Chapter 5

I trudged home, my body weary and spent, and paused to survey the place I'd called home for seven years.

Every nook and cranny held recollections of Ethan and me—once cherished memories, now piercing my soul like countless jagged knives.

Sleepless, I spent the night packing a large box, purging the remnants of our shared joy.

I collected our "cat and dog" themed slippers, the interlocking couple mugs, proximity-sensing keychains, and an entire collection of photos and portraits. These items had once served as tangible evidence of our bond, especially during moments of self-doubt.

Now, they seemed pointless.

For two weeks, Ethan was absent. During this time, I not only completed my design projects but also emptied most of the house. I even removed the furniture I had personally selected, returning the space to its original state—stark and monochromatic, with everything visible in one glance.

The evening before my departure, I felt compelled to reach out to Ethan. However, he repeatedly declined my calls. Eventually, he sent a text message.

"Unless you've acknowledged your error and are prepared to sincerely apologize to Amanda, I see no point in us talking."

I smiled ruefully. If that's his stance, so be it.

At dawn, I set out with my luggage for the airport.

Leaving what was once a warm, treasured home, I felt an overwhelming sense of liberation.

Just before boarding, my phone lit up with numerous birthday wishes. Some hoped for my success, others for my contentment, and a few for a joyful marriage with an ideal partner.

After responding to each, I powered off my phone.

As the aircraft ascended, I reassured myself: Happiness awaits me! With such an outpouring of good wishes, I was certain it would.