Chapter 2

When I woke up, the smell of hospital disinfectant was so strong it made my head ache.

My head was wrapped in bandages, and my left arm was in a cast, suspended in a sling.

A round-faced nurse poked her head in, grinning. "You're finally awake! The guy who brought you here has been waiting outside all night."

It took me about half a minute to recall the anxious face I saw at the scene of the accident.

"Is he still here?" I asked.

"Of course! He covered your medical bills, handled your admission, and even went out to buy you some toiletries. He's been sitting right there in the row of chairs by the door and hasn't moved an inch," the nurse replied.

I felt like something was stuck in my chest, aching and swollen.

A total stranger would go to such lengths for me.

But the man I was legally married to couldn't even pick up the phone to check on me.

I propped myself up in bed, trying to sit, when the hospital room door swung open.

A man walked in, carrying a food container. He wore a light gray trench coat. He was slender and had a kind-looking face.

When he saw me, his tense shoulders eased. He walked over and set the container on the bedside table.

"You're awake? How are you feeling? The doctor said you have a mild concussion and a fractured left arm. It's nothing too serious." His voice was steady and clear.

I looked at him. "Thank you. I'll pay you back for the hospital bills in a few days."

He smiled, his eyes crinkling warmly. "No rush. I'm Michael Reed. Things were pretty urgent, so I had to use your phone to call your emergency contact. Hope you don't mind."

My heart sank.

My emergency contact was Edward.

"Did he come by?" I asked, my throat dry.

Michael looked a bit uncomfortable. He avoided my gaze and started twisting open the lid of the container. "Maybe he was busy. I called him several times, but eventually, his assistant came, signed a few papers, and left."

I felt cold inside.

A chill raced up from my toes all the way to my skull.

Edward really just sent his assistant.

He didn't even have the decency to show up for a second.

I lowered my head, staring at my arm in a cast, suspended high above my bed.

I was an artist; my hand was everything to me.

And now, it was broken.

While I was at my lowest, my husband was out drinking and celebrating with another woman in his arms.

In that moment, I could almost hear the sound of my heart breaking.

It wasn't a crack; it shattered into dust, scattered by the wind.

"Here, eat this first," Michael said.

He offered me a bowl of steaming soup.

I didn't take it. I looked up at him, my voice so calm it felt almost unfamiliar to myself. "Mr. Reed, could I ask you for one more favor?"

"Just tell me," Michael said.

"Do you have my phone? I need to look for a lawyer," I added.

I wanted a divorce.

The day I left the hospital, the sky was heavy and suffocating, making it hard to breathe.

Michael came to pick me up. He didn't say a word, kept his head down, and helped me shove a suitcase into the trunk.

I didn't have much; most of it was my painting gear.

As for those designer bags and jewelry, they were all bought by Edward to keep up appearances. I felt they were tainted, so I left every single one behind.

When I returned to the so-called home, I unlocked the door with my key.

The place felt dead. There was no sign of anyone.

Edward was nowhere to be seen.

Perfect.

I pulled a dusty old suitcase out from the deepest corner of the walk-in closet.

I had bought it back when I was planning to move overseas. But because of Edward, it had sat there, gathering dust all these years.

I folded a few worn clothes and packed them into the suitcase, then walked into my art studio.

My old paintings still hung on the walls, all in warm tones. So bright now, they almost hurt to look at.

I strode over to the window and threw it open.

Outside, a fine drizzle was falling. The icy rain brushed against my cheeks, making me itch.

My phone rang; it was Emily Lane.

Emily sounded like she was about to explode. "Claire, finally! Where have you been? That bastard Edward has been blowing up my phone like a lunatic."

I replied with a flat, "Oh."

Emily shouted, "Oh? That's it? Do you realize he didn't come home for three days? When he got back and saw you were gone, he assumed you were sulking.

"Didn't even think twice about it. It wasn't until his assistant told him you had been stuck in the hospital for a week that he freaked out!"

Emily was stomping her foot in frustration on the other end of the call. "His assistant said Edward's face turned green; he didn't say a word, rushed straight to the hospital. But you were already gone. Where are you now? Are you safe?"

"I'm at home, packing my stuff," I replied.

"Packing your stuff? What are you up to?" Emily asked.

"Emily," I cut her off, "I'm getting a divorce."

There was a dead silence on the other end.

After what felt like half a minute, Emily finally spoke, her voice tentative. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I replied, my voice so flat it sounded lifeless. "Ever since he told me to cut it out."

"Damn right! Get rid of that jerk; what are you waiting for, a funeral? Where are you? I'm coming over right now to help you move. Honestly, I've been sick of him for ages." Emily was even more worked up than me.

I barely managed a smile. "No need. I don't have much, and I'm almost done."

I took out the divorce agreement I had printed long ago from the drawer and signed my name at the bottom: Claire Sutton.

With each stroke, I pressed down hard.

Then, I pulled the Cartier wedding ring off my finger.

I placed the ring, the divorce agreement, and the apartment keys together in the very center of the living room coffee table.

With everything done, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of the prison I had been stuck in for three years, without looking back once.

Downstairs, Michael was waiting by the car for me.

The rain had soaked his hair and trench coat, and he looked a little messy.

When he saw me coming down, he rushed over and grabbed the suitcase from me.

"All done?" Michael asked.

I nodded.

Michael opened the car door for me, waited until I got in, then pulled out a tissue and wiped the raindrops from my face.

His fingertips were warm.

The car pulled away from the neighborhood I once thought I'd spend forever in.

In the rearview mirror, that familiar building shrank until it faded into the rainy haze.

I didn't cry, and I didn't look back.

One had to shut a door oneself before one could see another window open.