Chapter 3

Her delicate nape exposed, looking so pitiful.

Blaine hurriedly sat back down next to Stella, tenderly wiping away the tears on her face with a look of concern.

His tone gentle: "Stella, don't overthink it. She's just petty..."

"You don't need to go out of your way to please someone like her."

To console Stella, Blaine spoke words that disparaged me.

Returning home alone, I forced myself to pack up all my belongings.

I left the house I'd lived in for four years under the cover of night.

I blocked Blaine on all forms of contact.

For a whole week, he didn't even think to look for me.

Stella, however, posted about Blaine on social media every day.

She often sat on the back of Blaine's motorcycle with a beaming smile, wearing a pink helmet.

Blaine would turn his head to look at her, his gaze concealing tenderness.

The comment section was filled with people calling her "Wifey."

In the dim light, I stared at that photo for a long time, lost in thought.

You should know, Blaine never let anyone ride on the back of his motorcycle.

Not even me, who had been with him for four years.

I remember once, as a joke, I leaned against the back of Blaine's bike.

The man's face instantly darkened, and he sternly told me to get off. "You want to see. Have you really remembered what I said?"

"No one can sit in my back seat."

Yet now, Stella could sit there as she pleased, time and time again.

A sudden, jarring ringtone broke the silence.

When I answered, I realized it was Blaine calling.

"Where did you go?"

The man's voice was heavy with exhaustion.

Four years is enough time to learn all of someone's habits.

I knew this was how Blaine sounded after a night of heavy drinking.

In the past, when I was home, I'd always drag myself out of bed and dutifully make him a hangover soup.

"Where's my hangover soup?"

Sure enough, Blaine asked.

I suddenly felt like laughing.

"Blaine, we're already divorced."

"You shouldn't be asking me for this. You should be asking Stella."

I responded coldly.

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a derisive laugh.

"Myra, do you really think running away from home is going to threaten me?"

"A disabled woman over thirty."

"Who else would give you a second glance besides me?"

He seemed to remember that I had a bad leg.

Yet he'd completely forgotten how that injured leg came to be. Two years ago today, to save Blaine from an oncoming car,

I rushed over to push him out of the way, completely unaware of the vehicle behind me.

When I came to, all I saw was blood.

It was the first time I'd ever seen Blaine cry.

I still remember what he said.

"Myra, from now on, I'll be your legs."

"As long as I, Blaine, am alive, I'll never let anyone mistreat you."

Back then, both of us believed every word he said.

That bad leg started aching again.

I sucked in a sharp breath from the pain.

Blaine clearly noticed something was wrong.

"Is your leg hurting again?"

"Just ask, and I'll be right there."

"Myra, you can't live without me."

Hearing this, a wave of nausea washed over me.

The image of Blaine and Stella embracing flashed before my eyes.

I gripped my leg tightly, but the blood started flowing again.

This time, it was gushing uncontrollably.

I couldn't stop it, and my whole body was wracked with pain.

The doctor's words suddenly echoed in my mind.

"You don't have much time left."

"Late-stage leukemia is a hundred times harder than you imagine."

My whole body started shaking, and I couldn't even form a complete sentence.

"Myra, is playing games with me that fun?"

"Why are you so pathetic, always needing to be such a lying bitch?"