The Day I Chose Myself, He Lost Everything

When my eyes finally fluttered open, I was no longer lying on cold gravel beneath the rain. I was back in my own bedroom at the estate, wrapped in silk sheets that felt foreign against my skin. For a moment I couldn’t understand where I was.

All I could remember was the storm — water soaking into my clothes, my limbs trembling uncontrollably, the asphalt numbing my bones as Leander’s taillights vanished into the dark.

“Madam, please don’t move too much,” the maid murmured, carefully tucking the blanket back over my shoulders.

Despite the dull ache in my chest, I forced myself upright. “How did I get here?” I croaked. “Who brought me back?”

A foolish spark lit inside me — a fragile hope that maybe Leander had returned, that remorse had finally dragged him back to me.

But the maid shook her head softly. “It wasn’t the master. A man I didn’t recognize carried you in. He said he was only passing by. He left this for you.”

She placed a small slip of paper in my palm. My fingers quivered as I unfolded it and stared at the unfamiliar phone number.

A stranger. I didn’t hesitate. I dialed immediately. After a short ring, a man answered, his voice calm and deep.

“Yes?”

“Who are you?” I asked, my throat dry. “Why did you help me?”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and then a name from my past wrapped around my heart.

“Joyce… it’s Caelum.”

Everything inside me stilled.

Caelum — my childhood companion, the boy who used to wait for me under the old oak tree, who had always offered his hand whenever I tripped. Before Leander, before ruin, Caelum had been my safest place. And now he was Leander’s fiercest rival.

Memories rushed back — warm afternoons, scraped knees, laughter that once felt endless. And then the years when Leander came into my life and tore that bond apart.

“Caelum…” My voice was barely a whisper.

“I heard what happened,” he replied quietly. He sounded controlled, but I sensed the fury beneath it — not aimed at me, never me, but at Leander. “So tell me something, Joyce. Will you marry me?”

On any normal day I would have thought he was joking. I would have laughed it off, told him to stop being ridiculous. But today, when my body was broken and my heart already dead, his words felt like a rope thrown to someone drowning.

“Alright,” I said, startling even myself. “Come for me in five days.”

Then I ended the call.

The room felt unbearably quiet. My fingers clenched into my palms.

Five days. I only needed five days to erase every trace of this marriage.

That night, I began packing. I pulled clothes from drawers, gathered books, stuffed little keepsakes into suitcases — the fragments of a life I had hidden away inside this grand, empty estate.

With every folded shirt and snapped zipper, I felt like I was taking something back from Leander.

Then I came to the relics — photographs, souvenirs, the wedding album, the love letters he once wrote. I stacked them beside the fireplace and burned them one by one, watching his smile disintegrate into cinders, his vows curling into smoke.

When my wedding ring lay in my palm, my hand trembled. It was the last shackle. I closed my fist around it until the metal bit into my skin, then turned toward the trash.

The door flew open.

Leander stood there.

“What are you doing?” His gaze swept over the half-filled suitcases, the drifting ash, the ring clenched in my hand.

“Nothing important,” I replied coldly. “I’m throwing this away.”

His expression twisted. “Have you lost your mind? That’s our ring. You can’t just throw it out.”

“I don’t want it anymore,” I said, my voice sharp. “I want a divorce.”

His eyes widened. “Divorce? Are you crazy? Do you think I’d agree to that? Where would you even go? What about your mother? Your surgery? You’re penniless without me.”

“And who caused that?” I shot back, rage flooding my veins. “Virelle. You swore you’d help me find her — and now look at you!”

He stiffened, then grabbed my arm in desperation. “I’m sorry, alright? Is this about the hospital? About our anniversary? Don’t be like this, Joyce.” His voice softened into pleading. “I’ll make it up to you. I swear.”

“Your promises are empty,” I whispered.

Then another voice broke the air.

“Is this because of me?”

Leander froze. I turned toward the doorway.

Virelle stood there, pale and shaking, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t have—”

A cold laugh tore from my throat. “You actually brought her here?” I stared at Leander, disgust twisting my face. “You dragged your lover into my home?”

“She isn’t my lover,” he insisted quickly. “I told you I’d find her. She came to apologize—”

But I had already snapped.

Years of grief and fury exploded. I surged forward and shoved Virelle hard.

“You destroyed everything!” I screamed. “My father is dead because of you. My mother wasted away because of you. And now you dare stand here and cry?!”

She staggered into the dresser. My hand lashed out instinctively, the slap echoing through the room. Virelle stumbled again, her knee striking the bedframe as she collapsed, clutching her abdomen.

“Leander!” she cried weakly.

When she pulled her hands away, crimson stained her fingers.

My breath stopped.

Leander roared my name and rushed to her side, gathering her into his arms. “She’s bleeding!”

Then he turned on me, eyes blazing with hatred, and shoved me so violently I crashed to the floor.

“You attacked a pregnant woman?!” he shouted. “Have you lost your mind? She’s carrying my child — and you dared lay a hand on her?!”