CHAPTER 25
The ticking of the clock fills the silence, a steady sound marking the passage of time I've lost waiting for her. My laptop remains open in front of me, but the words on the screen lost meaning minutes ago. I can't focus.
Because she's here.
I turn away from the computer and find her asleep beside me.
Yifei.
Her breathing is soft, steady, as if the outside world didn't exist. Her body, wrapped in my jacket, barely moves with the rhythm of her rest. A strand of dark hair has fallen across her cheek, framing smooth skin lit gently by the lamp's glow. I can't look away.
She looks at peace.
And she shouldn't.
After everything she's been through, after all she's endured, she shouldn't be able to sleep so peacefully. But here she is. On my couch. In my home. And… in my life.
I suppress a sigh and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I watch her. I shouldn't be looking at her this way. I shouldn't allow myself to do this. But I do. Because I've been waiting too long.
A year.
Twelve months of watching her from a distance, without interfering. Twelve months of carrying the weight of patience. Twelve months in which every thought of her cracked something inside me.
I remember the day I met her at that business conference. She wore a flawless black suit and spoke with passion that left everyone speechless. In that moment, I knew she was special. But I also knew I could never have her—because she was married.
Until now.
Now she's here. In my world.
My chest tightens with something I can't name. I run a hand over my face and close the laptop slowly. I lean back on the couch. My face is close to hers, though I keep a respectful distance, just in case she wakes up. I look at her. I watch her... She is perfect. She's the kind of woman any man would want. I want her. I need her.
My fists clench as I think about everything, she endured with that man who never valued her, who didn't love her. Because my eyes could never look at another woman if she were my wife.
My gaze traces the lines of her face and lingers on her lips. A mouth fit for a goddess, for a creature of wonder—untouchable.
Now she's not so far from me. Now, she's close.
I force myself to look away, to stop being enchanted by her presence. I turn my head toward the ceiling and fold my arms. These arms once held her that night and felt the warmth of her body. When she left to go home with her friend, they were filled with cold, with emptiness.
But I'll fight to hold on to that warmth—for as long as I live.
Without meaning to, the day I discovered Ge was cheating flashes through my mind. The day I knew their marriage was coming to an end. That was the moment hope surged in me, and I fought to stay close.
Like a predator watching his prey...
I'm not ashamed of having been there, in the shadows. Because I got what I wanted: her.
Hu Ge.
I whisper the bastard's name as the image of him with another woman rises before me—as vivid as if no time had passed. She was laughing loudly, drawing attention. Her gestures were exaggerated, her eyes empty, her conversation shallow. Nothing in her resembled Yifei. Nothing.
As I silently witnessed the betrayal, I allowed myself to imagine what could have been—if I had met her first. If, at that conference, she'd been free. If her heart hadn't already belonged to a man who never knew what he had.
I could've acted. Taken photos of Ge and his mistress and sent them to her anonymously. But I didn't. I didn't want her to find out it was me and hate me for it.
I stayed silent. I waited for fate to step in. And it did…
It led me to that pub. Urged me to accept a client's invitation. For what? For that meeting. Our meeting. I still feel the thudding in my chest when I saw her standing at the entrance—radiant, magnificent, just as always. I followed her. Yes, I left my client mid-conversation and stood outside the private room they'd reserved. I waited for her to come out.
With every step she took, I followed—to make sure no one would harm her. Then she stumbled into my arms. At first, I was stunned. I didn't feel like myself. My whole body trembled at her touch. And then—I couldn't let her go. I didn't want to. I needed her.
But her friend appeared, and reality returned. Still, hearing her say she was getting divorced, that she had discovered her husband's infidelity, sent a shock through me I couldn't contain. Joy. Panic. Longing. All those feelings I've always known how to master... spilled over before I could stop them.
When she told me she would come to see me, I was nervous. Like a teenager waiting for a glimpse of his first love. I tried to focus on everything she would need to escape her prison. I gathered all the documents she'd require for her freedom. When she arrived at my office, everything was ready—even though I had to pretend I was preparing it in real time. I think I did a poor job acting. Maybe my nerves got in the way. I don't care. I have her now. Even if, for the moment, I'm just her lawyer.
Yifei murmurs something in her sleep, shifts, and rests her head on my shoulder. My whole body tenses.
It shouldn't affect me.
But it does.
God, how it does.
I clench my jaw and move slowly so I don't wake her. I don't want her to sleep on the couch. I want her in my bed. I want her scent on my sheets, her presence in my space.
I lift her gently into my arms. She doesn't weigh anything—only warmth. I walk slowly to the bedroom and push the door open with the tip of my foot. I make no sound. I don't want her to stir.
I lay her down carefully on the bed, her head sinking into the pillow. She doesn't wake up. I don't know if that comforts me or unsettles me. I take the blanket folded at the foot of the bed and pull it over her with the kind of care one uses when handling something far too fragile to break. My hand rises—just slightly. I'm about to brush the strand of hair from her cheek. But I don't. Not yet.
I breathe in deeply and step away.
Before leaving, I pause for a moment. I think about what she might need when she wakes up. I slide a glass of water onto the nightstand. I don't know if she'll need it. But I want her to find a sign that someone was here. That she's not alone.
I close the door gently and walk back to the living room, where the laptop still sits closed on the table. I return to the sofa, feeling the emptiness her absence has left behind.
My mind drifts to the past, to that conference where I saw her for the first time. Her elegance, her intelligence, her passion. Everything about her was captivating. And now, after all this time, she's here. In my house. In my life.
I know the road ahead won't be easy. I know there are still many things unresolved. But I also know I'm not going to let her face them alone.
Not this time.
Tomorrow will be a new day. A new beginning.
And I'm ready to be there for her—no matter what happens.
CHAPTER 26
I wake up in a room that isn't mine. I know it even before I open my eyes. The mattress is firmer than I'm used to, the sheets are softer, and the air carries an unfamiliar scent. There's no trace of Ge's cologne, nor the cold emptiness of the bedroom I slept in for the past few years. Here, the air is different.
I open my eyes slowly. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting warm, soft hues on the walls. I don't know how long I've been asleep, but my body feels less tense, less worn. As if, for the first time in a long time, I've actually rested.
I inhale deeply without thinking, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee surrounds me, mingling with something else. A more subtle scent. More personal.
Wang Kai's scent.
Heat rushes to my cheeks immediately. Since when can I recognize his scent?
I shake my head in frustration, as if I could push the thought away. It must be the hormones. Lately, everything seems to affect me in ways I don't understand.
"Little one, let mama rest. Don't give her any more trouble," I whisper, gently caressing my belly.
My baby doesn't answer, but inside, I feel a strange calm. A quiet reminder that I'm no longer alone. Then, a new scent drifts into the room, more intense than before. It's not just coffee. It smells like home. I close my eyes, letting the scent transport me for a moment. Hot congee, steamed buns, stir-fried vegetables…
It's been so long since I woke up to a smell like this.
My stomach grows. Slowly, I sit up in bed. I still feel heavy, but it's not the same kind of exhaustion as before. It's different—like my body is asking me to adjust to this new reality.
I raise my eyes and let them take in the room for the first time. It's simple. Functional. No unnecessary luxury or ostentatious decorations. The furniture is clean lined, in dark tones that contrast with the pale walls. A couple of abstract paintings break the monotony, but even those seem carefully chosen.
It's not what I would have imagined for Wang Kai. But now that I see it, it makes sense. It's a reflection of him: organized, restrained, with an almost calculated precision… but with a touch of warmth you only notice if you really look.
Without meaning to, I compare this place to the house I left behind.
Mornings in my old home were different. There was always something cold in the air—a discomfort I never quite managed to explain. Everything was decorated with impersonal luxury, with expensive items but no soul. A stage, not a home.
This is different. This place feels real.
I rise slowly, my feet sinking into the plush rug. I walk cautiously to the window and gently pull back the curtain, letting the sunlight kiss my face. For a moment, I stand there, soaking in the stillness.
I step out of the bedroom still half-asleep, my hair a mess, my face marked by the pillow. The smell of freshly made food guides me like an anchor through the fog of waking, drawing me down the hallway with heavy, dragging steps. But then, when I enter the kitchen, I stop short.
Wang Kai is seated at the table, his face partially illuminated by the soft morning light. His attention is fixed on the screen of his laptop, with the concentration of someone used to dissecting every detail of a contract. The quiet click of the keys breaks the silence.
He looks up, and our eyes meet.
For a moment, a surprise flash comes across his expression. Then his face smooths, and a faint smile appears—subtle, but enough to make my cheeks flush.
I take a step back. I don't know why, but embarrassment hits me with surprising force. I must look like a mess. Without thinking, I turn and slip into the bathroom.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter, bracing myself against the sink.
The reflection in the mirror only confirms my suspicion: disheveled hair, sleep still clinging to my features, pillow creases on my cheek. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, forcing myself to regain composure.
I wash my face with cold water and try to tame my hair with my fingers. It's not like I care about how I look in front of Wang Kai… Or do I? I shake the thought away. When I return to the kitchen, he's already closed his laptop. He watches me with the same calm expression as always, as if he doesn't notice the discomfort still burning under my skin.
Without a word, he stands and pulls a chair out for me with a natural gesture. As if this were part of a shared routine. As if this wasn't something new between us. I hesitate for a second, then sit down.
"Thank you," I murmur, avoiding his gaze.
"You're welcome," he replies, pouring me a cup of tea with the same calm he uses to resolve legal disputes.
The warmth of the porcelain against my palms is comforting.
The conversation flows naturally, but it stays professional. There's no room for awkward silences or personal tangents. Wang Kai talks me through the places where I can sell the properties I share with Ge, recommending trusted real estate agents. He also explains the exact procedure for submitting the divorce agreement to the Civil Affairs Office.
"Once you file the agreement, there's no going back," he says, his tone firm but free of pressure.
I nod slowly. I'm not afraid. There's no fear in my thoughts, no hesitation in my hands. If anything, the only thing I feel is relief. I lift the cup and take a sip of tea. The warmth soothes me, but not enough.
The smell of food wraps around me again. I reach for a steamed bun—its soft texture reminds me of childhood breakfasts. I take a bite, savoring the familiar flavor, the comforting warmth spreading through my chest. But the feeling doesn't last. A sudden wave of nausea rises in my stomach. A heat rushes up my throat, relentless and unstoppable. I place the bun back on the plate and stand up abruptly.
"Excuse me…"
I haven't finished the sentence. I turn and rush toward the bathroom. I hear the scrape of Wang Kai's chair. He's behind me, but he doesn't stop me. I close the door just in time before collapsing to my knees in front of the toilet.
The vomiting is violent. Each retch is a cruel reminder of how fragile my body is right now. When it finally stops, I rest my forehead against the lid, my breathing ragged. My muscles tremble from sheer exhaustion.
"Yifei?"
His voice comes from the other side of the door, laced with restrained concern. I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't want him to see me like this.
"Go away!" I shout, my voice rough from the strain.
The silence that follows is thick. I can picture him standing outside the door, debating whether to ignore my command or respect it. Then I hear his footsteps recede. I exhale slowly. I don't know if I feel relieved or… disappointed.
It takes a few minutes to pull myself together. I rinse my mouth, splash cold water on my face, and look at myself in the mirror. The reflection isn't the woman I once was. I look pale, with dark circles under my eyes and a vulnerable glow I don't want to admit.
When I finally return to the kitchen, Wang Kai is still there. He's standing beside the table, sleeves rolled up, his face calm but unable to hide the concern in his eyes. When he sees me, his expression softens, though he doesn't say a word. He steps forward and, with a deliberately slow gesture, guides me back to the chair.
"Sit," he says. It's not an order. It's care disguised as a suggestion.
I obey without a word. I glance at the table and notice he's changed my breakfast. The bun and stir-fried vegetables are gone. In their place is a bowl of hot congee, with a spoon resting beside it.
"I looked online to see what you can eat for pregnancy nausea," he says with a tone of casual indifference, though the slight clearing of his throat gives away his concern.
I stare at him, disbelieving. The emotions hit me without warning. The exhaustion, the fear, the uncertainty… all of it colliding with the unexpected tenderness of the moment. I feel the sting in my eyes before I can stop it. I blink rapidly, but the tears fall anyway. I shouldn't be crying. But I do.
Wang Kai doesn't move. He doesn't say anything. He just stays there, waiting, as if he understands that sometimes, words aren't necessary.
With trembling hands, I pick up the spoon and gently stir the congee.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He nods, taking a seat across from me. He doesn't push. He doesn't press. His presence alone is enough.
CHAPTER 27
When I open the door to the house, I expect to find Ge there. Maybe to confront him. Maybe just look him in the eye and see if he still has the audacity to pretend. But the house is empty.
Silence greets me like an old friend, wrapping around me in a strange calm. No lights are on, no trace of his presence remains. For the first time, relief outweighs the anger. I don't have to explain anything. I don't have to fake another smile. I don't have to face more lies.
I take a deep breath and walk slowly down the hallway. The air still carries that stale cologne he used to mask his infidelity, mixed with the faint scent of candles I once lit in a hopeless attempt to make this place feel like a home.
But it never was.
My footsteps echo on the polished floor, the click of my heels the only sound filling this space—too big, too empty. I glance at the furniture, the rugs, the walls lined with pictures of us. We're smiling in every one of them, like actors who've mastered their roles. The glances, the embraces, the carefully staged moments meant to be displayed… it's all a farce.
I stop in front of a framed photo. We're at the beach. The blue sea stretches behind us, our silhouettes bathed in sunlight. He's holding me by the waist, his smile is perfect, but his eyes…
His eyes aren't on me. Even in a still image, I can see it. Even then, his mind was somewhere else. How many times did he lie to me even while standing right beside me? I close my eyes and let out a sigh. It doesn't matter anymore. I walk into the walk-in closet and throw the doors open. The scent of leather and designer perfume fills the air. The lights switch on automatically, illuminating the shelves full of shoes, perfectly aligned handbags, and jewelry tucked away in glass cases.
Everything is in its place.
Everything is perfect.
Everything is fake.
Luxury has never mattered to me. I never needed to prove to anyone how much what I wore cost. But for Ge, every gift was a transaction, a way to silence my intuition when something didn't feel right. I approach one of the shelves and run my fingers over the smooth leather of an exclusive handbag. A limited-edition model, impossible to find on the market. I remember the night he gave it to me. He came home late, smelling of perfume that wasn't mine, and placed it in my hands with that charming smile.
"Saw it and thought of you," he said.
Liar.
You weren't thinking of me. You were buying my silence.
My fingers tighten around the handle.
"I don't want them," I whisper, feeling the weight of those words in my chest. "I don't need them."
These aren't gifts. They're not tokens of love. They're silent bribes. Wordless apologies. Tangible proof of a relationship built on rubble. I let the bag drop to the floor with a decisive gesture and pull my phone from my coat pocket—it's ringing. When I see who's calling, I smile.
"Yifei? Did you make it?"
His tone is firm, but there's a quiet worry underneath it. As if he feared Hu Ge might have caused trouble.
"Yes, I'm here," I reply, realizing how much his concern comforts me—more than it should. "I'm in the closet, surrounded by all the gifts he gave me over the years. I want to get rid of them."
Silence stretches for a few seconds. I can picture him in his office, fingers laced on the desk, considering the best response.
"The best thing you can do is donate them to charity," he finally says, that unshakable calm in his voice as always.
I close my eyes and nod, even though he can't see me.
"That's an excellent idea. Do you know any reliable organizations?"
"Yes. I can call one and have a few volunteers come by later to collect everything you don't want."
"Thank you, Kai," I whisper, feeling the weight in my chest slowly begin to lift.
On the other end of the line, he doesn't respond right away. His silence carries weight, as if he's choosing his words carefully.
"I want you to do something after the volunteers leave," he says at last.
"What is it?"
"You're going to Na's place. I want you to stay safe."
The intensity in his voice catches me off guard. Kai is not an impulsive man. If he's asking this of me, it's because he's thought through the risks.
I open my mouth to reply, but my gaze drifts toward the mirror on my right. There's an envelope taped to it. My feet carry me there before I even realize what I'm doing. I take it in trembling hands and open it. I recognize the handwriting instantly.
"I have to be away for another two days. I'll make it up to you. Love you."
I almost laugh.
He didn't even try to call. He didn't even bother pretending to notice I was gone. The audacity of this man has no limits. I crumple the note in my fingers and drop it on the table like a piece of trash. I don't need to go to Na's place. By the time Ge comes back, I'll already be gone.
I lift the phone back to my ear.
"Don't worry," I say calmly. "He won't be back for a couple of days. By the time he walks through that door, this house will be empty."
There's a moment of silence on the other end.
"Perfect," Kai says at last, his certainty is more comforting than it should be.
And this time, I'm the one who hangs up first.
*****
I step out of the walk-in closet and continue walking through the house. There are too many photos of me with Ge, too many memories I no longer want to keep. I stop in front of one from our wedding day, where we're both smiling like the world was perfect. With a quick motion, I take it down and place it face-down on the table.
"I never want to see them again," I say quietly, but with firm resolve.
Suddenly, an idea flashes through my mind. One that makes me smile mischievously. I grab my phone and dial Na's number.
"Good morning, how's mommy today?" she greets me in a playful tone.
"Mommy's doing fine, but I think my little one is messing with my head," I reply, toying with my words.
"What do you mean?" she asks, confused.
"Na, I need a favor."
"Just tell me what you want."
"Do you know a good funeral home?"
"What? Are you going to kill Ge? Think of your baby!" she exclaims, alarmed.
I burst out laughing.
"I'm not going to ruin my life—or my daughter's—for that bastard."
"Then what is it?"
"I want to plan a funeral."
"WHAT?!" Na shouts from the other end.
"You heard me," I reply calmly, though with a hint of wickedness. "I'm going to order a funeral—coffin included. But instead of a body, I'll put everything we ever shared inside: photos, flower bouquets, love letters… basically anything that can burn and disappear."
"You want an actual burial for all that?" Na asks, still trying to wrap her head around it.
"Yes," I say, smiling. She can't see it, but I know she can feel it in my voice. "I'm turning these ten years of my life into ashes."
Na goes silent for a moment, then lets out a nervous laugh.
"Well… it's definitely better than killing your husband."
"Ex-husband," I correct her, laughing too. "And yes, it's time I put all of this behind me."
When I hang up with my friend, I sit down on the couch and look around. This house no longer feels like a home—but it doesn't feel like a prison either. It's a place in between, a space I'll soon leave behind. The afternoon sun filters through the curtains, catching the dust in the air. It feels as if the house itself is saying goodbye to me.
I close my eyes, imagining what my new life will be like. I know it won't be easy, but I also know I've made the right choices. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm taking back control.
CHAPTER 28
I wake up in an empty house. There's no one here. Just me and the echo of a marriage that no longer exists. The light of dawn filters through the curtains. There's a strange silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Perhaps because it's the silence of freedom.
I get up with a sense of peace I haven't felt in a long time. No anxiety, no fear. Just relief. The mattress creaks beneath me, as if it is saying goodbye. I stretch, inhale deeply, and let the new air fill my lungs. Today is the day.
The house is motionless, wrapped in a stillness that used to unsettle me, but now feels almost comforting. No rushed footsteps in the hallway, no deceitful voices weaving through the routine, no foreign fragrances clinging to my husband's skin. Just me and my thoughts. I walk barefoot, feeling the coldness of the floor under my feet. Every step is a quiet farewell. Every room, a memory that no longer hurts.
The shower is more than a habit; it's a ritual. The hot water runs down my skin, washing away the last remnants of the woman I used to be. The submissive wife, the one who believed in empty promises, who kept quiet, who forgave again and again. I close my eyes and let each drop say goodbye. I am no longer her.
When I step out, the reflection in the mirror confirms the inevitable. I dress in black—not for mourning, but for closure. Today, I don't cry over marriage. I bury it. I tie my hair up with precise movements, paint my lips a deep red, and smooth the invisible creases on my blouse. In front of me stands the image of a strong, resolute woman, ready to start again. I meet my gaze and nod. I'm ready.
Downstairs, I make coffee. I'm not hungry, but the aroma comforts me. I cradle the mug in both hands, feeling the warmth spread to my fingertips, as if trying to warm something inside me. On the table, the divorce agreement waits. Its pages are filled with legal terms, but for me, they mean freedom. I pick it up, holding it tightly, like someone clinging to her own redemption.
I leave the house and close the door behind me without looking back. There is no nostalgia. No regret. Only determination. A taxi is waiting at the curb, and I slip inside without hesitation. The driver doesn't speak. Neither do I. Silence is my only companion on this journey. I gaze out the window, watching the city wake up. Its lights flicker with the promise of a new day.
The Civil Affairs Bureau building is austere, cold, and bureaucratic. Its straight-lined facade and opaque windows seem designed to discourage emotion, as if feelings have no place where beginnings and endings are certified with equal indifference.
Outside, Wang Kai is waiting. Standing near the entrance, dressed in a dark suit, serious, impeccable. His stance exudes quiet strength, but his presence means more than that. He's not just here as my lawyer. He's here to make sure I don't face this alone.
From inside the taxi, I watch him for a moment. These past months, I've learned not to trust anyone, to carry my burdens alone without expecting help. But today, for the first time in a long while, I don't feel alone.
When I step out, he greets me with a slight nod. No unnecessary words, just a silent agreement. We walk together toward the building, wrapped in a comfortable silence. Around us, the halls are filled with couples. Some are here to marry, others to divorce. The contrast is brutal.
I stop briefly when I see a young woman in a white dress. Her eyes sparkle with excitement as her fiancé gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. I can't help but smile. She's beginning her life. I'm ending one.
We approach the counter. The clerk helps us with the monotony of someone who's seen this process a hundred times over. To her, it's just another document. Another file in a pile of lives that change without anyone noticing.
To me, it's the end of a story that's torn me apart from within.
I pull the agreement from my bag and slide it across the desk. The moment I let go, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. The clerk reviews the paperwork without looking up and informs me with cold efficiency that the divorce will be official in a month. There's no turning back.
We exit the building with solemn steps. Outside, the sun shines indifferently, as if the world keeps turning, unaware that everything has just changed for me.
There are no tears. No doubts. Only the wind, gently brushing against me, and Wang Kai's steady gaze, watching me as if trying to decipher what I'm feeling. He says nothing. He doesn't need to. His presence is enough. I'm grateful he's here.
Suddenly, a burst of golden confetti explodes over my head.
Tiny sparkling pieces fall onto my hair, my shoulders, even my face. I blink, stunned, and turn to find Na holding a now-empty confetti cannon with a mischievous grin.
"Congratulations, divorcée!" she exclaims with the same enthusiasm, someone might announce an engagement.
For a second, I'm frozen. Then I burst out laughing.
Wang Kai, however, watches us with disbelief, folding his arms. His expression is a mix of amusement and confusion.
"In all my years as a lawyer, I've never seen anyone celebrate a divorce like this," he comments, arching a brow with his usual measured calm.
"That's because they're boring," Na replies proudly, tucking the confetti tube into her purse like it's a trophy. "This is the beginning of my friend's new life—and we're celebrating it properly."
Wang Kai shakes his head with a faint smile, but something about our outfits catches his attention. His eyes shift from Na to me, scanning our black silhouettes.
"Why are you both dressed in black?" he asks, his analytical tone sharp and curious.
Na and I exchange a glance. She answers first, without missing a beat:
"Because we're going to a funeral."
Kai frowns, calculating possibilities.
"Who died?"
I smile with the satisfaction of someone who has waited a long time to say these words.
"My marriage."
The silence lasts only a couple of seconds before Na and I get into a taxi, leaving Wang Kai behind, watching us with his arms crossed and a barely concealed smile.
He has never met two women who see divorce as a rebirth.
But that is exactly what it is.
CHAPTER 29
The room is small, intimate, lit by the soft flicker of candles glowing in the corners. The air smells of melted wax and fresh flowers, a strange contrast between the old and the new, between what fades away and what is just beginning.
In the center, resting on a pedestal, is the coffin. Not just any coffin: it's open and inside lie the symbolic remains of ten years spent with Ge. Photos, letters, pieces of clothing… fragments of a story that no longer belongs to me. At the heart of it all, presiding over the burial, is our black-and-white wedding photo. Hu Ge and I are smiling in the picture, frozen in a lie. Now, that smile feels like mockery.
Na has decorated the room with flower wreaths. On the ribbons, written in golden letters, are two phrases: "Goodbye, marriage" and "Hello, happiness." An ironic touch, but also a message of hope. I take it all in with a mix of sadness and relief. Na stands beside me, holding a bouquet of white flowers.
"Are you ready?" she asks, her voice soft but firm.
I nod. I don't say a word, but my eyes reflect the determination that brought me here.
I walk toward the coffin and stop in front of it. Inside are all the memories I no longer wish to carry on my shoulders. The lies disguised as affection, the promises never kept, the sleepless nights spent waiting for him to come home. It's all there, ready to be burned.
Na hands me a white flower.
"Here," she says. "Say what you need to say."
I take the flower between my fingers and hold it above the coffin. I breathe in deeply, as if every word I'm about to speak could set me free from some invisible bond.
"Because I didn't have to believe your lies," I whisper, letting the flower fall in. My voice trembles, but it doesn't break. The flower lands on a letter he wrote me years ago, full of beautiful words that turned to dust.
Na gives me another.
"For the excuses you gave me to be with her."
I drop the second flower. This time, my voice is steadier. It falls onto a necklace he gave me for an anniversary.
Another flower.
"For the times you looked me in the eyes and lied."
The tips of my fingers release the flower, and it slides down into the coffin. My hands no longer tremble. The flower lands on a photo of us at the beach, where he was holding me...
A fourth one.
"For your fake kisses."
The flower falls gently onto more pictures. I remember every kiss he gave me while he might've been thinking of her, and I feel the resentment begin to fade, as if it never truly existed.
A fifth flower.
"For your empty 'I love you.'"
My voice is strong and clear. The flower lands on a ring I no longer wear.
Na hands me the final flower. I held it for a moment above the photo taken the day he proposed to me. I look at it, remembering how naive I was to think my life would be perfect. But now, that image doesn't hurt. It just reminds me how far I've come.
"For your broken promise."
I let the flower fall. Then, with a firm gesture, I grab the wedding photo and throw it into the coffin. With that act, I bury the woman I used to be. The one who waited for him. The one who believed in him. The one who thought she could be enough.
The weight on my chest vanishes. I stand still for a moment, looking at the coffin filled with flowers and memories. And then, no longer able to hold it in, I turn to Na and collapse into her arms.
The tears that had been trapped finally fall, but they are not tears of pain. They are tears of release.
"Everything's going to be okay," Na whispers, holding me tight. "Your real life begins now."
I nod, my face buried in her shoulder. I'm still crying, but for the first time in years, I do so with a smile on my lips.
The funeral home staff enters the room quietly. They're professionals; they don't ask questions. They approach the coffin and close it gently. I watch as they lift it and carry it out toward the crematorium. I don't know why, but my body relaxes when the lid finally shuts.
Na takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.
"Are you okay?"
I wipe away the tears with my fingers and nod.
"Yes. I am."
We walk out of the room together, leaving behind the place where I buried a decade of my life. Outside, the sun shines brightly, as if it too wanted to welcome me to this new beginning. The air smells of fresh flowers and of the future.
Na looks at me with a mischievous smile.
"So… what now?"
I look at her, and with a smile that doesn't need pretending, I reply:
"Now my life begins."