Canvas of a New Life

After pushing the last suitcase into the corner, I dialed my best friend, Sasha Cason.

"I'm leaving Joe. I'm going back alone."

On the other end, Sasha practically exploded.

"Belle, are you out of your mind? Ten years! You sacrificed ten years of your life for him! And now, just when Joe finally becomes a university professor, you're walking away?"

Her voice trembled with anger.

"He's made it, and you're just going to step aside? Weren't you in love with him?"

I did not answer. I listened quietly, then ended the call.

The screen lit up with a new message. It was from Ivy—Joe's admirer.

[Have you decided to leave him?]

I glanced out the window before typing back three words: [Yes, I have.]

My thoughts drifted to the past.

Back in high school, Joe had been the target of everyone's bullying because he was born out of wedlock.

A few boys cornered him by the river and shoved him into the water. I, a girl who could not even swim, jumped into the freezing river after him. I nearly drowned but managed to drag him back to shore.

I could still see it–the way he was soaked to the bone, face pale as paper, but his hand clung to mine with desperate strength.

At that moment, I felt that anything I did for him would be worth it.

When our admission letters from Great Eastern University arrived, I saw the name embossed in gold on the paper. I also saw the yearning—and the shame—in Joe's eyes.

He was an orphan. He could not afford those sky-high tuition fees.

So, I quietly hid my own letter and went out the next day to find work, just so Joe could study in peace.

I washed greasy dishes in the back of restaurants until my hands turned raw and white from detergent. I carried bricks on construction sites until my thin shoulders bled from the strain. I shouldered the cost of living for both of us, sacrificing everything to keep his dream alive.

When Joe found out, he pulled me into his arms and promised, "Belle, I'll give you a home. I'll make sure you live a good life."

But that was a long time ago.

Just a week ago, I carried a plate of sliced fruit into his study. His phone screen was still lit, unlocked.

I saw his conversation with Ivy.

Joe wrote, [I can't abandon Belle. She's given too much for me.]

And Ivy had replied, [Joe, you're brilliant. Only I'm worthy to stand beside you. We belong to the same world.]

I quietly backed out of the room and dumped the fruit into the trash.

Days later, Ivy came to see me.

She was dressed in designer clothes, her makeup flawless, her eyes looking at me as though I were something pitiable.

"Belle, someone tried to leak Joe's past–that he's an illegitimate child. I paid a lot of money to keep it quiet. If that scandal becomes public, it'll destroy everything he's worked for. This is the one stain that could ruin his career forever."

She straightened her posture, her voice sharp and certain.

"Only I can protect him. You'll only drag him down."

Every word hit me where it hurt the most.

I could ignore my pain, but I could not ignore his future.

That night, my stomach flared with the old pain, twisting until I could barely stand.

Once, when my illness acted up, Joe would stay awake the whole night, sitting by my side, patiently cooking warm porridge just for me.

However, that evening, just as he set a steaming bowl of porridge on the table, Ivy called.

Her voice was weak and pitiful through the phone; she had a fever and felt terrible.

Joe set the bowl down, barely spared me a glance, grabbed his coat, and rushed out the door.

The porridge went cold. So did my heart.

It was my birthday. Joe never came home last night.

He did not pick up my calls. He did not reply to my messages.

I opened the fridge and pulled out the little cake I'd bought myself this morning. A single strawberry sat on top of the cream.

I placed a candle in the middle, lit it with a lighter, and watched the tiny flame flicker in the dim room, reflected in my empty eyes.

Folding my hands together, I made a silent wish.

"May your future be bright, Joe. May all your dreams come true."

I blew out the candle.

Darkness swallowed the room again. My eyes held no tears—only emptiness.

Unlocking my phone, I stopped at an unread message.

It was from the manager at the beauty salon where I worked part-time.

[Belle, we've got a big client from Great Eastern University tomorrow. Can you come in?]