Chapter 2

When I walked out of the office, I didn’t look back.

In my past life, I had left this place in tears.

The moment the elevator doors closed, I was still hoping Alexander would chase after me, telling me he had just spoken out of anger.

He never came.

Only later did I learn that he had spent that afternoon accompanying Brienne to a signing cocktail party for a new project.

This time, I didn't even want to wait.

My phone buzzed once, and his name flashed on the screen.

Alexander.

I didn’t pick up.

In less than a minute, a text came through.

Alexander: Isolde, don't blow this out of proportion. We both need some time to calm down.

I stared at the text and couldn't help but laugh.

He said "we."

But from the moment he brought up divorce, he was the only one making decisions. He had already planned his new life, leaving me with nothing to do but fall in line.

I locked my phone and shoved it back into my bag.

When I got home, two pairs of slippers were still sitting neatly in the entryway.

One was mine.

The other was a pair of handmade leather slippers I had gifted Alexander for his birthday last year.

To outsiders, our twelve-year marriage had always looked perfect.

I had quit my job at a design firm to help him start the company full-time.

Once things got on track, he wanted me to step back, saying someone needed to take care of things at home.

He had told me, "You deserve a softer life more than anyone else."

Back then, I truly believed he was just looking out for me.

After that, I spent my days making his breakfast, ironing his suits, scheduling checkups for our parents, remembering his clients' wives' birthdays, and even preparing baby gifts for his employees.

I poured all my energy into his career and our home.

When everyone praised Alexander for being the perfect husband, I convinced myself that this was what happiness looked like.

It wasn't until the final year of my life that I realized I had turned myself into a mere backdrop for someone else's success story.

I opened the closet.

My clothes hung inside, alongside Alexander’s suits.

I didn't throw his clothes out in a fit of rage. That kind of outburst was pointless.

What I needed was time.

Time to take back what belonged to me, piece by piece.

My laptop went into a box first.

Then my design books.

I stopped in front of the bookshelf and noticed a yellowed sketchbook on the bottom shelf. The cover was heavily worn.

I reached out and pulled it.

On the first page was the very first version of the logo Alexander and I had drawn on our first day of starting the company.

His handwriting was next to it:

“When the company goes public, we’ll hang this drawing in the lobby of our headquarters. —Alex”

I gently flipped to the next page.

Brand positioning, product packaging, promotional sketches… every page was filled with my handwritten revisions.

My fingers slowed to a stop.

In my past life, I hadn't taken these with me when I moved. I thought they were just old notebooks.

It wasn't until years later, when the company's IPO documentary aired, that I saw the camera pan over the brand's history.

My first logo, my first visual system, and my first tagline had all become Reed Technologies' most treasured origin story.

The story belonged to the company.

But the credit went solely to Alexander Reed.

At the thought, I packed the sketchbook into my laptop bag and pulled the rest of the folders from the shelf.

These things were more important than the house.

More important than the compensation.

They were even more important than the marriage itself.

The doorbell suddenly rang.

I opened the door.

Brienne was standing outside. She wore a cream trench coat, held a box of pastries, and carried her usual polite smile.

"Isolde, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by to see you."

In my past life, she had been exactly like this.

Always gentle. Always thoughtful. Always knowing exactly when to show up.

I stepped aside to let her in.

She looked around and quickly noticed the cardboard boxes in the living room.

"You've already started packing?"

"Yes."

"Alex told me you two talked today." She spoke naturally, as if discussing a routine work matter.

I looked at her and didn't reply.

She set the pastries on the dining table and sighed softly.

"Isolde, Alex has been under a lot of pressure lately. The company is preparing for a funding round this year, and he hasn't been sleeping well."

"You've been together for so many years, I'm sure you understand him best."

"Sometimes, when people are exhausted, they make impulsive decisions."

Her words were flawless. She managed to show concern while painting Alexander as the victim.

In my past life, I had actually felt grateful to her, believing she was genuinely worried about us.

Only later did I learn that they were celebrating together the very night the divorce agreement became official.

I smiled faintly. "Did you come here today to convince me to sign on his behalf?"

Brienne paused.

"I just hope you two can resolve this amicably."

"After all, the company is at a critical juncture right now."

Finally, she got to the point.

The company.

She had never cared about the marriage.

I walked over to the bookshelf, placed the last file box into a cardboard carton, and asked casually, "Did Alexander send you?"

"No," she replied quickly. "This was my own idea."

I nodded.

"Then tell him for me that I won't sign."

The smile on Brienne's face stiffened slightly.

She fell silent for a few seconds before regaining her composure.

"Isolde, you must know that the company's success today isn't just due to Alex's efforts. There's the board, the investors, and so many employees..."

"Your decision will affect a lot of people."

I turned to face her.

"So, you expect me to keep sacrificing myself to please everyone else?"

She didn't answer. She knew there was no good response to that.

I went back to packing my box.

"Don't worry."

"I won't ruin the company."

"I'm just going to take back what belongs to me."

Her gaze fell upon the folders. "What are those?"

"Just some old records," I answered dismissively.

She didn't press further, but I noticed her steal another glance at the box before she left.

At 8:00 PM, I loaded the last box into a taxi.

The driver helped me secure my things and asked, "Moving?"

"Yes."

"By yourself?"

"By myself."

He smiled. "That's good. Not too much stuff. Easy to start over."

I smiled back without explaining.

He didn't know that while the things I was taking looked like just a few cardboard boxes, they actually contained twelve years of my life.

The new apartment was small.

It had only one bedroom and no separate study.

I set my laptop on the dining table to use as a temporary workstation.

At the very end of unpacking, only the old sketchbook remained.

I opened it back to the first page.

The first page still held that rough, initial logo.

The second page was our first product packaging design.

The third page was the tagline from our first year.

I flipped through it page by page.

The paper had yellowed with age, but the pencil marks from my revisions remained crystal clear.

Suddenly, it hit me.

For the past twelve years, I thought what I had lost was my marriage.

In reality, I had lost myself.

I gently closed the sketchbook and opened my laptop.

My email inbox still held a contact list saved from years ago. Some of those clients had since become highly reputable brands in the industry. Other companies had likely forgotten about me long ago.

I hesitated for a few seconds.

Then, I began gathering my work.

Creating new folders.

Re-categorizing.

Re-naming.

By 1:00 AM, I had finally compiled my first portfolio.

I stared at the computer screen.

For the first time, I felt no fear.

In my past life, I spent all my time helping Alexander succeed.

This time, I was going to make sure Isolde Carter stood on her own feet first.

Right then, my phone screen lit up.

Sender: Alexander Isolde, we need to talk.

I took one look at it and hit delete.

Then, I opened my browser.

In the search bar, I slowly typed:

Brand Designer Freelance Opportunities

I pressed enter.

As the page began to load, I knew one thing for certain.

On the other side of town, Alexander still had no idea.

What he had lost was never just a wife.