Chapter 3

Three days left until my departure.

I contacted the movers and packed the books and clothes I was taking with me so they could be shipped to Noveria.

There wasn't much left.

Eight years of marriage, and what truly belonged to me only filled four cardboard boxes.

I was double-checking the overseas address when Matthew came home. He didn't notice the missing pair of slippers at the entrance, nor did he see the two empty shelves on the bookcase.

He tossed a document onto the table. "Sign this."

It was an image release form for a documentary.

To mark the tenth anniversary of his rise to fame, his team was putting together a documentary chronicling his journey from isolation and self-destruction to the international stage.

Ten full pages of the proposal detailed his darkest days, yet not a single sentence mentioned me.

"The director wants to use old archival material," Matthew said, unbuttoning his cuffs. "Hand over those recordings, medical records, and early rehearsal videos you saved so Evie can organize them."

I flipped to the section for subject interviews.

Under the column for "Companion During Darkest Days", Evie's name was written.

"She didn't even know you back then," I said.

"A documentary doesn't need to be so rigid about timelines," he replied matter-of-factly. "She's my assistant now, and she understands my work best."

"Then what about me?" I asked.

Matthew looked up at me.

I pointed to the ten pages recounting the pain, breakdowns, and rebirth. "I was the one who pulled you through every single day in there."

His expression turned impatient. "Hannah, do you really have to pick a fight over something like this?"

"I'm just asking."

"It doesn't matter who was there in the past," he said. "What matters is who's by my side now."

In the doorway of the bedroom, my packed suitcase stood quietly. All he had to do was turn around, and he would see it, but he didn't.

He picked up his phone to reply to a message. A faint smile even crept onto his lips.

I didn't need to guess to know who it was.

I pushed the release form back toward him. "You can't use my personal files."

Matthew's face darkened. "Evie pulled several all-nighters for this documentary, and you won't even share a few documents?"

"Those are your medical records, but they're also my life."

"Hannah." He slammed the folder shut. "Stop using everything you've done for me in the past to guilt-trip me."

I froze for a second.

So the past eight years hadn't been companionship. They were just leverage I could use to guilt-trip him.

All the first-aid techniques I'd learned for him, the nights spent waiting outside his practice room at 3:00 am, and my hand sliced open by glass he shattered in his rage had all become evidence of me demanding repayment.

"Fine." I slid the files into a drawer. "I won't anymore."

Matthew didn't catch what I meant. He simply thought the argument was over and turned toward his practice room.

The next afternoon, the documentary crew came over to shoot extra footage.

The director, Grant Holloway, brought up "Love of My Life".

"Mr. Lowe, I heard this was the first piece you completed after coming out of your slump. Who did you originally write it for?"

I was standing at the end of the hallway.

Matthew clearly saw me. Yet he only paused for a second before turning to Evie, who was sitting next to the camera.

"Once a piece is completed, it no longer belongs to just one person."

Evie lowered her head with a smile.

Grant immediately signaled the cameraman to zoom in on her.

Matthew didn't stop him.

That night, I left my transfer documents, the separation agreement, and the apartment keys in his study.

At the same time, a notification popped up on my phone confirming my flight booking.

In three days, I would be gone before dawn.

Matthew didn't look at any of those papers. He had Evie put them away in a drawer and casually said, "Hannah's been in a bad mood lately. Just ignore her."