent had all become nothing but trash.
My tears had dried up, leaving my cheeks icy.
I leaned against the door like an empty husk, my soul completely drained away.