Chapter 4

"My grandfather's death anniversary is coming up," I told him, an excuse so flimsy that even I did not believe it.

"You're going back to your hometown?" Joe's voice carried a trace of relief.

I nodded, staring at my worn-out suitcase.

He did not press further, simply placed the train ticket back on the table. He despised that little town where he was born, just as much as he despised the scandal-ridden mother who raised him.

Then, he handed me the invitation card for his promotion banquet.

"Belle, this is our shared achievement. Without you, I wouldn't be here today."

Shared achievement. The words felt like mockery.

The achievement was his. I had nothing—not only had I lost my dreams, but I had lost myself too.

The banquet was held at the university's grandest venue, Clefton Hall.

I wore a simple black dress I had bought years ago at a clearance sale and sat quietly in a corner. The fabric was old and worn, starkly shabby among the shimmering silks and lace gowns that sparkled under the lights.

People clustered in small groups, discussing the latest academic journals and the millions poured in by foundations.

I could not fit in. I had no place in that world.

Joe stood at the center of it all, speaking with confidence, his smile magnetic. It was a face I had never seen when he was alone with me.

Then came the awards and speeches of thanks.

He thanked the university, his mentors, and every colleague who contributed to his research. Everyone—except me.

As I stared at the man I had supported for 10 long years with my youth and countless part-time jobs, I felt as if I had been plunged into icy water.

Then he paused, his eyes sweeping briefly past me before settling on Ivy.

"And lastly," his voice softened, "I want to thank someone very special. She has been my muse. In my most confusing moments, it was her wisdom that lit the way forward. Ms. Ivy Anderson, thank you."

Not once. Not once did he say my name.

The applause that followed was the loudest of the night, mixed with whistles and cheers. Everyone celebrated this perfect academic couple—the golden boy and girl. They really did look like they belonged together.

A sharp pain twisted through my stomach, the familiar ache that reminded me of all the years I had burned my health away for Joe.

Quietly, I stood and slipped out, pushing open the grand doors of the hall.

As I walked home, the night wind brushed against my cheeks. Still, no tears fell.

It was over. Everything was over. I was leaving.

Back at home, I did not turn on the lights.

Outside, neon signs flickered, casting their glow across the walls lined with books and trophies. All of it belonged to Joe. His brilliance had nothing to do with me.

I went into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe.

His tailored suits and crisp shirts hung neatly in rows, every crease ironed to perfection. My corner was the smallest space of all, holding only a few faded T-shirts and worn jeans.

I pulled out my suitcase and began folding my clothes one by one.

T-shirts, jeans, two sweaters, and the old black dress I had worn to the banquet.

It did not take long. Even after everything was packed, the suitcase was still half-empty.

I walked to the bedside and crouched down, pulling a dusty cardboard box from under the bed.

Inside were my old art supplies, along with several unfinished sketches.

For years, I had given up my dream of painting—for him.

At the very bottom lay a small jewelry box.

Inside, on a velvet cushion, rested a silver pocket watch—my mother's keepsake.

10 years ago, to scrape together Joe's first year of tuition and living expenses, I had sold it to the town's pawnshop.