Chapter 3

3

None of it mattered anymore.

I ignored her completely, pulling out the medication the hospital had prescribed and swallowing the pills with water.

Between the hours in the freezing rain and skipping meals, my fever and stomach ulcers were flaring up aggressively.

Heather finally noticed the pill bottles on the nightstand. “Are you sick?”

Before I could say a word, her phone chimed loudly.

Brent’s weak, trembling voice came through the speaker.

“Heather, the power went out at my place again. It is pitch-black and I am terrified. Can you come over and stay with me?”

It was the most transparent excuse in the world, yet Heather panicked instantly.

Right in front of my face, she rushed to reassure him.

“Brent, stay calm. Do not be scared, I am on my way right now.”

She ended the call and frantically grabbed her coat and shoes.

Just as she reached the front door, she finally remembered I was there.

She turned back to my room, looking slightly apologetic.

“Wyatt, Brent has severe claustrophobia, and I cannot leave him alone in the dark. I have to go check on him.”

“We will talk about everything else when I get back.”

With that, she rushed out into the night.

I had lost count of how many times she had abandoned me the second Brent called.

Even two weeks ago, on my birthday, the exact same thing happened.

I had taken half a day off work just so we could celebrate together.

I cooked a full table of her favorite dishes and waited alone until past midnight.

When I finally broke down and called her phone, Brent answered instead.

“Heather is in the shower right now,” he said casually. “Need me to pass along a message?”

The words froze the blood in my veins, sending a chill down my spine.

What they had been doing right before she needed a shower was glaringly obvious.

She did not return home until three in the morning, smelling heavily of men’s cologne and cigarette smoke.

Every time I remembered those moments, my chest ached with dull agony.

I let out a bitter sigh and went back to packing my things.

Before going to sleep, I scrolled through my social feed and saw Brent’s new post.

“Thank you for keeping me company.”

The attached picture showed a single candle glowing in the dark, highlighting a woman’s hand beside it.

I recognized that hand instantly. The small beauty mark on her knuckles was unmistakable.

I closed my eyes, turned off the phone, and forced myself to sleep.

The next morning, I walked into my office and handed in my resignation letter.

When my manager asked how married life was treating me, I froze.

I remembered how proudly I had requested time off for my wedding, eager to tell everyone about my happiness.

Now, the wedding was off, and I was quitting my job.

After a long pause under the manager’s confused gaze, I forced a weak reply.

“Everything is great.”

I turned around and walked back to my desk before my facade could crumble.

As I cleared out my workspace, my eyes fell upon a small hand-carved wooden figurine.

I had carved it myself as part of a matching pair, and the other one belonged to Heather.

Back when a TV drama about a craftsman was popular, she had begged me for a wood carving of her own.

I could never bear to disappoint her, so I stayed up all night learning the craft from scratch.

After ruining countless blocks of wood, I finally produced one decent piece for her.

It was crude and clumsy, but Heather had wrapped her arms around me, overjoyed.

Even after my skills improved over the years, I still treasured that ugly little figurine.

I had always assumed she felt the same way.

Until the night I caught them together, when I saw her figurine tossed carelessly beneath the coffee table.

It was covered in grime, treated like a piece of worthless trash.

In that moment, I realized I was just like that discarded doll.

Completely abandoned and left with nowhere to go.