Chapter 5

The moment everyone saw Jeanette standing there, they froze.

Cecilia, however, recovered quickly. With Hank gone, she no longer bothered pretending to be polite. Instead, she gave Jeanette a pitying look.

"So, you heard everything? Good. Otherwise, it would be pretty pathetic to keep living in the dark, wouldn't it? Listen, sweetheart, you're nothing more than a minor character in Hank's love story with me. Do yourself a favour and walk away while you still can."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode away in her high heels.

Silence settled over the hallway.

Hank's friends stood there with flushed faces, stumbling over their words as they tried to explain.

"Jeanette, it isn't what you think. It's... it's just..."

They desperately wanted to explain, but none of them could find the right words. After all, they all knew the truth was exactly what Jeanette had heard.

Seeing how uncomfortable they were, Jeanette decided not to put them through any more embarrassment. She asked no questions, turned around, and walked away.

She had just reached the ground floor and was trying to hail a cab when a hot-pink sports car suddenly sped through a puddle. Dirty water splashed all over her, soaking most of her clothes.

Frowning, she looked up.

Through the car window, she saw Cecilia's gleeful face.

"Listen, minor character. If you don't take the hint and leave on your own, you might end up in even worse trouble than you are now!"

With that parting shot, Cecilia drove off.

Jeanette pulled a tissue from her bag and slowly wiped the water from her face. After tossing the soggy tissue into a nearby bin, she tilted her head back and gazed at the clear blue sky.

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

A minor character?

No.

She had never been a minor character in anyone else's story.

It was Hank who had reached the end of his role in hers.

After returning home, Jeanette ate a little, showered, and went to bed.

At three o'clock in the morning, the bedroom light suddenly flicked on.

Hank stumbled into the room, reeking of alcohol. Before Jeanette could fully wake up, he swept her into his arms and held her tightly.

"Why do you have to keep torturing me? You know I can't let you go. Why won't you give me one more chance?

"You know I love you, yet you still have the nerve to go on dates with other guys right in front of me! Do you enjoy humiliating me that much? Are you happy when you see me suffering, knowing I'm miserable without you?

"Fine! You want me to suffer? Then I'll do whatever you want. Just tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you. As long as you're still mine."

Looking at the unbearable pain etched across his face, Jeanette pressed her hands against his chest and struggled free of his embrace.

She watched him collapse onto the bed, still mumbling Cecilia's name over and over, and let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh.

Hank, so this is what you look like when you love someone. Those three years we spent together really meant nothing to you, did they?

With red-rimmed eyes, she picked up her pillow and left the bedroom, switching off the light as she went.

Darkness swallowed the room once more.

Hank continued mumbling drunken nonsense, but there was no one left to hear him.

The next day, Hank did not wake up until noon.

His hangover was so bad that his head felt ready to split apart. He forced himself upright, wincing at the pain.

Jeanette was sitting by the window, sorting through her jewellery. As he watched her back, vague memories of the previous night flickered through his mind.

He froze.

"Did I say anything stupid while I was drunk last night?"

When she shook her head, the tension slowly drained from his body.

He raised a hand to rub his temples, only to tug at his injured hand and let out a sharp hiss.

Jeanette happened to turn around at that moment. She noticed that his wounds had gone untreated and had become inflamed after a night of heavy drinking.

As an airline captain who still had to fly, Hank finally realised he needed to do something about them.

"Where's the first-aid kit?"

Jeanette said nothing. She simply went into the living room and brought it back.

"It has all kinds of medicine in it."

Hank chuckled.

"How could it possibly have every kind of medi..."

His voice trailed off.

He opened the kit and stared at the rows of neatly arranged medicine inside. Everything from cold remedies to stomach medication had been carefully organised.

He was stunned.

"You prepared all this?"

Jeanette nodded.

"Yes. You're an airline captain. You can't afford to get hurt, so I made sure to stock up on everything you might need. That way, you'd always have the right medicine whenever something happened."

Her words echoed in Hank's ears.

A loud buzzing seemed to fill his head as one memory after another came rushing back.

He remembered the countless nights he had stumbled home drunk, only for Jeanette to patiently make him hangover soup.

Whenever he casually mentioned craving a particular dish, she would immediately look up recipes and teach herself how to make it.

Over the years, whenever he had fallen ill, whether it was something minor or serious, she had always known exactly what to do.

He remembered that when they first started dating, his younger sister, Yvette Johnson, had told him more than once that Jeanette had been raised like a princess. She had never even needed to do housework.

Yvette had reminded him to be a good boyfriend and take proper care of her.

He was several years older than Jeanette, yet throughout their relationship, she had always been the one taking care of him.

At that moment, Hank's heart twisted with a complicated mix of emotions.

Guilt flooded him as he looked at her, wanting to say something, anything, to make up for his neglect.

Then he noticed her picking up her handbag.

She did not seem to have any intention of helping him treat his wounds. Instead, she looked ready to leave.

He stared at her in surprise.

"Are you going somewhere?"