Chapter 2

When I woke up the next day, Mark had already cooked breakfast and called me to the dining table like an affectionate husband.

I couldn't help relenting, as it was the first time I was rewarded for sacrificing so much over the years.

Mark came up to me, gently coaxing, "I get it… You've wanted matching rings for so long. But I'm yours anyway—just let Sophie have this one. I'll buy us a pair next time."

But he said that all the time, and he would always break the promise because of Sophie.

As I stayed silent, he said, "Look, Sophie just wants an opportunity to apologize. You'll make things awkward for her if you don't go."

I never held out much hope when it was something Sophie planned, but I agreed to go because I wanted Mark to stop bothering me.

Sighing in relief, he said, "Now that's better. It's at 8 PM tomorrow—I'll be there too."

-

It was pouring when I arrived exactly at eight, and I was soaked through.

However, I waited until ten, but neither Mark nor Sophie showed up.

I tried to call them, but no one answered no matter how many times I tried.

I started to feel dizzy and placed a palm on my forehead—I had really caught a fever.

Still, as I tried to call Mark again, I inadvertently turned on Twitter and saw Sophie posting a photo on Twitter, showing Mark sitting by her bed and feeding her medicine.

It was even captioned: [I guess this is happiness—having someone take care of me when I'm sick.]

I shook my head, laughing and hating myself for buying into their bullshit so easily.

It had always been like this—Mark could give up on everything if Sophie just asked, as she would always be number one in his heart.

But I wasn't sad or angry.

Instead, I was calm like never before.

When the rain outside reduced to a drizzle, I picked up my bag and left.

My vision was already a blur from my fever, and when I finally managed to shamble my way home, I took some medicine and quickly fell asleep.

It was not until late at night when I was woken up by footsteps.

I knew it was Mark, but my body hurt all over and I wasn't in the mood to entertain him, so I kept pretending to sleep.

Still, even though my eyes were closed, I could still sense his piercing glare.

I knew he was upset with me for not keeping the lights, waiting for him to come home, and greeting him

But when I used to do it, we used to get in fights, and he would call me annoying, telling me nonchalantly that I should be more understanding.

Well, I understood now—and no longer cared.

Wasn't this exactly what he wanted?