Chapter 3

Neither Victoria nor Julian showed up at the hospital again. I wasn't sure if that was a blessing, but at least it granted me a peaceful recovery.

The doctor informed me that the nerve damage was severe. A full recovery would require an agonizingly long rehabilitation process.

I knew it would take immense grit, but I was confident I could pull through.

On the day of my discharge, I dragged my exhausted body back to our apartment and collapsed onto the bed.

Victoria wasn't home. The place hadn't been cleaned in weeks, carrying a faint scent of stale air.

It seemed she and Julian had been living quite happily during my absence.

I unpacked my things and spent hours thoroughly cleaning the apartment from top to bottom before finally falling asleep.

When I woke up the next day, it was almost noon. The familiar yet foreign apartment gave me an odd sense of detachment, as if living in a different lifetime.

Every corner, every object carried the weight of the past few years with Victoria.

Memories I once thought would last a lifetime now felt like jagged shards of glass, slicing through my emotions.

I forced myself to start clearing things out, hoping the mechanical motion would help clear the clutter from my mind.

On the bookshelf, the copy of *The Little Prince* we picked out together lay quietly. Tucked between the pages was a faded movie ticket stub—a keepsake from our very first date.

I ran my fingers over the cover, the cold texture sending a chill straight to my chest.

In the closet, framed photos and our clothes hung together.

Her dresses still carried that faint trace of lavender—her favorite scent, and once the very fragrance that brought me peace whenever I held her.

Now, that scent was nothing but a cruel mockery, reminding me she was no longer by my side.

In a sudden surge of anger, I ripped her clothes off the hangers and hurled them onto the floor, trying to purge the bitterness and betrayal trapped in my chest.

Our marriage hadn't always been this broken. Before Julian wormed his way back into our lives, the happiness and warmth had been real.

Victoria and I met through a mutual setup—somewhat traditional, yet modern enough.

On a mild spring afternoon, our families arranged our first meeting at a quiet little café.

Back then, she wore an elegant dress and loafers, greeting me with a gentle, graceful smile.

Her eyes sparkled with hope for the future and a genuine love for life. In that moment, I thought I had caught a glimpse of my future—bright, safe, and warm.

After getting married, our home became our sanctuary.

During those days, we genuinely enjoyed the sweetness of building a life together.

The Victoria of that time was a loving wife and a charming companion.

Yet life has a cruel way of turning on a dime.

Julian was Victoria's first love, the untouchable ideal she never quite got over.

Her family had rejected him years ago due to his poor background and lack of ambition.

Eventually, Julian moved to another city, and Victoria and I found each other through family introductions.

Then Julian returned, playing the part of a fragile, helpless victim, constantly whining about his deteriorating health and emotional lows. Victoria never hesitated to rush to his side, offering comfort and resources.

She began making frequent excuses to go out. Even on our anniversary—a day meant solely for us—she abandoned me at home to keep Julian company.

That was the night my heart was encased in ice, suffocating and numb.

At first, Victoria would still bother to explain:

"Julian isn't well, he needs someone to look after him. We're just friends now."

"A man should be generous, Logan. Don't be so petty and jealous. You wouldn't want a heartless wife who abandons a sick friend, would you?"

Eventually, she stopped explaining altogether. Any sign of pushback from me was met with cold contempt:

"Can't you be a little mature? Julian has it rough, what's wrong with helping him out?"

"I never realized you were so malicious. I wish you could be half as understanding as Julian!"

During those months, I felt like a spectator in a silent tragedy, watching my home get eaten away from the inside out, powerless to stop it.

I started questioning whether this marriage was ever real, whether it was worth saving.

Looking back, if I had opened my eyes sooner, none of this pain would have happened.

Every item I tossed felt like shedding a piece of the past; every corner I cleared made room for my own healing.

Just as I was lost in thought, the front door clicked open.