Chapter 3

Three days until departure.

I contacted the moving company and packed the books and clothes to be sent to Northland.

There were not many things left.

During our eight-year marriage, the only things that truly belonged to me were packed into four boxes.

I was checking the overseas address when Selena came back.

She did not notice that a pair of slippers was missing from the entrance, nor did she notice that two shelves were empty.

She threw a document on the table. "Sign this."

It was a video authorization form for the documentary.

For Selena's tenth anniversary of fame, the team was preparing to make a documentary to tell her journey from being isolated and self-destructive to reaching the international stage.

The planning document had a full ten pages about her low points, but not a single word mentioned me.

"The director wants to use the old materials." Selena unbuttoned her cuff. "Hand over those recordings, medical records, and early rehearsal footage you've kept; let Theodore organize them."

I flipped to the page featuring interviews.

Theodore's name was listed under "Support System During Her Darkest Days."

"He didn't even know you back then."

Her tone was flat. "A documentary doesn't need to be strictly bound to a rigid timeline. He's my assistant now and he understands my work better than anyone."

"What about me?"

Selena looked up at me.

I pointed to the ten pages detailing the pain, the breakdowns and the rebirth. "Every single day described here, I was there with you."

Her expression grew impatient. "Shawn, do you really have to argue about such things?"

"I'm just asking."

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

A packed suitcase stood quietly by the bedroom door.

She only had to turn around to see it, but she did not.

She picked up her phone to reply to a message with a faint smile.

I did not need to guess who it was.

I slid the authorization form back toward her. "Private information can't be used."

Selena's expression darkened. "Theodore has pulled several all-nighters for this documentary. Are you really going to withhold a few documents?"

"They're your medical records and my life."

"Shawn." She slammed the folder shut. "Stop trying to guilt me using the sacrifices you made in the past."

I froze for a moment.

It turned out she called eight years of companionship leverage to guilt her.

All the first aid techniques I had learned for her, the nights I spent waiting outside the music room until 3am, and the hands cut by shattered glass when she lost control had all become evidence that I held over her head.

"Alright." I tucked the documents away into a drawer. "It won't happen again."

Selena did not get it. Relieved that our argument had finally come to an end, she turned and headed toward the music room.

The following afternoon, the documentary crew arrived at the house for some additional filming.

The director asked about My Dearest Love. "I heard this was the first piece Ms. Hart composed after hitting rock bottom. Who was it originally written for?"

I stood at the far end of the hallway.

Selena saw me, yet she only paused for a second before turning toward Theodore, who was sitting beside the camera. "Once a piece is finished, it no longer belongs to any one person."

Theodore lowered his head with a smile.

The director immediately signaled for the cameraman to focus on him.

Selena did not stop them.

That night, I left the transfer paperwork, separation agreement, and apartment keys in her study.

At the same time, a notification popped up on my phone: my flight ticket had been successfully issued.

I would be leaving here three days from now.

Selena did not even glance at the documents. She told Theodore to put them in a drawer, remarking casually, "Shawn's been a bit moody lately; just ignore him."