Chapter 3
1090words
Vincent never left my side.
He postponed all meetings and moved his office next to the hospital room. He personally inquired about my every meal, watched the nurses change my bandages. When nightmares woke me at night, he would immediately turn on the wall lamp, looking at me with those bloodshot eyes.
He became extremely cautious, carefully choosing his words, and touching me with an almost fearful gentleness. Expensive supplements piled up in the corners, and top gynecological experts from around the world were invited for remote consultations.
The conclusions were all the same, devastating.
To outsiders, he was the perfect husband. Remorseful, yet deeply loving.
If I didn't know the truth, I might have been moved by this belated performance.
But I saw it clearly.
Behind his concerned gaze lurked uneasiness about my accusations against Victoria. Beneath his gentle whispers, he suppressed the urge to defend his sister.
His pain was real.
His bias was ingrained in his bones.
Between him and his sister, there had to be something sinister.
On the day of my discharge, he drove to pick me up. When the car passed through that cold iron gate, my stomach churned violently.
This was no longer home.
It was a magnificent tomb, burying my love and my child.
The servants stood with their hands lowered, and a deathly silence filled the villa. Vincent helped me walk up the stairs; his arm was strong, but I stood only by my remaining willpower.
Back in the bedroom, everything remained unchanged. The cardigan I had casually tossed onto the sofa that night still maintained its original position. Time had frozen here, reminding me of all the details of that night.
Vincent let me sit down, crouched in front of me, and looked up at me.
"Evelyn, from now on... let me take care of you, okay? I'll spend my lifetime making amends."
I didn't look at him, my gaze falling on the yellowing leaves of the sycamore tree outside the window.
"The murderer, has he been found?" I asked, my voice devoid of emotion.
A flash of embarrassment crossed his eyes as he lowered his head and straightened my skirt. "We're still investigating. The culprit is cunning, erased all traces. But rest assured, I won't let him go."
His tone carried a hint of ruthlessness, as if making a vow to me, yet also trying to convince himself.
I softly murmured an "Mm" in response.
Silence spread through the room, suffocating.
After a long while, I spoke again: "Vincent, your phone, let me see it."
He jerked his head up, shock flashing in his eyes, followed by a fleeting anger.
"Evelyn?" he tried to force a reassuring smile, his expression stiff. "What's wrong? If you're bored, I can get you a tablet..."
"I want to see your phone," I interrupted him, looking directly at him for the first time, my tone brooking no refusal. "Now."
The smile completely disappeared from his face. He stood up, looking down at me from his height, his brows slightly furrowed, that sense of dominance from a person in power returning.
"Evelyn, you need to rest, don't overthink things. As soon as there's progress in the investigation, I'll tell you immediately."
"I just want to see," I enunciated each word clearly, repeating, "that text message you sent me that night, inviting me to the greenhouse."
The air froze.
Vincent's eyes flickered intensely. He instinctively reached for the phone in his pocket, his movement hesitant.
"That text message..." He took a deep breath. "It might have been...accidentally deleted by me. That night was too chaotic..."
"Accidentally?" I repeated softly, finally with a slight, cold smile at the corner of my lips. "Vincent, you still keep business emails from three years ago on your phone. A message you considered so 'important' was 'accidentally' deleted?"
My questioning was like an awl, piercing through the facade he maintained.
His face turned ugly, veins pulsing at his temples. "Evelyn! Are you suspecting me?" his voice raised, filled with the embarrassed anger of being exposed. "What could that text message prove? Even if I was the one who arranged to meet you, can it change the fact that someone else is the murderer? What you need now is rest!"
"Irrelevant?" I slowly stood up, the hidden pain in my abdomen making me straighten my back. "A text message that led me to the crime scene, the only clue from your phone, and you tell me it's 'irrelevant'? Vincent, do you take me for a fool, or are you just deceiving yourself?"
"Enough!"
He growled, abruptly turning his back to me, his shoulders heaving with suppressed anger.
"I don't want to argue with you anymore! I accidentally deleted that text message! Believe it or not!"
Looking at his back filled with evasion, hearing his pale and overbearing defense, the last pathetic hope in my heart finally turned completely to ashes.
It turns out, the truth isn't hard to find.
It's been there all along.
But he, just like I used to, chose to turn a blind eye.
I walked to the dressing table.
In the mirror was a pale yet calm face.
I pulled open the drawer.
From the velvet jewelry pouch, I took out that wedding ring.
"Eternal Heart."
How ironic.
I held that cold ring, turned around, and walked toward Vincent who still had his back to me.
I moved around to face him, opening my palm.
The brilliant pink diamond, under the gloomy light, refracted a cold and false glow.
Vincent's pupils contracted sharply when he saw the ring. The color drained from his face instantly, his lips trembling, unable to utter a single word.
Looking at him, this man I once deeply loved but now felt utterly estranged from, I used all my strength to keep my voice steady.
"Vincent, it wasn't the murderer who killed our child."
I spoke deliberately, word by word, as if pronouncing a final judgment.
"It was your favoritism, and your dear sister."
After speaking, I flipped my wrist.
The ring slid from my palm, tracing a cold arc through the air.
"Clink."
With a crisp sound, it fell to the floor, rolled a few times, and stopped beside his leather shoes.
Like an abandoned period at the end of a sentence.
"We're finished."
I stopped looking at him and turned toward the door.
My steps were steady, without looking back.
Behind me was a deathly silence.
And that ring, coldly gleaming all alone.
