Chapter 3

"Next item on the agenda," the Condo Association manager announced, "the renewal of the lease for underground parking spot B-107—"

Before the manager could finish, Julian raised his hand.

"I'd like to speak on behalf of my wife for this spot. She doesn't drive much, so we want to transfer the lease to Lily Evans from unit 1702. She's a single mom, and it’s really hard for her to park so far away."

I sat next to him, the Band-Aid on my palm peeling at the edges.

B-107. My mother had given me $10,000 as part of my dowry to buy that lease. My signature was on the contract.

I gently tugged his sleeve.

"Julian, I have a use for that spot next month—"

He violently yanked his arm back, so hard that an elderly man in the front row turned around to stare.

"Chloe, can you stop being so selfish?" he hissed. "She's a single mother. How hard is it for you to walk a few extra steps when you stay at home all day? Do you have to act like this in front of everyone? Don't humiliate me!"

His voice was loud. So loud that Lily, sitting across from us holding her toddler, flinched and shrank back.

Her eyes welled with tears, and her voice sounded incredibly fragile.

"Chloe, if you're not comfortable with it, it's fine. Really. I don't mind carrying my baby through the rain. I just... I don't want to cause any tension between you and Julian. I'd feel so guilty."

The child blinked on cue. It was a flawless performance.

A few neighbors began to whisper.

"Seriously, the poor girl has it so hard. Why can't she just let her have the spot?"

"Her husband makes so much money anyway."

Julian stood tall, looking like a righteous hero. He was always like this in public—generous, noble, charitable. But I was the one who paid the bills.

Looking at his face, I suddenly felt a massive distance between us, as if I were watching a stranger perform a terrible play.

"Fine," I said.

I stood up, my voice calmer than I expected.

"The parking spot is yours. I'll handle the transfer. But from now on, you will cover the monthly maintenance and HOA fees. I wouldn't want Julian to have to pay extra for you."

Lily froze, her mouth parting slightly, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily.

Julian, however, gave me a rare look of approval. For seven years, I only deserved his gaze when I was obedient.

When the meeting adjourned, he walked ahead while I lagged a few steps behind. We were the only two in the elevator.

"You finally behaved like a proper wife today," he said, checking his phone, his tone like a manager giving a performance review. "If you were always this reasonable, I wouldn't have to be so hard on you."

Back home, his good mood didn't even last thirty minutes.

Because of the study.

"Is this entire bookshelf filled with your junk?" he snapped, standing at the doorway of the study.

"Yes."

"Lily is bringing her kid over tomorrow. This room is packed to the brim; there's not even space for a stroller. Clear this out."

I looked at the bookshelf. On the bottom shelf sat a stack of manila folders. Inside were the earliest handwritten drafts of *The Whispering Wind*. Every page was filled with my notes, corrections, and crossed-out paragraphs. Some corners were stained with coffee from years ago.

Back then, we lived in a tiny 150-square-foot room. There was no heating in the winter, so he would wrap himself in a blanket and sit beside me, yawning and saying, *“Just edit one more line, then let's go to sleep.”*

His signature was scribbled at the end of every chapter. That was the year he got incredibly sick, and his company put him on the layoff list. I told him, *“Submit the draft under your name. Since you’re still technically on their payroll, they won’t lay you off if you become a published author.”*

He had cried in my arms half the night, swearing he would treat me like a queen for the rest of his life.

Now, he swept the entire stack of drafts onto the floor with a brutal swipe of his hand.

The papers scattered everywhere, like a black-and-white snowfall.

"What is the point of hoarding this useless trash that nobody reads?" He stepped right over one of the pages, his shoe leaving a dirty print on the yellowed paper. "Learn from Lily. Do something useful for once instead of hiding in this room like a parasite."

I knelt down.

Papers everywhere. Every single page had been written between 3:00 AM and 4:00 AM. Chapter seven of volume three—the heroine mailing her final letter in the snow. I remembered him peeling an apple for me while I wrote that.

I picked up only one page.

In the bottom right corner was his signature from five years ago, written in shaky, uneven handwriting.

The rest of the pages, I gathered in my arms and threw into the trash can, stack by stack.

Julian watched me finish, his tone softening slightly. "There you go. It's much cleaner now."

I closed the lid of the trash can. As the papers were pressed down, they made a soft, rustling sound.

Like something taking its very last breath.

I folded the signed page twice and slipped it into my pocket.

"Julian."

He turned at the door. "What?"

"Nothing. I just realized... those old things really are useless now."