My mother's chemotherapy had failed, and her final wish was for our family to share a last, peaceful dinner together. But on that very evening, Alexander's new partner, visibly pregnant, brazenly showed up at our doorstep, intent on provocation. The shock sent my mother's condition spiraling, and she passed away that very night. I called him relentlessly, but my calls went unanswered. It wasn't until I had already made all the arrangements for my mother's funeral that his call finally came through. "The girl is young, still naive, you and Mom shouldn't let her bother you," he said, his tone annoyingly nonchalant. "She’s emotional right now with the pregnancy, so please don't go looking for trouble with her." He paused. "If you can't accept her, I'll make sure she doesn't appear before you again. But she is the mother of my child, and I need to spend time with her. From now on, I'll be home with you on weekdays, and I'll be with her on weekends." His voice held no room for discussion, no hint of compromise. I didn’t argue, didn’t raise my voice. I simply hummed in acknowledgment. The next moment, I was submitting my application to Doctors Without Borders. Since the promises of our youth had withered to dust, it was time to let him go, and in turn, set myself free. 1 As Alexander laid out his arrangements, my eyes quietly scanned the conditions for applying to Doctors Without Borders. Discovering that I met all the requirements, I began filling out the application form without hesitation. Alexander finished what he had to say, then, hearing the faint, erratic tap-tap of keys, his voice tightened with a hint of displeasure. "Anna, did you hear everything I just told you?" I gave a faint 'mm-hmm,' a minimalist acknowledgment. He fell silent, seemingly surprised by my easy acquiescence. After a long moment, his voice softened, laced with a sigh. "Anna, if only you had always been this compliant." His words made me pause, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I was instantly flooded with memories of our countless arguments. In our five years of marriage, countless women had shown up at our doorstep, challenging me. I still vividly remembered the first time someone tried to provoke me. I had collapsed, smashing everything in the house, hysterically demanding to know why he was doing this to me. Back then, his eyes held only weariness, and he pleaded, "I was just playing a part for business; there's nothing going on between us. How many times do I have to tell you before you'll believe me?" He was disappointed by my lack of trust, exhausted by my willingness to believe others over him. Afterward, I reflected, wondering if I had truly been overly suspicious. I humbled myself, apologized to him, and sought his forgiveness. But it wasn't long before gossip about him and a trending celebrity checking into a hotel together went viral. I spiraled again, confronting him, desperate for an explanation. Yet, his eyes were full of disappointment, and he simply shook his head. "Anna, is that how little you trust me? If so, then I'll give you what you want." From that day forward, he stopped bothering to hide anything, constantly making headlines with different women. I even witnessed him intimately kissing a woman in his car. When I confronted him, he no longer offered explanations, choosing silence instead. In five years, I'd lost count of how many arguments we’d had. But I felt a deep, profound weariness. I had considered divorcing him, ending this ridiculous and tragic marriage once and for all. However, my mother's greatest wish was to see me happy. She endured agonizing pain every day, and I couldn't bear to cause her any more worry or sorrow. So I endured, deliberately avoiding anything to do with Alexander, turning a blind eye to the women who sought to provoke me. I thought that by doing so, I could maintain a façade of happiness. Until the moment my mother passed. Skeletal and frail, she lay on her sickbed, silent tears streaming down her face, murmuring faintly, "My darling girl, your mother has ruined you… all I ever wanted was for you to be happy… if you're hurting, darling, then set yourself free…" Her dying wish had shifted from a simple family dinner to hoping for my happiness. Thinking of my mother's last words, my eyes welled up. My voice, when I spoke, trembled with a faint sob. "Alexander, you can no longer give me the happiness I desire, can you?" 2 He didn't answer my question directly, merely sighing. "Anna, we're both approaching our thirties. It's time to be mature. Whether there's love or not, it's not that important anymore." This was his indirect way of telling me he no longer loved me. I understood, and a bitter laugh escaped me, laced with a mournful sob. "Alright, then. I'll let you go, and I'll set myself free." The moment those words left my lips, my heart gave a sharp, sudden tremor. Five years ago, Alexander had said something similar to me. Back then, we were struggling financially, living in a cramped, dimly lit, dilapidated rental apartment. The only ring he could afford was a plain silver band. When he proposed, he spoke with fervent, fierce devotion: "Anna, I promise you, wherever I am, that will be your home. I'll build you the most perfect sanctuary, so you'll never suffer again. Your life will be nothing but happiness." I believed him, and I accepted his proposal. He was like a child who had received a precious gift, beaming, almost skipping with joy. "Anna, from this day forward, you are my wife, Alexander's wife. This life, this world, we will never be apart. Don't you ever think I'll let go of your hand!" But now, he had forgotten those promises. After I spoke those words, he didn't contradict me. Instead, he said, "Alright, but don't worry, the position of Mrs. Thorne will always be yours. No one can ever take your place." When we first got married, hearing the term 'Mrs. Thorne' used to fill me with pride and joy. But now, that title had become nothing more than a cruel irony. When he started frequently making headlines with other women, many people in our circle pitied and sympathized with me. Some even dared to openly mock, "Given how fast Mr. Thorne changes women, who knows how long you'll even be Mrs. Thorne? While you still have a chance, maybe try to have a child. You might be able to secure a better settlement if you divorce later." "If she could have children, why hasn't she had a baby bump in five years of marriage? I bet she's barren; that's why she can't hold onto Mr. Thorne's heart with a child." They didn't know that in our first year of marriage, I had carried our child. But that time, Alexander, during a business dinner, had been pressured into excessive drinking and enduring humiliating remarks. To secure the deal, he endured the disrespect, putting on a smile. I happened to be out with colleagues for a team-building event and witnessed the scene, my eyes welling up with a bitter ache. My heart ached for his silent endurance, for him forcing smiles even as his stomach churned from the alcohol. I walked over, wanting to take him away. But those people jeered, saying if I drank a glass of strong liquor, they would not only sign the contract but also arrange for us to be driven home. I knew how much effort Alexander had poured into securing this project. I couldn't bear to see him disappointed. I mustered all my courage and, right in front of them, downed the strong liquor. That day, he secured the long-awaited contract. And we lost our first child. From then on, no matter how hard we tried, how we nurtured our bodies, I never conceived again. Perhaps, this was heaven's punishment for my failure to protect our child. Maybe even God believed I didn't deserve to be a mother. As Alexander's words hung in the air, tears welled in my eyes and silently slipped down my cheeks, a searing heat against the coolness of my hands. 3 After my mother's funeral was handled, I returned to the hospital for work as usual. My mentor, who had learned of my application to Doctors Without Borders, came specifically to ask me about it. "Anna, have you really thought this through? The place they're going is a war-torn country. Once you're there, you'll be facing a life under constant fire and falling shells every day…" "Professor, I've already made up my mind. I wanted to go before, but I just hadn't found the right opportunity." Before, I couldn't let go of my ailing mother. I couldn't let go of Alexander. Now, my mother was gone forever, and the Alexander who once loved me was also gone. I no longer had any reason to cling to this place. For me, it didn't matter where I was. Perhaps I could do something meaningful. Seeing my unwavering resolve, my mentor stopped trying to dissuade me. She gave me a few instructions and then left my office. No sooner had she stepped out than Alexander walked in. He looked at me, a confused frown on his face. "Where did you say you wanted to go just now?" My movements, as I tidied my desk, froze for a moment. I looked up at him, my voice flat. "To travel. I've rarely gotten out since I started working." Back when we were in college, I used to always arrange trips with friends to various places, eager to see new landscapes. He knew this about me. He didn't seem suspicious, instead expressing his approval. "That's good then. Getting out more is beneficial for your health. Oh, by the way, Serena needs to come to your hospital for her prenatal check-up. Can you arrange a suitable time for her?" He offered no preamble, directly stating his purpose for coming. He wasn't even bothering to pretend anymore. A sharp pang pierced my heart. I couldn't help but think of the child we had lost before they even saw the light of day. Suddenly, I had an overwhelming urge to demand, loudly, if he, now full of anticipation for their child, ever spared a thought for our lost child. But I opened my mouth, then closed it again, dismissing the notion. The past was the past; there was no need to dredge it up again. Or perhaps, he had already forgotten. Suppressing the turbulent emotions churning within me, I reminded him, "Our doctors here are all very responsible. You can simply register and wait in line." As my words faded, a familiar figure appeared in the office doorway. Serena, with her visibly prominent baby bump, slowly walked in. She linked her arm through Alexander's, a wounded pout on her lips. "Alex, honey, is Dr. Thorne unwilling to help us? It's all my fault for forgetting to make an appointment; otherwise, you wouldn't be wasting your time here." Alexander didn't push her away. He gently squeezed her cheek, his voice soft. "I always have time for you and our baby. It's alright if she doesn't want to help; I'll wait with you." Noticing she seemed a little tired, he tenderly pressed a kiss to her forehead, whispering soft reassurances into her ear. This tender scene before me was a blinding, agonizing sight. There was a time, not so long ago, when he used to be this tender with me. He would gently comfort me, make silly faces to cheer me up, and spend every last dime he had to buy me a necklace I loved. He had told me that whatever other women had, I would have too. He constantly strived to climb higher, enduring hardship and exhaustion outside, yet always greeting me with a smile when he came home, recounting amusing anecdotes from his day. Even when he was so exhausted his eyes could barely stay open, he would still talk to me, listen to me. He said it gave him a deep sense of contentment. But at some point, gradually, we went from confiding everything to this chilling silence. I averted my gaze, no longer wanting to witness the searing image that clawed at old memories. Alexander, however, suddenly recalled something. He said flatly, "What Serena did last time was wrong. I had someone buy some tonics. I'll send them to Mom as an apology later." "No need," I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. "She won't be needing them anymore." 4 The day my mother died, I called him countless times, but no one ever answered. With each repeated, cold, automated female voice, my heart slowly gave way from initial anger to numbness. I had considered going to confront them, demanding they pay for what they had done to my mother. But every time I closed my eyes, I would recall my mother's dying words. She told me not to blame anyone, not to live with hatred. All she wanted was to see me free, unburdened, and living happily. And I would listen to her. I would live freely, unburdened, and happily. Regarding my words, Alexander thought I was still dwelling on Serena's earlier outburst. He frowned, displeased. "Anna, you don't need to keep dwelling on minor incidents. It's all in the past." In his eyes, it was in the past. But in my eyes, it could never be in the past. I looked at him with cold, detached eyes and stated blandly, "My mother isn't here anymore. You won't find her." "Anna! Don't be so absurd! No matter what, she's still your mother. How can you curse her like that? She's so ill right now, where else would she be but the hospital?" My mother, during her lifetime, treated him even better than she treated me. Anything good she had, she would save for him. When he first started his business, someone sabotaged him, and he lost everything. It was my mother who took out her life savings to help him pay off his debts, helping him climb out of that mire. Yet, because of him, she found no peace even in her severe illness. Serena chimed in, echoing his sentiments. "Dr. Thorne, I know you and Auntie resent me for my thoughtlessness before. I apologize, okay? Alex is truly worried about Auntie, so please don't be difficult with him." "You don't deserve to even speak her name!" Hearing her mention my mother, the fury I had suppressed erupted. "Get out! I don't want to see you!" I rose abruptly, issuing a clear command for them to leave. Alexander, seemingly afraid I might do something to Serena, quickly shielded her behind him. His gaze turned cold. "Anna, maliciously kicking out a patient – is this your professional medical ethics as a doctor?" He then proceeded to dial a complaint number right in front of me, articulating each word coldly. "I'm reporting Dr. Anna Thorne from the surgery department for unprofessional conduct…" He said he wanted to teach me a lesson, to make me understand what professional ethics were. Watching him unequivocally accuse me, a ripple of disturbance spread through my calm heart. Without waiting for me to say anything, he turned and led Serena away. As they stepped out of the office, Serena looked back, flashing me a triumphant smirk. It seemed to say, "See? Alexander is on my side. You're a complete and utter failure." Soon after, I received a warning from the hospital administration. My mentor, having heard what happened, helped me apply for an early leave of absence to prepare for my volunteer mission abroad. After completing the suspension procedures, I returned home. Alexander still hadn't returned, but his social media feed was constantly updated. One moment he was posting ultrasound photos from Serena, sharing his joy of becoming a father. The next, he was posting pictures of the nursery he had personally decorated, captioned, "Baby, come out soon; Mommy and Daddy can't wait to see you." He hadn't blocked me from seeing his posts. I collected myself and silently 'liked' one. When I checked again later, I discovered he had blocked me. I wasn't angry. I tapped his profile picture and, mirroring his action, blocked him too. From that moment on, we would never cross paths again.
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