She Looked for Me After I Was Gone

The day I left that house was the fifth anniversary of my marriage to Vega Winslow. It also happened to be the birthday of the childhood friend who had grown up by her side.

I had already prepared everything for our anniversary a week in advance. I had flown in her favorite flowers from overseas and bought a diamond ring for her.

Nine carats. Her lucky number.

But just as everything was ready, Vega called first and told me she had work at the company that night.

"I'll wait for you at home then. I've prepared—"

"No need. Rest early." Vega cut me off impatiently.

Perhaps she realized her tone had been too abrupt, because she lowered her voice and added, "Something urgent came up at the company. I don't have a choice. Can you try to understand?"

Before I could answer, she hung up.

Maybe she had not even noticed it herself, but every time she lied, her voice grew noticeably irritable.

It was Mason Corbett's birthday that day.

Back then, to support Mason's acting career, Vega had spent a fortune pushing him into the entertainment industry. But the company didn't belong to her alone, and that decision had upset many shareholders.

She did not care.

At the time, I had fought with her over it. Vega had simply told me to be more tolerant. "Can you stop being so jealous? He's just my childhood friend. If there was anything between us, you wouldn't even be in this picture!'"

She dismissed my words as if they did not matter.

In the five years of our marriage, Vega had often rushed out in the middle of the night to Mason's place the moment his assistant called.

She would say, "Mason's a germaphobe. He doesn't like being touched by others." So she went herself because he was willing to let her touch him.

Even the child I had waited for with all my heart was lost while she was on her way to see him.

That so-called childhood friend mattered far more to her than I ever did. More than me, the husband who was supposed to spend the rest of his life with her.

And this time was no exception.

During a dinner with the director of his new drama, Mason had casually sung a song, and someone recorded it. The problem was that the song belonged to a popular singer in the industry. It had not even been released yet, and Mason had leaked it ahead of time.

The incident exploded online. Fans flooded the internet, accusing Mason of ruining someone else's hard work. It was supposed to be the highlight track for the singer's debut anniversary.

Vega contacted the singer privately and, through a mix of pressure and incentives, got him to post a clarification for Mason on social media.

And the price? The score of a new piece I had written. She had taken it straight from my computer and handed it over to that singer without my consent.

She knew perfectly well that I had not been able to compose anything new for a long time. My inspiration had run dry, and that piece had been my lifeline. But for Mason, just because of one drunken mistake, she made me bear the consequences.

That day, I lost control and smashed everything in the house. I tore down our wedding photo from the wall and ripped it to shreds.

Vega sat on the sofa the entire time, watching me like I was insane. "It's just one song. You can write another one. This is a critical period for Mason's transition—we can't afford a mistake like this."

A bitter ache spread through my chest as I listened to the blatant favoritism in her voice. I grabbed my keys and fled that place that had become nothing but pain.

Almost at the same moment, Vega's cold, disgusted voice rang out behind me.

"If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back."