Preston Bauer walked out of the bedroom with a suitcase.

I was curled on the sofa, the overcoat making me look even smaller.

He headed for the door; his back was cold and rigid.

He glanced back once, his face half-lit, half-shadowed.

In the end, he said nothing.

He just left.

I kept my head lowered for a long time. Only after what felt like forever did I finally lift it.

I looked toward the light outside.

It felt as if the whole world had abandoned me.

Even my husband didn't want me anymore.

Like everyone else, he thought I was rotten to the core.

I didn't deserve anyone's forgiveness.

My hand trembled as I touched my belly.

Just a week ago, there had been a four-month-old baby there.

But it left me.

I felt so lonely.

How I wished I could have a baby. I wanted to teach them how to read, how to sing.

I wanted to hear them call me "Mom."

But that would never happen.

The title "Mrs. Bauer" was never meant to be mine.

I guessed this was my punishment for snatching it away.

I slumped helplessly against the back of the sofa.

Then I let out a weak smile.

"It seems ... I really have no strength left," I murmured.

I don't know how long I sat there.

Eventually, I stood up, walked over, and turned the photo frame face down.

People say love lasts a lifetime.

But I was done loving.

I flicked the lighter. The flame touched the curtain tassel.

Just then, my phone rang.

Tilting my head, I was stunned for a second.

But I didn't answer it.

The caller wasn't about to give up, though.

Finally, I picked up.

"Hello?"

"Why didn't you answer earlier?"

I stared at the growing flame.

"What's up?"

"There's something wrong with Cam's liver. Come to the hospital for a compatibility test."

I said nothing, coughing softly.

"Are you listening?"

I nodded.

As the smoke grew thicker, I coughed violently.

"I know..."

"Why are you coughing like that?"

"There's too much smoke."

I didn't say anything more. I tossed the phone aside, grabbed the fire extinguisher, and put the fire out.

Finally, the last shred of flame was gone.

I dropped the extinguisher and lay on the sofa, one corner already scorched.

Then I gasped for air.

After a few minutes, my hand slowly moved to my liver.

Liver?

Very well.

Maybe I could make amends by helping Camille Avery, my sister.

Soon, I arrived at the hospital.

My parents had been waiting outside the ward.

My mother stomped her foot. "Why are you only getting here now?"

I glanced at them, my gaze cold.

My father pulled at my mother's arm.

"That's enough."

Then I followed them into the room.

My eyes drifted to the bed.

Yet, to my surprise, I saw Preston there.

I lowered my gaze, missing the trace of surprise flashing in his eyes.

"I'm heading to the office," he said.

Then he stood up and nodded at my parents, his tone flat.

He was always so composed.

Yet when he brushed past me, I felt his momentary panic.

I lifted my head and glanced outside the window.

I shouldn't be surprised by his reaction.

After all, I had miscarried twice, and he had never stayed at the hospital for me like this.

I thought I wasn't sad anymore.

But at this moment, I still felt a sting in my eyes.

Luckily, it lasted only a few seconds.

Then my eyes no longer held any trace of tears.

Camille was sleeping in bed, her face ghastly pale.

I raised my hand.

"What do you want to do?" my mother roared sternly.

But my hand only fell gently on Camille's head, smoothing her disheveled hair.

After that, I turned to my parents.

"When does the compatibility test start?"

My father froze, startled by the dead-cold calm in my voice.

Just then, the doctor came in.

"Is she here?"

But when he saw me, he visibly paused.

"You're not a suitable candidate for the match," the doctor said.

I didn't say anything.

"Didn't you hear me? Go back, Jeanne."

I looked up at him, my voice pleading.

"I can do this. Please."

Then I walked out.

Behind me, he said, his voice stern, "Are you serious? After having a miscarriage just a couple of days ago?

"This isn't some joke! You could die!"

Already at the door, I paused for a second.

"No, I won't. It's just a compatibility test."

His heavy sigh came from behind me.

There were so many tests to go through.

I decided to stay in the hospital for three days.

It'd be a chance to recuperate anyway.

Three days later.

Finally, all the tests were done.

I walked up to the fifth floor.

The heart-warming scene of the family of three holding each other close made me stop in my tracks.

My father noticed me first.

He gave me a wave.

I nodded and stepped inside.

"Dad, Mom, Cam."

"Well?" my mother asked eagerly. "Are the results in yet?"

"Not yet," I said, shaking my head.

"I'm heading back."

My eyes met Camille's.

But it only lasted a second before she looked down.

My mother glanced my way. "Alright."

I nodded and moved toward the door.

Just then, my father called out to me.

"Jean, I think this belongs to Pres. Maybe you could take it to him?"

I turned around.

Seeing the silver pendant in his hand, I was stunned.

He explained, "I found it after he left that day."

Instinctively, I looked over at Camille and my mother by the bed.

After a few seconds, I took it.

"OK."

Then I walked out of the room.

My mother's voice drifted through the partly open door. "What was that about? It's not like she can't see Pres."

My father replied, "Something's off with them. I don't think they'll last much longer."

The hallway was dead quiet.

I left.

At the Bauer Group.

I waited for half an hour.

Then Preston finally came out of his meeting.

When he walked into his office and saw me, he frowned.

I finished the last of my tea and stood up.

Then I held out the pendant.

"I came to return this."

He glanced at it.

The impatience on his face was undisguised.

He didn't take it.

Did he find it disgusting now that I'd touched it?

I set it down on his huge desk.

Then I gave him a nod and turned to go.

"Wait."

He walked over to the desk.

I stopped.

"Is there something else?"

"Sit down," he said, pointing to the sofa.

I stood there, stunned, for a few seconds.

He took off his jacket without a word.

But I noticed his hands were clenched into fists.

I asked, "You want to know if the match was successful, right?"

I was about to tell him the results weren't in yet.

But before I could, my phone buzzed.

I pulled it out.

His phone vibrated almost at the same time.

It hit me then.

He must have been tracking any updates closely.

I smiled faintly.

"If that's all, I'm going home. I need to rest up and get my strength back so I'm ready for the surgery."

I was about to open the door when his voice stopped me.

"Jeanne, after the transplant ... let's try to make this work."

My hand paused on the doorknob.

What did he just say?

Was he really willing to accept me?

The worst woman he'd ever known, according to him?

But...

I didn't want to try anymore.

I was tired.

Too tired to even try.

I opened the door and walked out.

My silence was answer enough.

I went home.

After stewing a chicken, I walked out of the kitchen.

Bored, I turned on the TV.

Before I realized it, I fell asleep, the bowl with the soup left on the coffee table, the TV still on.

The next day, I woke up.

I was still lying on the sofa.

Everything was so quiet.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, spilling scattered light on the floor.

The villa felt so big.

I should get a cat.

At that thought, I pulled out my phone, wanting to browse online.

Finally, I set my eyes on one.

But then I exited the page.

Having a cat?

I'd pass.

A cat was a lifelong duty, not something to decide on a whim.

A week before the surgery.

I was admitted to the hospital.

My mother came for a visit.

She sat by the bed for a long time, yet neither of us talked.

She remained silent, and I wasn't exactly keen on speaking either.

Finally, she broke the silence. "Sorry. All the private rooms on the fifth floor are taken. Or your father and I would have gotten you one."

I gave a brief nod.

Then I turned to look out the window.

"You were quite chatty when you were little. What changed?"

With a sigh, she stood up.

"I'm going upstairs. I'll drop by some other time."

"Alright."

She left.

My gaze swept from the spot she had sat to the bag of fruit she had placed by the bed.

Then I let out a laugh.

She had stood up, picked up the bag, put it back down, and left, looking awkward—her whole demeanor seemed so funny.

I never knew—she'd actually feel embarrassed.

I didn't get it.

Couldn't she have gone upstairs to drop off the fruit first, then come down to see me?

But ... I guessed I shouldn't be surprised.

After all, she hated me.

Why would she go downstairs just for me?

The last tests were today.

The surgery was tomorrow.

With all the test reports, I went back to the room.

It was as cold and empty as ever.

Sitting on the bed, I stared ahead unfocused, my eyes dazed.

Why did it feel so cold and empty?

Oh, right.

Didn't Preston say he wanted to make things between us work?

He never came back when I was at home recuperating.

And he was nowhere to be seen during my week in the hospital.

Was that how he planned to make things work?

No, wait.

He said to make this work after the transplant.

I knew.

He didn't really care about whether things between us would work or not.

He simply felt he owed me, so he decided to repay me with his entire life.

All he wanted was for Camille to be healthy.

For that, he could sacrifice everything.

On the surgery day.

Camille and I were about to be wheeled into the operating room.

Preston rushed over in time.

"Dad, Mom, I'm so scared..." Camille bit her lip.

"Don't worry, Cam. Just think of it as a long nap. The doctor said once you're through the surgery, you'll be better than ever."

My mother smoothed the hair under Camille's surgical cap.

Preston strode over. "Is the surgery about to begin?"

"Yes."

Camille pulled her hand from our mother's grasp and reached out toward him.

He extended his hand subconsciously.

But then she pulled her hand back.

She put on a smile instead.

"Hi, Pres."

Preston's hand froze in mid-air.

He glanced at me and quickly pulled it back.

"Medical science is very advanced these days. You've got nothing to worry about," he said to Camille reassuringly.

"OK."

She smiled, "Why don't you go talk to Jean? She's been waiting for you."

Preston nodded.

Then he looked at me.

But it seemed he couldn't move his lips no matter what, and in the end, he said nothing.

The surgery team, having changed, walked over. "Time for the surgery. Would the family mind stepping out of the way?"

The gurneys rolled forward.

At this moment, Camille couldn't help but be scared.

She reached out, calling out the name she had been inwardly murmuring all this time.

"Pres..."

"Don't be afraid."

A bit late to hold her hand, Preston held the bed rail instead.

My gurney was ahead.

I looked at them, my gaze calm.

Then the operating room doors slowly closed.

Preston's upright figure was slowly sliced from my view.

I closed my eyes.

The moment before the surgery began, I heard Camille's voice.

"Thank you, Jean, for giving me your liver."

The anesthetic entered my veins.

In that final moment before losing consciousness, I said softly, "You're welcome."

I had a long, utterly numb dream.

It was the weirdest dream I had ever had.

My eyes seemed to be blindfolded.

Someone's voice echoed in the empty hallway.

"If you had known in advance that this life would be like this, would you still have chosen to come?"

I turned toward the source of the voice.

But I saw nothing, no one.

In a void, I saw an operating room.

In the doctor's office, the doctors were discussing.

"Remove that much liver? Seriously?"

"It states in the agreement—it'll only be seventy percent."

"Gosh... With her liver being removed that much, can she ever recover?"

I listened, baffled.

I was alive, wasn't I?

Then how come I found my body drifting in the air?

I floated into the distance.

There was so much blood on the operating table.

I drifted away and overheard two nurses' voices.

"They're sisters. But their mother obviously favors the older one. She insists on removing that much of the younger one's liver."

"And the younger sister is OK with that?"

"After she read the agreement, she gazed out the window and didn't say anything.

"She seemed so pitiful—I almost wanted to hug her."

I didn't know where I was drifting to.

Four days later.

I opened my eyes slowly.

I couldn't feel my limbs at all.

All I could do was move my eyes slightly.

Everything I saw was pristine white.

"You're awake."

A nurse leaned closer.

She smiled at me.

I nodded.

"Would you like some water? I'll feed it to you."

"Thanks..."

She poured me a glass of water, slipped a straw into it, and held the straw to my lips.

I tried to take a sip.

But the slightest effort sent a sharp, tearing pain through my body.

"Hey, take it slow. Try not to use any strength," she said.

I managed a few small sips.

Then she pulled the glass away.

"My sister—"

"Camille Avery? She woke up yesterday. She's out of the ICU now."

I felt a wave of relief and nodded slightly.

"Well..." The nurse hesitated.

I looked up at her slowly.

She seemed to gather herself before asking, "Are you two ... related by blood?"

I lowered my gaze.

"And that good-looking guy from the other day... Is he your husband? Or hers?"

Her eyes held a mix of curiosity and pity.

I had a rough idea of what must have happened while Camille and I were both here.

I didn't answer.

I just closed my eyes—my eyelids felt so heavy.

Two days later.

I was moved out of the ICU.

There still weren't any private rooms available.

I hired a caregiver through an app to pick up my prescriptions and handle errands for me.

Most of the time, I slept.

I was completely worn out, which didn't make sense.

I had been resting after surgery.

Logically speaking, I should have been getting stronger every day.

But I just felt drained, too tired to stay awake.

I didn't even have the energy to go home.

Still, I didn't want to take up a bed that someone else might need.

All I could do was hope I'd find the strength to leave soon.

Then one day, my mother came to see me.

She had brought soup.

My caregiver was just setting up the bedside table for my meal.

My mother asked her to step outside.

Then she opened the insulated container she'd brought and poured out a bowl of fragrant fish soup.

"Have some of this. It's much more nourishing than that," she said, glancing at the food the caregiver had prepared.

She kept her head down, avoiding my eyes.

It hit me then—she wasn't refusing to look at me. She just couldn't bear to.

Because I was now skin and bones.

My jawline was so sharp it could cut.

I reached for the spoon.

Her eyes drifted to my hand, covered in needle marks, swollen and bruised, and her eyelids fluttered slightly.

She took the spoon from me and picked up the bowl.

Then she lifted a spoonful of soup to my lips.

"Eat."

I paused for a second.

Then I parted my lips and ate the soup from the spoon.

Spoonful after spoonful, she patiently helped me eat.

That afternoon, even the sunlight felt warm.

She sealed the container again, still not looking up.

She sat with me a little longer.

"Is there anything else you'd like to eat?"

I shook my head.

"I'm full."

She nodded and stayed seated a while longer.

I noticed a strand of white in her hair at the temple.

It was probably from stress, from taking care of Camille in the hospital all this time.

"I should go," she said. "I'll come by another day."

I nodded.

As she walked past my bed, I couldn't help but be worried.

"Mom, is Cam doing better?"

She nodded.

"She's doing well. She's already been disch—"

She cut herself off, probably realizing she shouldn't have said it.

I was stunned.

Was Camille discharged?

My mother looked awkward.

But I just smiled.

"I'm glad to hear that."

She nodded and left.

I watched her walk farther and farther away.

Suddenly, I felt anxious, desperate to keep her in sight a little longer. Pushing myself up, I struggled out of bed and made my way to the doorway.

I stared after her.

She never looked back.

Would she come here again?

I didn't think so.

But that was OK.

She didn't have to.

I'd be leaving soon anyway.

Before long, she disappeared from view.

Slowly, tears began to roll down my cheeks.

In that daze, I felt like that little girl again.

Once again, I was left behind at the amusement park.

I watched her walk farther and farther away, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't catch up.

No one knew about my past.

I went missing when I was three.

Then, at thirteen, I became part of the Avery family again.

I never talked about it—those ten years I was lost, the beatings, the tricks, everything I went through.

I thought things would get better once I was found again.

But they didn't. No one liked me.

They said they could see it in my eyes—how greedy and selfish I was, that I wasn't a good person.

Honestly, I didn't feel much when they said that.

What really broke me was finally knowing the truth.

I didn't go missing.

My mother had left me behind on purpose all those years ago.

"You want to be discharged?

"Absolutely not! You can't be serious."

I kept my head down as the doctor spoke.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He scribbled his signature, tossed the paper back toward me, and continued on his rounds.

I went home.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, I let the sun warm me for a while.

Then I heard the lock twist behind me.

I turned around.

It was Preston.

Why was he back?

He walked over. "Weren't you supposed to stay in the hospital a few more days?"

Today, he was wearing a light gray suit.

It softened his usual sharp, cold edge.

Though I wasn't sure why.

"I feel alright," I said.

"Alright? Have you looked in the mirror?"

His tone turned sharp all of a sudden.

I was stunned for a second. "

How ... do I look?"

I rested a hand on my lower abdomen.

"Pres, do you remember when I was pregnant those two times? My stomach wasn't this flat. It was round."

I smiled.

"Our first baby was six months along. My belly was like a soccer ball back then.

"And our second baby... I still believe it was a girl. She was so quiet, so well-behaved..."

Suddenly, Preston snapped, "Stop."

I lowered my head and fell silent.

Then I walked past him, noticing his hands were clenched and trembling.

I sat in the living room for a while.

Thumps and bumps came from the master bedroom.

When the sounds grew louder, I walked over.

Standing in the doorway, I saw him packing.

Was he taking all his things away?

"There's too much here to fit in one suitcase. Do you want me to call a moving company?"

I meant it kindly.

But his back stiffened, as if I'd startled him.

He stopped shoving things into the suitcase at random.

After a moment, he turned and looked at me.

"I'm not moving out. I'm packing because I have a business trip overseas."

I paused.

A business trip? Was that all?

I nodded.

Then he went back to packing.

His movements were so rough, like he was taking out some kind of anger.

Leaning against the doorframe, I couldn't watch anymore.

I walked in.

"Let me help."

He seemed a little surprised.

Then he put down what he was holding and stepped aside.

I started folding his clothes carefully.

He stood there, watching for a bit.

"I'll step out to return a call," he said.

When he came back in, he was stunned.

I had already finished packing everything.

"Does your wound hurt?" he asked.

I let my hand drop from my waist.

"No," I said.

He glanced at me and pressed his lips together, seeming about to say something.

But he didn't.

As he closed the suitcase, he noticed the documents I'd placed inside.

"You put all my papers in here?"

He was about to take them out.

But I closed the lid.

"Bring them. You're going abroad—they might come in handy."

Then I locked the suitcase with a soft click.

I nodded toward him.

"You should go. You don't want to miss your flight."

With that, I turned to leave.

Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist from behind.

"Jeanne, I meant what I said. There's an issue with the project, and I have to be there to fix it myself. I'll be back in two weeks at the most."

"What did you say?" I repeated softly.

His phone buzzed.

He let go of my wrist to answer it.

When he walked out with his suitcase, I was in the living room.

Our eyes met.

Then he turned and headed for the door.

"Pres, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.

"I knew you had feelings for Cam back then, but I never told you she felt the same way about you.

"I'm so sorry about that."

Soon, everything would be over. I wanted to apologize to him sincerely, one last time.

His back stiffened.

"It's all in the past now, Jeanne. You're my wife."

The room fell completely silent.

"Aren't you going to wish me a safe trip?"

"Safe trip."

He didn't turn around.

After hearing my words, he pulled the door open and left.

The door shut behind him.

I sank onto the sofa.

After a long while, I finally broke down, wrapping my arms around my head as I cried.

What a fool.

See me in two weeks?

No, he would never see me again.

What happened between us was a mistake from the start.

A sin.

The sun sank lower and lower.

Slowly, it turned into sunset, the afterglow washing over everything.

Curled up on the sofa, I hugged my knees and stared out the window.

I wanted to call my mother.

I wanted to ask her why she abandoned me when I was three.

I wanted to hear Camille's voice.

Was she almost recovered?

I wanted to call my father "Dad" one more time.

But none of it seemed necessary anymore.

No one liked me.

Why bother them now?

The sunset grew deeper, more crimson.

It looked just like the blood seeping from my freshly reopened wound.

Today's sunset was beautiful.

My hand, covered in blood, finally lit the lighter and dropped it onto the sofa.

Flames rose immediately, glowing red against the darkening sky.

Amid the fire, my phone screen lit up.

A message came through.

"Wait for me to come back."

I smiled faintly.

Then the flames swallowed me whole.