Roses to Me and Ruin to You

Drifting Apart

That night, Alistair did not come home.

He didn't send a single message or make a single call.

I didn't chase him, and I didn't ask.

…

The next morning, I arrived at the office early.

Alistair was the CEO, while I was the head of R&D.

In five years, our company had grown from a garage startup to an office in the heart of the CBD, yet our relationship had drifted farther and farther apart.

The first phase of the new drug's development was complete, so work was relatively light for now.

Holding my coffee, I opened the divorce agreement my lawyer had sent—just as Alistair walked into my office.

"Maria twisted her ankle getting out of the car last night," he said. "I stayed with her a little longer. By the time we were done, it was too late, so I just found a nearby hotel to stay the night."

I nodded, my eyes still on the divorce papers, and replied casually, "I know."

After all, we were about to get divorced. Who he slept with, or where, was none of my business. There was no need for him to report it to me.

Alistair froze. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but held it back. "How about dinner tonight?" he suggested instead. "The new drug was a success—you're the biggest contributor. We should celebrate."

He paused, glanced at me, then added, "Should we invite Maria too? I think you should talk to her. After all, when your mother passed away, she was just a child."

My hand paused slightly.

Listening to him excuse and whitewash Maria, I suddenly wanted to ask him that—when my mother took her own life, wasn't I just a child too?

I swallowed the anger rising in my chest, took a sip of coffee, and replied softly, "My affairs don't concern you. Tonight, let's keep it just the two of us."

We were going to talk about divorce.

Having outsiders around wouldn't be appropriate.

As for a 'younger sister'? My mother had only one daughter—me. Where would a sister come from?

Alistair looked at me, clearly mistaking my words for jealousy. A smile curved his lips as he was about to speak—when the ringing of his phone cut him off.

At the sight of the name "Maria" on the screen, his expression softened. Without another word, he answered the call and hurried out of my office.

…

Near the end of the workday, I received a message from him—a reservation confirmation at a private restaurant.

I knew this was his way of compensating me.

I slipped the printed divorce agreement into my bag and prepared to go.

As I left the building, Alistair's car passed by. He lowered the window, saying, "Go home and freshen up first. I need to meet a client—I'll be there soon."

Before he even finished speaking, the car had already driven off.

In the past, whenever I went on a date with him, I would spend two full hours getting ready. Choosing clothes and doing makeup—things I wasn't good at—always left me exhausted but oddly happy.

This time, there was no need.

I found a massage parlor nearby and loosened up my stiff muscles, finally giving my body—worn down by endless late nights—a proper break.

…

When I arrived at the restaurant, he still hadn't shown up.

I sent him a message. No reply.

I shook my head. Unlike before, I didn't wait for him and ordered food on my own.

The private restaurant had a lovely atmosphere, and the food tasted excellent—far better than eating boxed lunches at the office.

So, even when Alistair never came, I wasn't angry.

After all, he had already betrayed our seven-year relationship. Why would one more broken promise matter?

What he didn't know was this—his signature on the divorce papers would be the greatest compensation he could ever give me.

…

After dinner, I walked home slowly.

Years of nonstop work had left me feeling cut off from the world. The warmth and noise of the streets—everyday life unfolding around me—made me feel alive again.

Suddenly, when I reached a familiar street, I stopped in my tracks.