The sound of the door slamming echoed through the apartment, jolting Emma from a fitful sleep. Ethan stumbled in, his footsteps heavy and uneven, the stench of alcohol preceding him like a toxic cloud. He called out her name, his voice slurred and incoherent, but Emma remained still, her back turned to the door, her eyes fixed on the window where the first light of dawn was beginning to seep through the curtains.
In the past, she would have been waiting for him, a warm smile on her face, a cup of tea in her hand. She would have helped him with his shoes, asked him how his night was, prepared his favorite hangover remedy fruit tea, and given him a gentle massage to help him relax. But tonight, she did nothing. She lay in bed, her body tense, her heart aching, as she listened to him fumble his way through the apartment.
"Emma!" he shouted again, his voice laced with evident anger. She could hear the frustration in his tone, the expectation that she would be there, waiting, as always. But she remained unmoved, her breaths slow and measured, her eyes still fixed on the growing light outside.
Outside, the sound of hurried, unsteady footsteps filled the silence, followed by the unmistakable noise of the bathroom door slamming shut. The next moment, Ethan was in the bathroom, retching noisily, the stench of vomit soon filling the small space. Emma closed her eyes, her body tensing at the sound, but she did not move. She had made her decision, and she would not be swayed.
The next day, Ethan slept on the bathroom floor, still in his clothes, his shoes caked with dirt from the night before. Emma took a deep breath, the scent of him still heavy in the air, and kicked him hard twice. The sound of his groan was music to her ears.
Ethan groggily lifted his head and glanced at his watch, his eyes bloodshot and his hair disheveled. "Why are you just getting up now?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep and the remnants of alcohol. Usually, she would wake up at five to make him a heartfelt breakfast, the aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon filling the apartment. Today, she had the rare luxury of sleeping in until six-thirty. Even though she had only managed a couple of hours of sleep, it was still better than staying awake all night, waiting for a man who did not value her.
He clumsily got up from the floor, ripped off his dirty clothes, and confronted her. "Why didn't you wait for me to come home? Where's the kudzu tea? Why did you let me sleep in the bathroom all night?" He was still drunk, his words slurring together, his eyes struggling to focus on her. Emma looked at him, her gaze steady, her expression calm. "Emma, I'm hungry," he said, his tone petulant, like a child denied a treat.
"There's a breakfast shop downstairs. You can grab something on your way to work," she replied, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth and care she had once showered him with. She quickly washed up and cleaned the toilet, the scent of bleach sharp in the air, a stark contrast to the stale smell of alcohol and vomit that still clung to the room.
Ethan frowned in disbelief. "Emma, are you still mad about last night?" he asked, his voice taking on a whiny quality that she had never noticed before. "I'm really not angry. You said it was a 'mistake,' and I believe you," she replied, her voice cool, her gaze never leaving his face.
Ethan pressed his lips together, his expression darkening. Suddenly, he turned on the shower, the water drenching her in an instant. She instinctively gasped, the cold water shocking her system, but she did not move away. He showered with her, humming the love song he had sung with Sophie the night before, his voice off-key and grating on her nerves. How childish, she thought, her lips curling into a sneer.
The entire day, Emma threw herself into work, her fingers flying over the keyboard, her eyes scanning documents and reports with a focus she hadn't felt in a long time. She did not send Ethan a single message or make a call, her mind solely on her tasks. Instead, it was Ethan who took the initiative to text her, his words a jarring interruption to her concentration.
He said he was going to have dinner with Sophie because she had just gone through a breakup. The message was casual, as if he was informing her of a mundane event, a meeting or a business dinner. When you don't love someone, you really can become as tough as iron, with no soft spots. The words were a stark reminder of the change that had come over her, the steel that had replaced the softness in her heart.
She replied casually, her fingers typing out the message with ease. [Okay.] Her indifferent attitude shocked him again, she could tell. He immediately called her on video, his face filling her screen, his brow furrowed, and he seemed to be in a low-pressure state, ready to explode at any moment.
"Aren't you going to say something? You used to stop me from going out with her," he said, his voice accusatory, his eyes narrowed. She smiled gently, her expression calm and collected. "You and Sophie are just ordinary friends, engaging in normal social activities. What's there to stop?" she replied, her voice steady, her gaze never leaving his.
His dark expression instantly froze, his face filled with disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. She could see the confusion in his eyes, the uncertainty, and for a moment, she felt a pang of sympathy for him. But it was quickly replaced by a sense of resolve, a determination to stand her ground.
"Have a good time," she said, her voice warm, her smile genuine. And with that, she ended the call, her screen going black as she turned her attention back to her work. She had a life to rebuild, a future to plan, and she would not let Ethan or anyone else stand in her way.
Chapter Five: The Calm Before the Storm
The soft glow of her phone screen lit up the darkness of her bedroom, casting an eerie blue light across the room. Emma blinked, her eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness as she reached for her phone. The message was from Ethan, and it came with a photo. She opened it, her heart giving a small, involuntary lurch at the sight of Ethan and Sophie, their faces close together, their smiles wide and carefree.
Sophie had her head resting on Ethan's shoulder, her hair cascading down to cover half her face, obscuring her expression. The intimacy of the pose was undeniable, a stark contrast to the distance that had grown between Emma and Ethan. She was surprised because he never shared these kinds of moments. Usually, she had to pry details out of him, and even then, he reluctantly revealed just a hint.
Her mind, once a whirlwind of speculation and anxiety, was now eerily calm. She couldn't help but imagine various scenarios based on the little details he shared—what they talked about, what they did, whether there were signs of them rekindling their relationship. Sometimes, these thoughts drove her to the brink of mental exhaustion. While Ethan's distance from her grew, she felt trapped in a dead-end.
Yet now, her heart was as calm as a still pond. She typed a message, her fingers moving slowly and deliberately over the screen. [Enjoy your meal.] She sent it, but the chat with Ethan remained stuck on "typing..." without any response. She didn't care what he wanted to say or what had happened to bring them so close. She was indifferent to how he might comfort Sophie, who had just gone through a breakup.
In fact, a strange sense of relief washed over her; she no longer had to stay up late waiting for him to come home or wake up early to prepare him a heartfelt breakfast. Tonight, she didn't bombard him with calls like before. Instead, she calmly went through her evening routine, took three sleeping pills, and quietly drifted off to sleep.
Miraculously, she fell asleep quickly. It felt so peaceful, so comfortable. It was a long-lost sense of relaxation. She slept through the night without interruption, her dreams calm and undisturbed.
Ethan returned early the next morning, his face bruised. He rubbed his forehead and explained, "I got drunk last night and fought with Sophie's boyfriend. I spent the night in jail." Emma tilted her head and stared at his face for a couple of seconds, not concerned about his pain but asking the question a bystander would care about most. "Oh, did you win?" Ethan looked taken aback, frowning slightly. The air felt thick and silent.
He probably expected her to rush to get ice for his injuries or run downstairs to buy him some ointment for bruises. When she didn't respond, he silently nodded, offering no further explanation. It was the weekend, but she had to support an exhibition downtown as a key member of the operations team.
Before she even arrived at the exhibition, she received a message from Sophie. Opening it revealed a photo of a red heart tattoo with special effects. Her heart sank; that was Ethan's tattoo. She had insisted he get that design. She told him it represented her "heart," one that would always beat for him.
"Emma, where did Ethan get that cool tattoo?" Sophie messaged. "I love sunflowers and have always wanted to get a sunflower tattoo on my arm, but I haven't found a reliable artist. Please tell me, Emma, haha." At that moment, her already numb heart felt a sharp pain. It was so vivid and raw.
She was reminded that she had a golden sunflower tattoo on her chest. Ethan once said, "Get a sunflower tattoo; I love sunflowers..." Whenever he felt lost in passion, he would gently caress the sunflower, treating it with utmost care. She mistakenly thought that in those moments, he genuinely cherished her. But it turned out he was merely reminiscing about someone who loved sunflowers.
Ethan's tattoo was in a private area, on the left side of his groin. Only the closest people could see it during intimate moments. Clearly, they had spent the night together again.