Chapter 2
"Okay," Violette said, not sparing Edwin another glance. She gripped the thin agreement and walked out of the home she'd lived in for three years.
The front door closed softly behind her, without a hint of nostalgia.
As Violette's figure vanished behind the door, Edwin kept his proud posture, but a sudden, inexplicable anger flared up inside him.
She actually just walked out like that, without a single word of pleading or even a tearful outburst.
"Edwin, did you see that?" Samantha cooed, about to complain that Violette was being ungrateful, but Edwin shut her down with an impatient wave.
"Shut up," he growled, ripping off his tie and throwing himself onto the couch. The villa suddenly felt massive and hollow. As soon as Violette walked out, that suffocating emptiness he knew all too well came flooding back.
Edwin thought that she was just playing games. Acting like she didn't care. Gave it three days, she'd come crawling back, crying and begging.
Violette didn't shed a single tear. She didn't even try to stay with a friend. Instead, she grabbed a cab and gave an address that made the driver ask twice. It was in Westside, an old neighborhood.
The cab stopped at the mouth of a narrow, muddy alley. Violette paid the fare and, dragging her tired body, headed deeper into the alley, relying on memory to guide her.
The air reeked of damp mold and the sour stench of rotting trash. She paused in front of a pitch-black entrance leading down, turned on her phone's flashlight, and step by step, she descended the stairs.
The basement's iron gate was covered in rust, and the keyhole was stuffed with dust. Violette fished out a key she hadn't used in ages from her bag and struggled to get the door open.
A heavier wave of mold hit her as she stepped inside. This was her last refuge. Years ago, to help Edwin get his business off the ground, she'd sold the house her parents had left her, keeping only this worthless basement for herself.
She never thought she'd ever have to come back here.
She pulled the string, and a dim, yellowish bulb flickered to life, barely lighting up this tiny 6-square-yard room. There was a hard cot, a table with peeling paint, and cobwebs thick in the corners.
Her stomach cramped again, the familiar pain making her double over. Steadying herself against the wall, she slowly made her way to the bed and shook the last few pills out of her bag into her palm.
There was no water. Gritting her teeth through the pain, she found a dusty cup, went to the communal sink, ran the tap for a moment, then filled it with icy water and forced the pills down.
The medicine didn't kick in right away, and the pain still clawed at her insides. She curled up on the bed, cold sweat breaking out on her forehead, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Violette didn't know how long she lay there before the pain finally eased a little. But sleep never came. She just stared at the water stains spreading across the ceiling, wide awake till dawn.
The next day, and the day after that, Edwin kept expecting Violette to call and beg him to let her come back. But the phone stayed silent. All her belongings were still at the villa, yet she herself had just disappeared.
That nagging feeling left him unfocused at an exclusive cocktail party.
"Edwin, drowning your sorrows alone?" Michael Young, his friend and business partner, strolled over with a glass in hand. "What, did you and Violette get into it?"
Edwin swirled his wine and let out a cold laugh. "Like she's even worth fighting over."
"Whoa, touchy subject?" Michael glanced around, then lowered his voice. "I think I saw Violette a couple of days back, over in Westside. She was hauling stuff into some basement. Thought my eyes were playing tricks on me."
Edwin's hand paused midair.
He pictured Violette's pale, stubborn face in his mind.
She really would do anything just to get him to bend.
"She's always pulling that push-and-pull crap," Edwin said, downing his drink and slamming the glass onto the waiter's tray. "Just wait. When she can't take it anymore, she'll beg me to let her back."
Samantha slipped her arm through his, her voice sickly sweet. "Edwin, don't let someone who doesn't matter get to you. Mr. King is waiting for you over there."
Edwin shook off his thoughts, wrapped his arm around Samantha, and let himself get swept up in the glittering chaos of the party once more.
Right now, the woman he accused of playing games was sitting all alone on a cold hospital bench, waiting for her chemotherapy treatment.
She'd been diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer a month ago.
She hadn't told anyone. She just wanted to give herself one last chance on their final wedding anniversary.
If Edwin had shown her even a little warmth that day, she might've told him, asked him to be with her through it all. But reality crushed every bit of hope she had.
"Violette, Chemo Room 3," the nurse called. Violette got up and walked into the room, which reeked of disinfectant.
The cold chemo fluid flowed slowly into her veins through the IV line. Nausea and dizziness crashed over her in waves. She bit her lip hard, determined not to throw up.
When the session ended, she made her way to the bathroom, clutching the wall for support. She doubled over the sink, dry heaving until it felt like her guts were being ripped out.
Until finally, she coughed up a mouthful of blood, splattering the white porcelain sink, so Vivid it made her stomach twist.
She rinsed her mouth, then looked up at herself in the mirror.
The woman staring back was barely recognizable, so thin her cheekbones stuck out, her eyes hollow, her skin a waxy yellow. Her once thick hair was now so sparse her scalp was clearly visible. She looked awful.
Violette looked at herself and pulled a wry smile.
She pulled a pair of small scissors from her bag, the kind she usually used for trimming loose threads. Facing the mirror, she carefully cut off the last long strand of hair left at her temple.
The long strand fell into the sink and was washed away by the water.
In the mirror, all she saw was a stranger, skin and bones, with messy, uneven short hair.
The Violette who loved Edwin was gone for good.
Edwin's life barely skipped a beat after Violette left. With Samantha hanging on his arm, his days felt livelier, almost more vibrant than before.
Still, every now and then, late at night when he returned to that empty villa, an inexplicable restlessness would gnaw at him.
That day, he needed a business contract from three years ago, but searched everywhere and still couldn't find it. He remembered Violette had filed it for him. She was always so meticulous. There was no way she would've misplaced it.
He tore through the study, rummaging through every drawer and shelf, until his eyes landed at the far end of the bookshelf, behind an unremarkable landscape painting.
He walked over, took the painting down, and behind it was a built-in safe.
Edwin froze. He'd lived here for years, and he never knew this existed.
He tried his birthday, wrong. The day his company was founded was wrong.
Frowning, he stared at the keypad. On a whim, he entered a set of numbers. It was Violette's birthday.
With a soft beep, the safe clicked open.
Edwin's heart skipped a beat.
He actually used her birthday as his password. He had even forgotten about it himself.
He forced down the uneasy feeling and opened the safe, half-expecting to find some cash Violette had squirreled away, or maybe a few pieces of jewelry she'd swiped from the house.
But there was nothing valuable inside. No cash, no jewelry, just an old, weathered wooden box.
He hesitantly opened the box, only to find a thick stack of yellowed stationery inside.
He pulled out the top sheet. The neat, graceful handwriting. He recognized it at once.
[Edwin, it's the 108th day since you started your company. The funds have run out, and you've been locked away in your study all day. Watching you like this breaks my heart.
[I sold the last house my mom left me. It's not much, but it should help you get through this rough patch. Please, don't give up.]
Edwin's fingers trembled slightly.
He remembered that crisis, how an anonymous investment had pulled him back from the brink. He'd always assumed it was some mentor who believed in him. Turns out, it was Violette.
He couldn't wait to pull out the second letter.
[Edwin, we're still short on the funds. I don't know what else to do. Today, I went to the research clinic downtown. They're running a Phase I trial for a new immunosuppressant, and I matched the criteria.
[They said the stipend is substantial. Don't worry, the doctor explained the risks. The side effects can be rough, but people survive them all the time. Once we get through this month, everything will be okay.]
Edwin's mind went completely blank. She went to the research clinic.
His hand shook as he gripped the letter, and he could hardly believe what he was reading.
[Edwin, the procedure was brutal, the needles, the nausea. But knowing we'd have the money made the pain bearable. I didn't want to scare you, so I kept it secret.
[I know you've been drinking yourself sick trying to secure that angel investment, coughing up blood in the bathroom. God, it kills me to think of you in that much pain.
[Edwin, I tried to sell plasma again today. The nurse at the center said I'm too underweight and my iron levels are critical. She refused to take me. I begged her for twenty minutes before she finally agreed to draw just one unit.
[When I stumbled out of the center, I was so lightheaded I nearly got hit by an Uber. But I didn't fall. I used the cash to buy that fresh Atlantic Salmon you love. I'm going to pan-sear it with lemon butter for you tonight.]
Each letter, every word, stabbed deep into Edwin's heart like a blade.
All those tough times he thought he'd powered through alone, all those victories he was so proud of. Turns out, the real story behind them was something that hit him harder than he ever expected.
Edwin had always thought Violette was just someone who could cook and tidy up, who never really mattered in his life.
His success was constructed on a foundation of her blood, her shattered health, and, quite literally, pieces of her own body.
Edwin couldn't believe it. A wave of panic hit him like never before.
He suddenly swept all the letters onto the floor, gasping for breath as he tried to reassure himself.
He thought this had to be some story Violette cooked up. She was pulling a sob story to grab more money after the divorce. She was way too cunning.
Just as his mind was spinning, desperately trying to excuse his own heartlessness, his phone rang. It was Samantha.
Edwin swiped to answer, and before he could say a word, Samantha's overly sweet, tearful voice came through.
She sobbed, "Edwin, I lost that pink diamond ring you gave me last time. I've been looking everywhere for it, but I just can't find it. What am I supposed to do?"
The value of that ring was nothing compared to anything mentioned in those letters.
But right now, Edwin's mind was a tangled mess. He desperately needed an escape from the suffocating truth in this study.
He immediately abandoned the letters scattered across the floor and the safe left wide open.
He grabbed his car keys and, in a voice so rushed he barely noticed, tried to soothe her: "Don't cry, sweetheart. I'm coming right now. If it's lost, I'll buy you a new one, an even bigger one."