Chapter 1

On Children's Day, the most talked-about post on social media was about me.

The headline said: [Mr. Burgess takes his son to celebrate his old flame's birthday. Is he finally planning to divorce Veronica Pearce?]

I quietly gave it a like.

My phone rang as I was taking down the balloons I'd prepared for our wedding anniversary.

"Honey," My husband, Mason Burgess, said, his voice urgent as he tried to explain, "Jamie suddenly insisted on going to the amusement park, so I just..."

In the background, my son, Jamie, was laughing. "Dad, Ms. Ward said I can sleep with her tonight."

I looked around at the mess in the room.

The balloons were deflated, and the frosting on the cake had already hardened.

"No need to explain," I heard myself say. "I get it."

But this time, Mason, I'm letting go of both you and Jamie.

*****

When Mason came home with Jamie, I was curled up on the couch watching TV.

Before, I would have rushed over to grab his slippers and plant a kiss on Jamie's cheek.

But today, I just sat there, feeling nothing.

"Why didn't you come kiss me today, Mom?" Jamie whined.

"Veronica, why didn't you bring me my slippers?" Mason complained.

I turned up the TV. "I'm busy."

Mason took his time changing his shoes, then ushered Jamie into the house without a second glance.

He said, "Veronica, are you still upset about something so minor?"

"It's Children's Day, and Jamie suddenly wanted to go to the amusement park. I couldn't just kill his mood, right? But I can't handle him alone, so I asked Adele to come along. How many times do I have to explain this to you?"

Jamie huffed, "Mom, you're always getting upset. Ms. Ward never looks so grumpy."

Mason ruffled Jamie's hair, then looked at me. "See? Even Jamie thinks you're overreacting.

"Veronica, why can't you understand? I'm only trying to make you feel better, just to be nice. Do you have to keep making a fuss? Can't you just chill out a little?"

I said calmly, "I'm not making a fuss. I get it. Really, I do."

I got it, all of it.

Honestly, I understand better than anyone.

Just like last year, when I was in that car crash, bleeding out all over the place.

He sounded annoyed on the phone. "I'm busy right now. I'll get there later. Just call an ambulance yourself, okay?"

Meanwhile, Jamie was yelling in the background, "Dad, come quick! Ms. Ward's kitten is back. She needs you to cheer her up so she won't cry anymore."

I was sprawled in a pool of blood, dialing 911 on my own.

When it came time to sign the surgery consent form, in the box for "Family Signature," I wrote "No next of kin" with a trembling hand.

Mason scanned my face, searching for something, then let out a weary sigh.

He said, "Veronica, do you have to make things so difficult?"

I met his gaze calmly. "What have I done?"

The silence hung heavy in the air.

Suddenly, he pulled a velvet box out of his briefcase and just tossed it carelessly onto the coffee table. "Here. Happy anniversary."

I glanced at the necklace inside. The pendant was engraved with the letters "AW"—Adele Ward's initials.

I couldn't help but give a bitter smile.

Even the anniversary gift was just leftovers from someone else.

But on Adele's birthday, he took Jamie to the bakery and spent the whole afternoon making a cake for her.

"Thanks," I replied, my voice utterly emotionless.

Mason suddenly stood up. "We put a lot of thought into this, you know. Not even a smile? Don't you like it at all?"

"I like it. Thanks," I said, absentmindedly tracing the blatant "AW" on the necklace.

His expression was pure shock, like he'd just seen a ghost.

After all, back then, no matter what he gave me—even those cheap gifts from the company's annual party—I'd always treat it like a treasure, then give him a sweet kiss and call him "honey."

All these years, not once did I ever skip it.

Even for our anniversaries, I'd start prepping months ahead—putting together photo albums, making videos, and flying out to whatever city he was working in just to pull off some surprise.

Now, I didn't even hesitate. I chucked the gift box right in the trash.

Then I headed to the bedroom, grabbed my purse, slipped on my shoes, and walked out the door.

Mason grabbed my arm, clearly annoyed. "Veronica, where are you going in the middle of the night? Jamie is still waiting for you to put him to bed."

I looked at him, a hint of amusement in my eyes. "That's rich, Mason.

"Back then, when I asked where you were going at three in the morning, you said I have no boundaries.

"Now I don't even bother asking, and you're the one getting upset, suddenly checking up on me."

With that, I headed out without looking back.

The door slammed shut behind me, and I heard his frustrated yell. "Always making a scene! If you don't come back tonight, then don't bother coming back at all."

He sounded so sure I'd come back, convinced I'd be too scared to lose him.

But my steps never faltered, my gaze dripping with sarcasm.

To him, I'd always be that clown who'd never walk away, pathetic, dependent, and utterly powerless.

But even a clown gets sick of pretending.

This marriage was just too crowded.

So I chose to leave.