Chapter 3

Damian caught up with me downstairs and grabbed my wrist. “The situation with the ring isn’t what you think it is.”

I tried to pull away, but he did not let go.

“Sienna’s birthday is next month. She wants to buy a ring, and I’m just helping her choose.”

“Doesn’t she have any other friends?”

“Elena, she just got out of a terrible relationship. Right now, she relies on me.”

“You’ve let her rely on you for four years.”

His fingers tightened around my wrist. “We’ve known each other for years. Of course, we’re closer than ordinary friends.”

“I’ve known her for years too.” I looked straight at him. “She’s my best friend. You’re my husband. So why is it that in the end, the two of you are the ones who are closest?”

Damian was silent for a moment.

“You’re my wife. She’s just a friend. It’s not the same.” He said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world, as though being his wife were enough to make up for every way he treated us differently.

I looked at him. “When we got married, I wanted to buy rings too.”

He remembered, and his expression darkened.

Back then, I took a liking to a simple matching set. It was nothing extravagant, and the pair cost just over 600 dollars.

Damian called wedding rings a trap created by consumerism and took me to a jewelry shop, where he bought us two 99-dollar silver bands instead.

Later, he lost his. I asked him three times about replacing it. Every time, he said there was no need.

At this moment, he said, “You already have a wedding ring.”

“Sienna isn’t married. Why does she need you to go ring shopping with her?”

“If she likes one, she can buy it. What’s the problem?”

Something in me simply went quiet, and I no longer had the strength to keep asking.

After we got home, Damian never mentioned the ring again.

For the next few days, he continued leaving early and coming home late, as though everything that happened that night had been nothing more than another insignificant thing I had overthought.

Then our wedding anniversary arrived. That morning, before he left, I asked if he could come home for dinner.

He glanced at his phone and casually agreed, “Sure.”

It was the first time in days he had not turned me down. I bought groceries and ordered a small cake for two.

That evening, Damian came home right on time. However, he did not even look at the dinner table. Instead, he went to the storage room, pulled out several cardboard boxes, and started clearing out the living room.

“There’s too much stuff in here. We need to get rid of some of it.”

He put our matching mugs into a box, the model kit we had built together, and one thing after another. Finally, he took the wedding photo off the wall.

I stopped him. “You’re throwing that away too? It’s the only framed photo we have together.”

“We can keep the digital copy.” He tossed the frame into the box.

The glass struck the bottom with a sharp crack, leaving a thin fracture across the surface. I crouched down to pick it up, but he reached out and stopped my hand. “Don’t. You’ll cut yourself.”

That small gesture made me hesitate. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if maybe he did care. Perhaps he simply had a different way of showing it.

Then he picked up the anniversary scrapbook I had spent four years putting together. “We don't need to keep this either.”

I immediately grabbed the other end. “Don’t throw it away. It’s full of our memories.”

Damian held my gaze for a moment, then slowly loosened his grip and let go. “Then keep it somewhere else. Just don’t leave it lying around.”

The moment he finished speaking, his phone chimed. When the screen lit up, I saw a photo from Sienna. She was standing inside a jewelry store, a pink diamond ring on her finger.

[I can't bring myself to choose without you here.]

Damian picked up his coat.

I said, “You said you’d have dinner with me tonight.”

“Can’t we eat another day?”

“It’s our wedding anniversary today.”

His eyes flicked toward the wedding photo inside the box. “Didn’t we agree not to celebrate anniversaries?”

“You were the one who said that.”

“You never objected all these years.”

“What if I object now?”

Damian stopped at the door. I forced my trembling hands to stay still and laid out the last shred of hope I had left. “Damian, stay. Just tonight.”

He looked at me for several seconds before picking up his car keys. “Don’t try to force me to choose like this. Sienna’s alone at the store. The sales associate is waiting for her. I’ll go pay the deposit and come right back.”

The door closed behind him, and I sat at the dining table for a long time.

Two hours later, Sienna sent me a message: [Elena, Damian’s had too much to drink. Bring his pajamas over, will you?]

A hotel room number was attached beneath it.

I did not bring his pajamas. I simply slipped the scrapbook he had almost thrown away into my bag and went to the hotel.

The door was not fully closed. I had just raised my hand when I heard Sienna laughing.

“I merely said I didn’t like your wedding photo, and you actually threw it away? Aren’t you afraid she’ll make a scene?”

Damian’s voice came through the crack in the door. “What’s there to make a scene about? She can’t leave me.”

Then came the soft click of a ring box opening.