Chapter 1

My wife is a fireworks designer.

From obscurity to fame, I've been by her side for over a decade.

On New Year's Eve, Grace, as the lead designer for the Times Square fireworks extravaganza, shares the story behind the display to millions.

"Fireworks are fleeting, their brilliance meant for just one person."

My eyes well up with tears.

But in the next moment, she extends her hand, inviting someone from the audience to join her on stage.

It's Garrison, her first love, as written in her diary.

They profess their love amidst the crowd, receiving the nation's blessings under the dazzling lights.

I laugh bitterly, realizing I was merely a supporting character in this romance.

Yet after I leave,

I hear that the renowned designer lit up the entire city with fireworks, all to find her only love.

1

The moment I saw Garrison, I frantically grabbed the remote and turned off the TV.

I turned to face my daughter, who looked utterly confused.

She spoke with an exasperated tone, "Dad, what are you doing? Mom's interview isn't over yet!"

Then, as if suddenly realizing something, she had an epiphany: "Are you jealous of Uncle Grey again? No wonder Mom said you used to target him when you were younger. You're so petty!"

I hadn't expected my daughter to speak about me like that, and I certainly hadn't imagined that in Grace's words, I was a jealous man.

It seemed that my daughter had known all along that Grace would appear backstage at the New Year's Eve show with Garrison.

Everyone in the family heard this and looked at me with resigned expressions.

So, with trembling fingers, I had no choice but to turn the TV back on.

At that moment, Grace was giving her acceptance speech. She thanked her parents for their sacrifices, her daughter for her support, and even all the staff members, but didn't mention me at all.

As I looked up again, fighting back tears, the TV showed two pairs of hands intertwined.

Garrison's hand was covering Grace's, his fingers long and slender, with well-defined knuckles and skin as white and soft as snow.

Instinctively, I clenched my own hand.My hands are swollen, red, and cracked, barely recognizable from their original state.

Despite having no long nails, the countless tiny cuts covering my palms make even the slightest pressure unbearably painful.

These wounds are the result of chemical burns from designing fireworks with Grace.

In the end, the person Grace thanked was Garrison.

"I'm grateful for his constant presence by my side, which made so many beautiful, brilliant moments possible."

I open my phone and frantically search for Grace and Garrison's names.

As I come across a post, my hand freezes, and tears suddenly splash onto my phone screen.

It was shared by a young girl from Grace's work team.

For years, Grace had been filming a fireworks documentary, never telling me where or what she was shooting.

She only gave me careful instructions before leaving home.

"Take good care of our daughter, and pay more attention to mom and dad."

Only now do I learn that the director of the documentary is Garrison.

The two of them traversed mountains and lakes hand in hand, embracing each other as they admired the brilliant, dazzling beams of light in desolate places.A young woman's selfie captured more than just her face - her finger pointed behind her to a passionate couple locked in an embrace. It was none other than Grace and Garrison, sharing a heated kiss.

The documentary had been filmed on and off for eight years, during which Grace and Garrison secretly spent four months together each year behind my back.

How did it come to this?

I still remember when Grace first designed her own fireworks display.

Unable to dodge in time, the intense sparks rained down on my face, stinging my cheeks red.

Grace yanked me close, wrapping me tightly in her arms with all her strength.

Her warm breath tickled my ear as she solemnly named the fireworks "The Star of Kellan".

Her voice choked with emotion: "Babe, thank you for staying by my side. I'll love you for the rest of my life too."

Recalling this, I gave a bitter smirk, my heart aching unbearably.

Babe, it turns out, could also be Garrison. She still couldn't forget him after all.

A ping broke through my reminiscing.

A message from my sole pinned contact on WeChat.

[Team gathering tonight, so I won't be coming home. Take care of the family.]

I silently turned off my phone, the pitch-black screen reflecting my current expression.

A wry smile tinged with numbness.I steeled myself, putting on a brave face as I called everyone to dinner, acting as if nothing was amiss.

After the meal, the table was left in disarray.

My daughter didn't even spare a glance, excitedly clutching her phone as she disappeared into her room.

Taking a deep breath, I began to slowly clean up.

The icy water flowed over my palms, but I barely felt the cold - perhaps my heart had already frozen over.

Two hours later, I collapsed exhaustedly onto the couch, once again opening my phone.

That girl had updated with pictures and videos from their gathering.

Garrison and Grace were being egged on to drink a toast with intertwined arms.

Grace, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, stared intently at Garrison across from her. Her eyes were filled with desire as she gazed at his tall figure in a deep red suit.

Like a coward, I turned off my phone again.

Even though the windows and doors were closed, and I was bundled up in a thick down jacket, why did I feel a bone-chilling cold?

Grace, I've kept your heart warm for seventeen years. Why is it still so cold?

I'm truly exhausted. I can't go on like this anymore.