At fifteen, Priscilla Trivett watched her sister pin Algernon Buckley, the boy next door, against the wall and kiss him. Algernon stood completely frozen, his ears turning bright red, yet he didn't push her away.

At eighteen, Priscilla witnessed her sister and Algernon, their fingers tightly locked, talk to their parents about getting married.

When Priscilla was twenty, her sister, Matilda Trivett, ran off the day before her wedding for a precious chance to study abroad.

Priscilla ran after Matilda to the end of the alley, her voice trembling as she called out, "Mattie, since you don't want him anymore... Can I... be with him?"

Matilda paused, then turned and waved dismissively. "Sure. He's all yours."

So, for the sake of both families' reputations and her own hidden desires, Priscilla put on a wedding dress that was never meant for her, rode in the jeep sent to fetch the bride, and became Algernon's wife.

Three years passed in the blink of an eye. She'd learned to make soup, to iron Algernon's military uniforms. She kept every aspect of his life in perfect order. Yet, an invisible pane of glass always seemed to separate him from her.

Still, she firmly believed she would love him for a long, long time.

But one day, everything fell apart.

That day, Priscilla went to deliver lunch to Algernon as usual. Arriving at his office, she remembered he had asked her not to disturb him during work hours, so she waited outside.

At some point, it began to rain. Standing in the drizzle, she held the lunchbox tight, trying to shield the food from the cold rain.

The minutes ticked by, yet Algernon didn't come out. Worried his stomach issues might flare up, she finally mustered the courage and cautiously approached his office.

The next moment, she froze at the scene before her.

The usually stern and authoritative commander was down on one knee, facing Matilda, who had been away for three years.

He was carefully, tenderly massaging her ankle.

Matilda let out a soft gasp and complained playfully, "Ouch... Be gentle, will you?"

He immediately softened his touch. Looking up at her, he asked, his voice taut with unease, "How about now?"

Matilda suddenly chuckled.

"What's so funny?" His voice was deep and gentle.

Her lips curved into a smile. "Nothing. It's just... Well, you're Priscilla's beloved. She's out there drenched in the rain with the lunch she made, yet here you are, massaging my ankle. I wonder if she'll cry if she sees us like this."

Algernon's voice remained calm, yet it pierced Priscilla's heart like a sharp blade.

"I don't care if she cries.

"All I care about is whether you're hurt."

His words shattered Priscilla's heart.

Frozen in place, she felt the lunchbox in her arms grow searingly hot, almost too much to bear.

"Mrs. Buckley? Are you here to see Commander Buckley? Why aren't you going in?" a passing officer asked in surprise upon seeing her.

His voice startled the two inside.

When Algernon looked toward the door, Priscilla panicked as if she had been caught doing something wrong. Clutching the lunchbox, she turned and stumbled out without a word.

The rain was now coming down in sheets.

Heavy drops pelted her body and face, chilling her to the bone, yet she felt no physical pain.

She kept running, desperate, as though distance could shield her from the stifling scene and Algernon's harsh words.

Tears, mingled with the rain, streamed down her face, bitterer than ever before.

Why did everyone love Matilda more than her?

Growing up, Matilda was always the favored one, getting the best snacks, the prettiest dresses, and all the praise and attention from their parents.

Meanwhile, she always got stuck with Matilda's old clothes and discarded toys.

Even the man she loved with all her heart was Matilda's hand-me-down.

Even after so many years, Algernon remained unaware of how happy Priscilla had been to become his wife.

That happiness had kept her going through countless lonely nights these past three years.

When she was little, the neighborhood kids bullied her, leaving her crying. It was Algernon who chased them away with a stern expression and gave her a piece of fruit candy, still warm from his pocket.

When she did poorly on an exam and went to cry by the river alone, it was Algernon who found her. He sat with her for a long time without saying a word. When they were about to go home, he told her, "One failed exam doesn't define you. You just need to work harder next time."

Later, whenever he came home in his military uniform, looking so upright and handsome, she couldn't help stealing glances at him, her heart pounding in her chest.

So, when Matilda fled, she gathered every ounce of courage she had and asked if she could take her place with him.

Matilda had cast him aside, but to Priscilla, he had always been a treasure—the man she had loved silently, too afraid even to reach for.

She brought that treasure home, pouring all her love and care into him until she was completely spent.

But only now did Priscilla realize that the treasure had belonged to Matilda when she was fifteen—it had never truly been hers.

Caught in a storm of emotions, she couldn't stop herself from both laughing and crying. She had no idea how long she ran through the pouring rain. When she finally looked up, she found herself standing in front of the courthouse.

At that moment, it suddenly struck her—even though she had loved Algernon for years with all her heart, letting him go took only one second.

She wiped the tears and rain from her face, took a deep breath, and walked inside.

"Hello. I'd like to apply for a divorce."

The staff member was taken aback by Priscilla's drenched and disheveled appearance, but didn't ask too much.

"Divorce seems only sensible," she thought. "Her husband must be awful—why else would she be completely drenched in this pouring rain?"

She handed Priscilla several forms to fill out.

After Priscilla signed them, she took the papers back and said, "We'll need to process these. It will take a few business days. You can head home, and we'll be in touch soon with an update."

Priscilla nodded softly. "Thank you."

As soon as she left the courthouse, she heard a car horn not far away.

She instinctively turned and saw a familiar jeep parked by the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Algernon's handsome profile.

At the sight of Priscilla, soaked to the skin, he frowned. "What happened? Get in the car."

In the past, Priscilla would have been thrilled to have a moment alone with him and would have climbed in without hesitation.

But today, she simply shook her head. "No need. I can go back on my own."

She spotted a homeless man taking cover under a nearby roof edge, huddled against the relentless rain. After a brief pause, she walked over, crouched down, and gently placed the lunchbox she had been clutching tightly in front of him.

A flicker of astonishment crossed Algernon's eyes—perhaps for the first time ever.

His frown deepened as he quickly realized she must have seen and heard everything at his office door.

No wonder he hadn't seen her.

But Algernon didn't offer any explanation. He simply looked at Priscilla, standing straight-backed in the downpour despite being drenched, and repeated, "Get in the car. I'm not supposed to park here."

As if to prove his point, the car behind them let out an impatient honk.

Priscilla fell silent for a moment. Not wanting to attract attention in public, she pulled open the back door and got in.

As soon as she entered the car, she caught a faint scent of gardenia—Matilda's favorite perfume.

Sure enough, Matilda turned from the passenger seat and smiled at her, "Hey, Cilla. It's been a while. I just got back today and happened to run into Algy. What a coincidence, right?"

Priscilla nodded and turned to look out the window without saying a word.

Algernon started the car.

Though Priscilla's gaze was fixed on the scenery speeding past outside, she couldn't help but overhear the conversation from the front seats.

Algernon drove steadily, but he would occasionally glance at Matilda and ask, "Are you thirsty? There's water here."

When they passed over a bumpy patch of road, he instinctively reached a protective arm in front of Matilda. "Watch out."

That kind of attentiveness and care was something Priscilla had never experienced in her three years of marriage to him.

She turned back to the window, a wave of bitterness washing over her.

She had failed so utterly.

Her parents didn't love her, and neither did her husband.

But it was fine.

From now on, she would love herself. She would no longer crave anyone else's affection.

Just then, Matilda suddenly let out a soft gasp, clutching her lower abdomen.

"What's wrong?" Algernon immediately turned to look at her, his tone laced with unmistakable concern.

She waved reassuringly. "It's nothing serious... My period just started. I'll be fine once I go home and have some warm milk."

But Algernon's frown deepened. "It's your first day—it must be hurting badly. Don't try to tough it out. I'm taking you to the hospital now."

With that, he immediately switched on the turn signal, preparing to change direction toward the hospital.

Shocked, Priscilla looked at Algernon, a sharp pang piercing her heart.

She suddenly remembered her last period—she had been in so much pain she curled up on the sofa, her forehead beaded with cold sweat.

That day, Algernon happened to return home to retrieve a document. When he saw her, he only paused briefly before hurriedly leaving with the file, not even bothering to ask what was wrong.

It turned out he could be attentive. It was just that she had never been the one worthy of it.

Worried about Matilda, Algernon drove noticeably faster.

As they rounded a corner, a scruffy-looking local thug suddenly dashed out from the roadside. Algernon couldn't brake in time, and the front of the car lightly brushed against him. The man fell to the ground, howling in exaggerated pain.

Frowning, Algernon stepped out of the car.

The thug immediately scrambled up, clutching the car door and shouting, "You think you can just hit me and drive off? Dream on! Pay up! You're not going anywhere until you compensate me!"

Just then, he noticed the military rank on Algernon's shoulders and his stern expression. The man's bluster instantly faded, a flicker of fear in his eyes. But the thought of money emboldened him again, and he braced himself to demand compensation.

Thinking of Matilda's pale face, Algernon had no time to waste. He reached into his pocket and, finding no cash, said, "I don't have any money on me right now. Give me your address. I'll send it to you later."

But the thug refused, insisting, "No way! How am I supposed to find you after you leave? I don't care—I want the money now!"

In the jeep, Matilda had curled up in pain. Seeing her, Algernon grew increasingly distressed and impatient.

His gaze fell on Priscilla in the back seat.

Almost without hesitation, he strode over, pulled open the door, and said to her, "Get out."

Stunned, she complied anyway.

Then he turned to the thug, his voice cold and stern. "She'll stay here as collateral. I'll come back in an hour to pick her up and pay you."

With that, he returned to the car and started the engine without so much as a glance at Priscilla. The jeep drove off decisively, splashing rainwater from the puddles.

She stood frozen in the rain, utterly chilled, staring in the direction the jeep had vanished.

Algernon had left her behind with a complete stranger—a thug, no less—just to get Matilda to the hospital as soon as possible?

Astonishment and humiliation crested, only to be followed by even more intense agony.

Was he not worried at all? Or... did he simply not care about her safety?

Time slipped by. The heavy rain gradually eased, and the sky darkened completely.

The agreed-upon hour had long passed, but Algernon was nowhere to be seen.

The thug's initial nervousness had turned to impatience.

"Fuck! It's been ages. He's not coming—he played me!"

Furious, he turned to Priscilla. His clouded eyes scanned her figure, her clothes still clinging to her from the rain, and a vile idea suddenly took hold.

"Hey, pretty thing," he said with a lewd grin, rubbing his hands together. "Forget the money—just spend the night with me. How about it?"

With that, he lunged at her.

Terrified, Priscilla cried out, "Stay back! H-He'll come! Just wait a little longer!"

"Wait, my ass! It's been forever!" With rough strength, he grabbed her arm and started tearing at her clothes with his other hand.

"Let go! Help!" she desperately screamed and struggled, kicking and clawing, tears streaming down her cheeks.

But his physical advantage was overwhelming. Her resistance was futile, and it only left red scratches across her arms and neck.

Despair washed over her like icy water.

As the thug pinned her to the damp ground, his foul breath nearing her face, her flailing hand suddenly brushed against the necklace around her neck.

It was the one Algernon had originally given to Matilda on their wedding. After Matilda left, probably finding it an eyesore, he'd tossed it to Priscilla on their wedding day.

For three years, she had worn it, never once taking it off.

But now, she yanked it off and hurled it into the distance with all her strength. "It's valuable—worth much more than what he owes you! Take it!"

Stunned for a second, the thug instinctively released her and scrambled toward the necklace.

Seizing the chance, she scrambled to her feet and ran for her life.

She ran until her lungs burned, not stopping until she was sure she'd lost him. Finally, she collapsed in a quiet alley, trembling and gasping for breath.

Then she went to the hospital to have her wounds treated.

After being bandaged, as she walked down the hallway, she actually caught a glimpse through a door window of Algernon and Matilda in a private room.

Algernon was sitting by the bed, carefully feeding Matilda warm milk. She leaned against the headboard, her face still pale but wearing a soft smile.

"Algy, I'm feeling much better now. You should go back for Cilla. It's been so long—who knows what that thug might have done to her?"

Algernon paused, set down the glass, and stood up. "Alright, I'll—"

Before he could finish, Matilda gently tugged at his sleeve, her voice laced with a subtle plea and coyness.

"Actually... I lied. I don't want you to leave." Her tone softened, tinged with vulnerability. "I'm so afraid of the dark. I want you to stay with me...

"So, what will you choose? To save her? Or to stay with me?"

Algernon stood still under the room's lighting, his tall figure casting a long shadow.

He looked at Matilda in silence, his usually icy eyes clearly reflecting her image.

A few seconds later, he sat back down and picked up the glass again.

"I'll stay with you."

Outside the glass window, Priscilla stood frozen, watching the man she had loved for ten years. For another woman, he had easily abandoned the search for her, fully aware of the danger she might be facing.

Suddenly, she let out a low, broken laugh.

Tears streamed down her cheeks uncontrollably amid her bitter laughter.

Why had she held on for three years? What had she been waiting for?

It was so painfully clear—in Algernon's eyes, she... was worth nothing.

Stumbling, she turned and left the hospital, bracing herself against the wall as she gradually faded into the night.

Algernon didn't return home for the next few days.

Rather than calling to ask, Priscilla began to pack her things, ready to leave.

When she was finished, she gathered every item connected to him—those she had once treasured so deeply—and prepared to discard them all.

Just then, the sound of the door unlocking broke the silence.

Algernon was back.

He still wore his impeccably straight military uniform, looking travel-worn, yet his icy composure remained wholly untarnished.

He walked over and paused when his gaze fell on the gauze still wrapped around Priscilla's neck.

"How did you get away from that thug that day?"

Priscilla answered truthfully, "I gave him the necklace you gave me."

He was stunned.

He knew how much that necklace meant to her.

She had never taken it off—not to shower, not to sleep. Once, in the heart of winter, she had lost it by accident and nearly lost her mind. She had spent a full day and night searching through the snow, returning with hands red and frozen. She developed a high fever soon after, yet even in delirium, she kept murmuring, "My necklace..."

Back then, he had asked her, confused, "It's just a necklace. Was it really worth all that?"

She had lifted her head, her fever-glassy eyes astonishingly bright, and said word by word, "It was the first gift you ever gave me. Of course, I cherished it the most."

But now... She had given it away—just like that—to that thug?

A strange, inexplicable irritation seized Algernon. It struck him that Priscilla had been different ever since that day she gave his lunch to a beggar.

But the feeling was fleeting. Dismissing the thought, he simply nodded, his tone returning to its usual self. "As long as you're unharmed."

After a pause, his eyes drifted toward the kitchen. "I bought some vegetables. Get ready for dinner," he said abruptly.

Then he walked into the kitchen without waiting for her response.

Priscilla stood frozen in place.

Algernon had offered... to cook?

In their three years of marriage, he had never once set foot in the kitchen. Preparing three meals a day had always been her responsibility.

Soon, the practiced, steady rhythm of chopping echoed from the kitchen.

Before long, Algernon brought several dishes to the table, each fragrant and beautifully presented.

"Come and eat," he said to her.

She walked over in silence and took her seat.

He handed her a fork, then produced a small notepad and pen, sitting down opposite her, his eyes fixed on her. "Try them," he said. "Then tell me how they taste."

Puzzled, she took the fork and sampled each of the dishes.

"The roast beef is a bit overcooked.

"The scrambled eggs are perfect—just the right amount of salt, and the eggs themselves are wonderfully tender.

"The mashed potato has a little too much white pepper. It overpowers the potato's original flavor."

As she ate, she offered her subjective critique of each dish, her tone flat.

Seated across from her, Algernon took rapid notes, his expression as focused and serious as if he were fulfilling a critical military operation.

When she had commented on every dish, he set down his pen.

He then stood up, took a lunchbox, and portioned into it the dishes that had won Priscilla's favor, sealing the lid.

Only the "over-peppered" mashed potato and the "too-dry" fried chicken remained on the table.

With the lunchbox in hand, he made to leave.

Catching Priscilla's gaze, he seemed to recall something and explained, "You mentioned before that your taste is similar to Matilda's."

Priscilla's hand, still holding the fork, froze mid-motion.

It took her a few stunned seconds to reply in a low voice, "Yes."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. "Good."

Without another word or a backward glance, he left, taking the lunchbox filled with the dishes she had approved.

Soon, the sound of the jeep's engine starting rumbled from outside the door. He was on his way to the hospital to bring Matilda her meal.

Priscilla's eyes fell upon the notepad he had left behind.

Driven by a sudden impulse, she reached for it and flipped it open.

Its pages were crammed with recipes for various dishes, complete with detailed instructions. Following each recipe were a few blank lines—lines upon which he had meticulously recorded her every comment just moments before.

In a devastating flash of clarity, she understood. She understood why he had cooked so seriously for the first time, and why he had recorded her opinions with such patience. It wasn't for her.

It was all because he wanted to cook for Matilda.

He had gone to great lengths. He filled a whole notebook with recipes. And whenever he made something, he had Priscilla—whom he believed had a taste similar to Matilda—try it, recorded all her feedback, and then presented the successful, delicious dishes to Matilda.

Clutching the notebook, Priscilla suddenly laughed, a sound laced with boundless bitterness and self-mockery.

After three years of marriage, she had finally tasted food he had prepared—all thanks to Matilda.

How absurd and utterly pathetic.