Faded love, I don't want it anymore

The morning light was a cold white.

When I woke, the bed beside me was already empty.

Before leaving, Rory had—like every morning—left behind his three daily sentences:

“Breakfast is on the table. Don’t be late. Be rational.”

Be rational.

He loved those three words more than he had ever loved me.

I sat at the table for a long time, slowly finishing the glass of milk that had already gone cold.

Outside, I heard the car door close, and his silver Bentley eased down the driveway.

Silence swallowed the house, thick and eerie.

And in that moment, I felt—strangely—free.

I went back to the study, intending to tidy up the documents he’d left out from the night before.

Among the neatly stacked folders, there was one that was thicker than the rest, marked with his personal seal.

I opened it without much thought—

and froze.

“Authorization for Termination of Pregnancy.”

My hands began to tremble.

The handwriting was unmistakably his—firm, precise, confident.

Family signature: Rory.

My breath caught. I could almost hear again the buzz of the surgical lamp from that day—

the doctor’s urgent voice,

the nurse’s hands pressing down on my shoulders,

and that low, steady voice from outside the door:

“Sign it.”

It hit me all at once.

From beginning to end,

what he signed that day wasn’t consent to save my life—

it was consent to let our child die.

I didn’t even know how I ended up sitting down.

The paper gleamed pale under the sunlight, almost translucent.

And in that light, my entire world collapsed.

The doorbell rang.

I rose slowly and went to open it.

The woman standing outside wore a beige trench coat, her long hair falling smoothly over her shoulders.

She smiled—gentle, graceful, polished.

“Mrs. Gu,” she said softly. “It’s me—Sybil.”

For a second, I just stared.

She reached out her hand, her smile unwavering.

“Rory asked me to bring over some contracts. He’s been busy, so he asked me to deliver them.”

I stepped aside to let her in.

Her heels clicked softly on the floor; her perfume was faint but deliberate.

Her gaze drifted over the desk—

and stopped on the document.

“You’ve read it?” she asked, still smiling.

Then, almost tenderly: “That day… I was the one who brought it to the doctor.”

I looked up. “What?”

She tilted her head slightly, voice light as if recounting someone else’s tragedy.

“You were bleeding badly. The doctor said they needed the family’s signature. Rory hesitated for a long time outside, so I took him the form.”

Her tone didn’t waver.

“He didn’t even read it. Just signed.

He said, ‘She’s rational. She’ll understand.’”

The air seemed to thin, the sound drained from the room.

I stayed upright only through sheer willpower.

Sybil smiled faintly, her voice soft as silk:

“Don’t blame him. He didn’t want you to suffer. That child… was never meant to stay.”

I laughed.

The sound surprised even me.

“So,” I asked quietly, “did you come here to comfort me—or to prove you understand him better than I ever did?”

She paused, then sighed gently.

Leaning closer, her whisper brushed my ear:

“I just wanted you to know—

that signature wasn’t only what saved your life.

It was the first act of his rationality.”

The sound of a key turning came from the door.

Rory was back.

He saw Sybil, frowned slightly, but not in surprise.

“The contracts—did you bring them?”

“Yes. I just dropped them off.”

She gathered her purse, her composure flawless, and turned to me with a pleasant smile.

“Mrs. Gu, take care of yourself.”

When the door closed behind her, the house fell silent again.

Only the two of us remained.

He took off his coat, his expression unchanged, as if nothing had happened.

“She was helping me deliver some files,” he said.

And just like that, the world continued—

as if the truth lying open on my desk meant nothing at all.