Six Years of Devotion, One Final Goodbye

But the fire changed everything.

Her father was lost in the blaze, and I did all I could to save her and her mother. Her mother was left paralyzed, and Celeste—once a girl blessed by fate—plunged overnight from the heights of privilege to the depths of despair.

That was when Damien postponed the wedding, saying he wanted to study abroad.

I was the only one who stayed. I never left her side.

During that time, her emotions were fragile, her temper unstable. She’d lash out over the smallest things, but I endured it all in silence. I stayed with her through every outburst, every tear.

A year later, she began to recover. One quiet afternoon, she looked at me seriously and asked, “Ethan, do you like me?”

Before I could answer, she added, “Let’s get married.”

I frowned. “I don’t want you to marry me out of gratitude.”

“No,” she said earnestly. “I like you.”

Her tone was sincere, her eyes unwavering.

We got our marriage certificate, but there was no wedding. Just the two of us kneeling by her mother’s bed, sharing a simple toast of wedding wine.

After we married, she found her strength again and started over from scratch. I stayed by her side, supporting her like always.

Because of work, she couldn’t care for her mother, so I took over. After every shift, I’d help her mother turn over, wipe her down. It was exhausting, but I didn’t mind.

In our quiet moments, she’d curl into my arms and whisper, “Husband, thank you.”

I’d kiss her forehead. “Silly girl, you don’t thank someone you love.”

Yes—when you love someone, there’s no need for thanks.

But I realized that too late.

At 2 a.m., Celeste came home.

She offered an explanation right away. “What I said during the interview—I only said it to get attention. You understand me, right?”

She looked at me with hopeful eyes, and I smiled.

Understand you?

Then how do you explain the love bites on your neck? The unfamiliar scent of someone else’s shower gel clinging to your skin? Was that for attention, too?

Celeste reached for my hand, her voice soft.

“Husband, I know you’re hurt and angry. But believe me, Damien left me when I needed him most. How could I still love him? I only love you now.”

At that moment, I couldn’t tell whether her words were sincere or just another lie.

“I’m tired. Go get some rest.”

“No,” she replied, “there’s still work at the office. I just came home to explain so you wouldn’t misunderstand.”

I paused halfway to the bedroom.

She gave me an apologetic look—but no hesitation.

Then she turned and left.

I didn’t stop her. I didn’t argue.

My heart had gone cold. My love, already dead.

That night, I sat on the sofa until morning.

She didn’t come back. Not even once.

“Mr. Caldwell, the divorce agreement is ready. I’ll send it to your phone,” Lawyer Cross called.

I read through the document and added a final request.

“Include a clause—she leaves with nothing.”

If six years of devotion still couldn’t earn a place in her heart, then let her start again from zero.

I walked into the bedroom to wash my face before heading to work. But then, I heard an alarm from the second bedroom.

I dropped the towel and ran.

The ECG monitor had gone flat.

My face went pale. I quickly called the hospital and tried to reach Celeste.

No answer.

I called again and again. The ambulance arrived, and I rushed to the hospital with her mother.

She was wheeled straight into the emergency room, but Celeste still didn’t respond.

I sent her a message:

[Mom’s condition worsened—come to the hospital now.]

Her phone finally rang back.

But it wasn’t her voice. It was Damien.

“Celeste was exhausted last night. She just fell asleep a little while ago. You…”