Semua Bab The 100-Day Goodbye: Bab 1 - Bab 10

The sun was barely up when Evelyn stepped into the kitchen. The marble floors felt like ice beneath her bare feet, but she didn’t mind the cold. It made her feel grounded, a stark contrast to the lightheadedness that had started to haunt her. She began to cook. The kitchen was usually the domain of their housekeeper, but today, Evelyn wanted it to be hers. She prepared classic eggs Benedict, smoked salmon, and fresh coffee—Arthur’s favorites. It was a domestic routine they hadn’t shared in years. Most mornings, Arthur was gone before she even woke up, leaving nothing behind but a lingering scent of cedarwood and a cold bed. As the scent of brewing coffee filled the room, she heard the heavy, rhythmic footsteps descending the stairs. Her heart skipped. Arthur walked into the kitchen wearing a crisp white dress shirt and charcoal trousers. He was buttoning his cuffs, his movements sharp and efficient. He didn't say good morning. He just pulled out a chair and sat down, immediately pl

"It’s a bit dry for a picnic, isn’t it?" Arthur asked, his voice echoing with his usual impatience. He looked down at his polished leather shoes, which were already accumulating a layer of dust from the gravel path of Crestview High. It was Day 30. The weather was unusually warm for a Tuesday afternoon, and the old school park was mostly deserted, save for a few crows perched on the rusting swing sets. "I didn’t bring a basket, Arthur. I just wanted to walk," Evelyn said. She moved slowly, her hand occasionally reaching out to touch the peeling paint of the wooden benches. Every step felt like she was wading through thick water, but she forced herself to keep her posture straight. Arthur shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the overgrown football field and the dilapidated bleachers. "I haven't been here in fifteen years. I’m surprised they haven't torn this place down to build condos yet. It’s an eyesore." "It was beautiful once," Evelyn murmured. She stopped

The silence in the master bathroom was heavier than the sound of the storm outside. Arthur still had his hand on the doorframe, his knuckles white. His chest rose and fell in shallow, jagged movements. He looked at the trash can, where the white pills were buried under damp tissues, and then back at Evelyn. For three years, he had seen her as a shadow—a quiet, constant presence that he purposely ignored. Now, looking at her crumpled on the floor, she looked terrifyingly real. "Stage four," Arthur whispered, the words sounding like sand in his throat. "Evelyn, that’s... that’s not possible. You were fine yesterday. You were at the gala. You were smiling." Evelyn let out a dry, breathy laugh that turned into a small wheeze. She leaned her head against the cool tiles of the wall. "I’ve spent three years perfecting the art of being 'fine' for you, Arthur. A little more makeup, a bit of posture... it’s amazing what you can hide when the person you’re with doesn't want to look too closel

The boardroom of Garrison Enterprises was usually the one place where Arthur felt in total control. The glass walls offered a panoramic view of the city, and the silent, expectant faces of his executives were a testament to his power. But today, the hum of the air conditioning felt like a roar, and the graphs on the screen were just a blur of red and blue lines. "Mr. Garrison?" his CFO, Marcus, prompted, tapping a pen against the mahogany table. "Regarding the acquisition of the textile plants... do we have your approval for the adjusted bid?" Arthur looked at Marcus, then at the phone resting by his hand. It hadn't lit up once in the two hours he’d been sitting there. No calls from the house. No emergency alerts from the security team. "Mr. Garrison?" Marcus repeated, a slight frown touching his brow. "Stick to the original bid," Arthur said, his voice sounding distant even to himself. "If they don't take it by Friday, we walk away. Meeting adjourned." A wave of confused whi

The sunroom was the warmest part of the house, a glass-walled sanctuary that overlooked the sprawling backyard. Arthur had spent the morning moving furniture, clearing a wide space in the center of the room. The old wooden easel stood there now, looking a bit scarred and dusty against the pristine white floorboards. Evelyn stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame. She watched Arthur as he struggled with a heavy box of oil paints. He looked out of place in this room—too large, too restless—but he was moving with a carefulness she hadn't seen before. "I think most of these might be dried up," Arthur said, popping open a plastic bin. He held up a tube of cobalt blue that was twisted and shriveled. "I can order new ones. Just tell me the brand." Evelyn walked into the room, her footsteps light. She reached out and took the tube from him. She unscrewed the cap, the dried paint cracking under the pressure. "It’s fine, Arthur. You don't need to buy anything yet. I don't even kn