Chapter 3

I didn’t go to the hospital.

After hanging up, I sat on the sofa, unmoving, until the morning light flooded the room.

My phone screen lit up repeatedly. Ethan called three times, but I didn't answer.

Finally, he sent two Snapchat messages: [Clara, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.]

[But it’s really not safe for you to drive out alone at this hour. I have the afternoon off today. Let's sit down and talk properly, okay?]

I stared at the screen for a long time before replying with a single word: "Okay."

I needed time to clear my head, and more importantly, I needed solid proof.

If I didn't have undeniable evidence, he had a hundred ways to gaslight me, probably turning it around to call me paranoid and sensitive.

I pulled up Ethan’s shift schedules and attendance records from the past six months, and then I drove to the jewelry store mentioned in the thread.

After completing my errands, I planned to head home and wait for him.

I didn't expect to be blocked right outside my apartment building by a provocatively dressed woman.

She looked to be in her early twenties, wearing heavy makeup and a tight-fitting slip dress.

"You're Clara Sterling, right?" she asked, her voice deliberately soft and helpless.

I stopped and looked at her. "And you are?"

"I'm Amber Vance." She gave me a timid smile. "I'm... an admirer of Dr. Brooks."

My heart sank like a stone.

She looked me up and down, her eyes filled with an undisguised look of evaluation and comparison.

"Dr. Brooks talks about you a lot. He says you’re incredibly smart, a rising star in neurosurgery."

"And?" I kept my face cold.

Suddenly, her eyes welled with tears. Before I could react, she fell to her knees right in front of me.

"Clara, I beg you, please let Ethan and me be together!"

It was rush hour, and residents coming home from work began to stop and stare.

"What are you doing? Get up!" I took a step back, finding this utterly absurd.

But Amber knelt even lower, clasping her hands together in prayer. Her tears flowed effortlessly.

"I know I'm not worthy of him, Clara. I know my job is dirty. But Dr. Brooks was the first person who didn't look down on me. He truly wants to save me."

"He told me that you are too independent, that you always demand the best. He said you even demanded expensive gold jewelry when gold prices were at an all-time high, without ever considering his financial stress."

"He said being with you is exhausting. You're always so cold, rational, and independent. You never lean on him like a real woman."

"You're so successful, Clara. You’ll be fine without him. But I have nothing. I can't live without him. Please, just let him go..."

Every word felt like a scalpel, precisely slicing into my deepest wounds.

So, in his heart, my request for a family tradition was "not considering his financial stress."

My independence, in his eyes, was being "cold and rational," lacking the vulnerability of a "real woman."

All the compromises and sacrifices I made in this relationship had simply become "exhausting pressure" to him.

I stood there, watching Amber's performance, feeling a deep, freezing chill spread through my body.

A few neighbors had gathered around, whispering and pointing.

"Is that a mistress confronting the fiancé?"

"She looks so young, why would she do that..."

"The girl on her knees looks desperate though."

Just then, a familiar SUV screeched to a halt in front of us.

Ethan slammed the car door and rushed over, his face pale with fury.

The first thing he saw was Amber, kneeling on the ground and weeping like a victim, and then he glared at me.

"Clara! What the hell are you doing?!"

He practically roared, stepping forward to pull Amber up.

Amber immediately threw herself into his arms, sobbing hysterically.

"Ethan, don't blame Clara. I knelt down myself. I just wanted to beg her to let us be..."

Ethan held her tightly, looking up at me with eyes full of disappointment and rage.

"Clara, I never thought you could be this cruel! Amber is sick and emotionally unstable. Why are you taking your frustration out on her?!"

I stood there, looking at the man I had loved for seven years.

Looking at the protective stance he instinctively took for another woman.

Looking at the raw blame and disgust in his eyes.

Suddenly, I smiled.

"Ethan," I heard my own voice say, "let’s break up."