Quiet Goodbyes, A Love Without Tomorrow

To avoid unnecessary drama, I spoke gently, “You are overthinking it. I’m not throwing these things away. I’m letting the professionals do all the refurbishing for me. How could I not want them?”

Seeing the calm expression on my face, Vincent visibly relaxed.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll arrange for someone to install a whole new set of cabinets at home to store these things properly.”

I nodded. “Aren’t you two heading to work? You should go. I need to catch up on sleep.”

With that, I turned and walked toward the bedroom, locking the door behind me before he could say anything else.

***

I tore another page off the countdown calendar when I woke up in the afternoon. There were five days left.

I got a message from my professor, asking me to look for him to discuss the publication of my recent SCI paper, which had just been released in a major journal.

Vincent, however, called out of the blue. I said I had to go to my university and he said he would be right downstairs and send me.

Zoe was already sitting in the passenger seat when I got to the car.

I hesitated for just a second before silently getting into the back.

Zoe’s laughter broke the silence. “Claire, don’t be upset. Vincent’s always let me ride up front. Back when he used to drive my dad’s car, I’d always sit in the passenger seat. They say sitting in the back makes it feel like you’re treating the driver like a chauffeur. It’s rude, you know? So, I got used to it.”

I was not upset. In fact, I smiled warmly. “You can sit there if you want.”

Vincent glanced at me several times through the rearview mirror, searching for a conversation starter.

“On the way here,” he began, “I saw this article about a med student named ‘Olivia Claire.’ Apparently, they published a groundbreaking paper that could create enormous value for the country. Funny enough, it’s in the same field as yours, late time.”

I didn’t respond. Olivia Claire was actually the pseudonym I used to publish my paper—a precaution my professor had insisted on for security reasons.

Before Vincent could press further, Zoe turned in her seat, her voice dripping with sweetness.

“Claire, you’ve been studying for so many years, but I haven’t heard about you achieving anything big like that.” She gasped, covering her mouth theatrically. “Oh no! I didn’t mean it like that. I just say things bluntly—no offense!”

Even Vincent’s gaze turned disdainful.

“Claire,” he said, his tone patronizing, “sometimes you have to accept that there’s a difference between people. You’ve been running yourself ragged for years, but it’s just aimless effort. After the wedding, why don’t you be a full-time housewife? I’ve reached a point in my career where you don’t need to work anymore.”

I offered a noncommittal response and turned my attention to my phone, replying to my professor’s messages. Their words no longer bothered me.

***

Two blocks from my university, Zoe asked to be dropped off.

“Thanks for the ride, Vincent. Love you!” she chirped, winking at me as she stepped out.

Then, winking at me specifically, “Sister, I am leaving first.”

I looked at the neighbourhood’s name and casually asked, “This isn’t the neighbourhood of our wedding house?”

“Oh,” Vincent replied lightly, “she’s probably visiting a friend.”

I didn’t press further.

Sensing my silence, he added, “She’s still injured, so I thought I’d drop her off on the way. Don’t be so petty.”

My expression remained calm and I said, “Oh, it’s perfectly normal for an older brother to give his sister a ride. Isn’t it?”

His words caught in his throat.

***

When we arrived at the university, Vincent pulled a large bouquet of flowers from the trunk and shoved it into my arms.

“I know you’ve been upset these past few days,” he said, his tone coaxing. “I’m sorry, okay? This is me making it up to you.”

“And if it’s about the wedding dress—you’re right. Let’s forget about it. I’ll have a re-custom one made for you by a top designer. How’s that?”

His face was full of expectation, as though I should feel grateful for his ‘effort’.

I glanced at his phone, where he was scrolling through images of extravagant wedding gowns, but my interest had long since faded.

None of it mattered anymore. I was leaving soon.

I gently pushed his phone away and handed the flowers back to him. “Pick whatever you like. My professor is waiting for me.”

As I turned to walk away, Vincent grabbed my hand, “Claire,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, “what’s wrong with you? What’s really going on?”

For the first time, his expression was filled with confusion, even a hint of panic and loss.