Chapter 4

I endured the pain and went to a private medical center.

The doctor prepared to treat my wounds.

“There’s debris in the wound, so we’ll need to clean it out. We’ll use some anesthetic first...”

Vivian rushed in, holding the best antibiotic ointment.

“Doctor, use this ointment on Liam first! His hand can’t get infected!”

“But Ms. Blake, Mr. Cole’s wound is deeper...”

“What does he have to be afraid of?” Vivian impatiently interrupted the doctor, only then noticing the blood on me and frowning. “Just bandage him up however you can first. Liam’s hand is the hand he uses to paint!”

The doctor looked at me helplessly.

I said, “Use it on him.”

The doctor sighed and left with the ointment.

I turned to the nurse. “Just clean it directly. No anesthetic.”

The nurse froze. “But without anesthetic, it will hurt a lot...”

“It’s fine.”

The tweezers probed into the wound and pulled out the debris.

Every time, it felt like a branding iron searing my flesh.

I clenched my teeth and did not make a sound.

When it was over, the nurse’s hands were shaking, and she whispered, “You... really can endure pain.”

I said nothing.

After my wounds were treated, I went home.

The kitchen smelled of soup.

The housekeeper saw me and avoided my eyes. “Sir, Ms. Blake asked me to make soup for Mr. Hayes, and I have to go over there to take care of him for the next few days.”

She looked at my arm wrapped in gauze and paused. “There’s still a little left in the pot. Would you like some?”

I tugged at the corner of my mouth. “No.”

Even a housekeeper knew to ask.

But my wife, who had shared my bed for seven years, had not even noticed how badly I was hurt.

My phone vibrated.

It was a confidential message from the family lawyer. “Everything is in place. Ready for handover at any time.”

I replied to confirm and booked the earliest flight overseas for the next morning.

No one was home.

I quickly packed my luggage.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, I looked at the place where I had lived for seven years.

It would be a lie to say I felt no attachment.

But more than that, I felt relief.

I called her one last time.

It rang for a long time before she picked up, and Liam’s voice was in the background, crying out in pain.

Her voice was full of impatience. “Ethan? What do you want now? Liam is still hurting!”

I was silent for two seconds. “Nothing.”

“Ridiculous.” She hung up.

I listened to the busy tone and put down my phone.

I walked to the study and opened the locked drawer.

Ninety-eight “portraits” were stacked in chronological order.

The one on top was the smiley face she had drawn with lipstick on a napkin three months ago.

I put them into a document envelope.

Then I took out the divorce agreement, signed my name, and placed it on the desk in the study.

I did not leave a note.

The day the hundredth painting arrived would be the day the agreement officially took effect.

I dragged my suitcase out and checked into a hotel near the airport.

That night was very quiet.

She sent no messages and made no calls.

The hundredth painting did not come either.

That was fine too.