After the divorce, I became someone he couldn't afford to be with.

When I got home, Kate had already changed into my pajamas and was sprawled across the bed.

My head was pounding. Something in me snapped—I stormed over and grabbed at the fabric.

"This is mine. Take it off!"

Finn shot to his feet. A bowl of porridge crashed to the floor.

"Isabella, are you done? You're the one who agreed to let Katie move in. What's with the jealousy now?" His voice was ice. "She's my ex-wife. We have a normal relationship. Can you stop being so neurotic?"

Kate sat up, eyes glistening with hurt, and tugged at Finn's sleeve. "Finn, don't be harsh to her. I'm clearly the problem here—I've upset Miss Henson. Just let me change back into my own clothes. I'll leave right away."

Finn pressed her back down and patted her head. "It's not your fault. I've spoiled my wife too much."

He reached for my face. I flinched away.

He paused, then withdrew his hand. His tone softened. "Alright. I know you're sensitive because you love me, but Katie and I are completely innocent. You've been the one picking on her." He gestured at the mess on the floor. "Clean that up, make her a fresh bowl, and apologize. Then we're done."

I stared at him, eyes burning.

Who was this man? I didn't recognize him at all.

I remembered once bumping into a stranger on the street and blurting out an apology. Afterward, Finn had looked at me with such seriousness. "From now on, you never have to say sorry to anyone. I'll say it for you."

I believed him.

But I should have known—promises are like wind. They scatter the moment they blow.

When I didn't respond, Finn grabbed my arm and dragged me down the hall, shoving me into the study.

"Stay in there and reflect. You can come out when you've thought this through!"

The door slammed. The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over.

I crouched on the floor. In less than two minutes, my sleeves were soaked through.

Half an hour later, I noticed a folder on his desktop computer—separate from his medical research files.

Kate Simmons's Little Space.

I opened it.

Hundreds of her photos. Intimate ones. The save dates were almost daily, spanning over a year. More than three hundred in total.

So that's what this past year had been. He and Kate, rekindling everything behind my back.

With trembling hands, I scheduled an abortion for the day during Spring Festival.

New year. New life.

At dinner, Finn opened the study door with a trace of satisfaction on his face.

"Food's ready. Katie's very forgiving—six hours locked up was enough to let her vent. Come eat. The baby needs nutrition."

So that was it. Kate was happy, and his mood followed hers like a tuning fork.

I walked to the table expressionless and picked at my food in silence.

Finn, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of attentiveness—peeling shrimp, serving dishes, ladling soup. All for her.

"Katie, you haven't had my cooking in five years. Taste it—how is it? Everything's just the way you like."

I froze.

Finn had told me he couldn't cook.

Not only that, he'd never remembered what I liked to eat. Whenever I asked, he'd say his job was too demanding—he didn't have the mental bandwidth for that kind of thing.

Turns out it was only because he didn't love me.

As I headed back to my room, Finn called out.

"Bella, sleep in the guest room tonight. Katie's used to the master bedroom—she'll have trouble sleeping otherwise."

I stopped.

Then I turned toward the piano room instead.

It didn't matter where I slept. After the abortion, I'd be gone.

That night, I woke to the rhythmic creak of the bed. And beneath it, their hushed voices.