Chapter 4
I stood rooted to the spot, the bouquet of lilies still in my hand, my heart hollow.
When I got home, I sat alone in the empty living room, still clutching the now slightly wilted lilies.
The scene at the hospital kept replaying in my mind—Celina's indifference, Leo's smug satisfaction, and Pamela's condescending attitude.
For the first time, the thought of divorce crossed my mind.
Just as I was sinking deeper into a confusion I couldn't escape, my phone suddenly rang. When I saw the caller ID, my eyes lit up instantly.
It was Celina.
We had just parted, and now she was calling me. Did that mean she wasn't comfortable at Pamela's place and wanted to come home?
The joy I was feeling broke through all the earlier gloom, and my voice carried a trace of delight I hadn't even realized.
"Celina, are you—"
But before I could finish, she cut me off. "Pack a few of my clothes and bring them over. I'm not used to wearing these new ones. Also, Leo's birthday is coming up soon. Bring over the gift I prepared for him, too."
My throat felt dry. I heard myself asking, "What gift?"
A hint of impatience crept into her voice, as though I shouldn't have even asked such a question.
"That small gift box I left in the study a few days ago!"
My throat felt even scratchier, making me want to cough.
I knew about the gift box. At first, I had thought it was a birthday gift she'd prepared for me. After all, Leo's birthday and mine were only a month apart.
A silent, bitter laugh escaped me as tears welled up in my eyes. It seemed like I'd been reading too much into things.
I forced my lips into a smile and answered, "Okay."
…
When I arrived with the clothes, Pamela's place was being decorated. They said they were setting up a small party for Leo's birthday.
Many of the guests were fellow musicians, as well as students of Pamela's.
The place was decorated exquisitely and romantically, with soft lighting and gentle music drifting through the air.
Celina sat next to Leo, holding a violin in her hands, while Leo sat at the piano, his fingers gliding across the keys. Their music intertwined seamlessly, as if they were meant to be.
Their gazes met from time to time, filled with an unspoken understanding and tenderness, as if the rest of the world didn't exist and only the two of them remained.
Applause rose around them, and people murmured in admiration.
"They're both so talented. What a perfect pair!"
"I heard they've studied music together since they were kids. They've always been close."
I stood in a corner. The more beautiful their music sounded, the more my heart ached. That sense of being completely out of place surged over me like a tidal wave, drowning me whole.
In the end, I just quietly turned and left the party.
…
Back at home, I slowly packed my belongings into a suitcase, one item after another, my movements mechanical and numb.
Finally, I walked to the desk, opened the drawer, and took out the divorce papers I'd prepared. My hand trembled slightly as I held the pen, but I still signed my name with firm resolve.
I placed the papers on the desk and set a key next to them. It was the key to our home—my final goodbye.
Dragging the suitcase behind me, I walked out the door without looking back.
However, right at that moment, my phone started ringing again.
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