In that split second, I saw a look of utter confusion and helplessness wash over Julian’s face. His usually iceberg-calm expression cracked, revealing a deep fissure of defeat.

I had no patience left to waste on him.

"Julian, do you understand what it means when people say 'spilled water can't be gathered' or 'a broken mirror can't be mended'?"

"We are adults. I don't need this belated compensation. It only makes me feel like the six years I gave you—the six years I spent loving you—were a complete joke!"

I wasn't sure if my sudden surge of emotion stemmed from those memories in the UK six months ago. I couldn't help but unseasonably remember the bouquet of lily-of-the-valley Julian gave Seraphina for her birthday. They had been apart for seven years, yet he remembered every single one of her preferences with such vivid clarity.

And what about me?

After I had made up my mind to cut ties and live my own life, his so-called compensation and pursuit manifested in the fact that he didn't even know, after five years, that I was allergic to daisies?

It was beyond ironic.

Under my cold gaze, Julian’s lips moved as if he wanted to say something. But I truly didn't want to hear it anymore. I hadn't felt this kind of bone-deep exhaustion in a long time.

"Let’s leave it at this, Julian," I said. "This is the end."

I turned to walk away. I hadn't gone more than a few steps when I heard the "thud" of a car door slamming behind me. The next moment, I was pulled into a warm embrace, and my nose was instantly filled with Julian’s signature scent of wood and herbs.

If this had happened before the divorce, I might have been overjoyed. Julian had finally overcome his mysophobia for me; he had finally initiated a hug.

However, this hug came six months after our divorce. It was too late. In every sense of the word, it was too late.

I pried his hands away and turned to face him at close range.

"Let's talk."

I brought Julian back to the house—the home we had shared for four years, the place that was supposed to be our marital home. Except now, there wasn't a single trace of him left in it.

Over the past six months, I had completely rearranged the layout and even got a British Shorthair Golden Munchkin cat. As soon as we entered, the cat hissed at Julian, taking a defensive stance. I bent down to pick up the kitten, stroking its head to soothe it.

Julian frowned slightly. I knew his mysophobia was flaring up again; he had never liked creatures that shed—a category that once included me. In the past, I would have been mindful and respected his feelings. Now, I simply tossed him a pair of unopened disposable slippers.

I had replaced the living room furniture long ago with a massive beanbag chair and a vintage green armchair I’d eyed at IKEA years ago. I sat on the corner of the beanbag with the cat in my arms and gestured for Julian to sit.

Wanting to settle this as quickly as possible, I didn't even plan to offer him water. I got straight to the point.

"Julian, I know you’ve made an effort to change, but it’s too late. I know men often have 'first love complexes' and enjoy playing the hero, and honestly, if you hadn't married me, there would be absolutely nothing wrong with what you did for Seraphina."

"But your mistake was doing those things while we were married."

"You should have either emptied your heart before accepting me, or you shouldn't have accepted me at all."

Julian’s face went pale. "Clara, I didn't know back then..."

I nodded. "You’re right, you didn't know then. But you know now."

"I don't want compensation, and I will absolutely not remarry you. Julian, I don't want a future where every time you’re good to me, I feel the need to compare my current self to the Seraphina of the past."

"I don't want to spend my life wondering if your kindness is out of genuine love or just guilty compensation. That’s too exhausting."

Julian fell into a long silence after hearing my words. Just when I thought he wouldn't speak again, he looked up and gazed at me quietly.

"I understand."

Then, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a ring box, and slowly opened it.

When I saw the ring inside, I froze. It was the wedding ring I had tossed into the trash can at the capital airport six months ago.

A faint smile lingered in Julian’s cold eyes, though beneath that smile, a trace of sorrow was hidden.

"The day Seraphina and I returned to the UK, I heard a lost-and-found announcement at the airport. I wasn't going to check it, but for some reason, I suddenly remembered your empty ring finger from the day we divorced."

He pushed the ring box toward me.

"Did you drop this by accident, or was it..."

I quickly finished the sentence he was hesitating to say.

"I threw it away."

Julian’s fingertips, resting on the ring box, trembled slightly. He nodded as the realization hit him.

"So that's how it was."

He had thought it was a sign of lingering fate between us, but in reality, it was a piece of the past I had long ago resolved to discard and sever. A look of defeated gray washed over his face.

Following the line of his hand, I noticed he was wearing the Audemars Piguet Royal Oak watch I had bought for $35,000. In the past, no matter what I gave him, he wouldn't spare it a second glance, let alone wear it every day.

Noticing my gaze, Julian spoke softly.

"The anniversary gift you gave me... I like it very much."

"Actually, it's not just the anniversary gift. Every gift you ever gave me, I liked them all."

I shook my head.

"If you had said those words sooner, perhaps we wouldn't have ended up like this."

"But... there are no 'ifs' or 'maybes' in this world."

At those words, Julian tightened his grip on another box hidden in his pocket. It was a matching ladies' Audemars Piguet Royal Oak, which he had intended to give me as a compensatory anniversary gift. Now, it was clearly unnecessary.

I didn't speak again, and Julian was sensible enough not to mention the past anymore. Finally, he called my name.

"Clara."

I gave a faint "Mm-hmm" in response.

Julian’s palm reached out as if to touch my hair, but he pulled it back with forced restraint.

"I'm sorry," he said with great solemnity.

I remained silent. I couldn't bring myself to say "it's okay" or "I forgive you" on behalf of the woman I used to be. Julian didn't push. He simply stood there and gazed at me for a long time before turning to leave.

After he left, I swapped some shifts with a colleague and stayed away from school for a while. I stared at the diamond ring on the coffee table and, after some thought, decided to have the diamond removed to make a necklace for my kitten to play with.

After waking up from an afternoon nap, I found an unread message on my phone. Seraphina had identified herself in the text and asked to meet at a café.

At 5:00 PM, I arrived on time. Across from me, Seraphina no longer looked beautiful or elegant. She appeared haggard, with dark circles under her eyes.

She was the first to speak.

"Ms. Clara, I know Julian has been looking for you these past few days. What? Have you forgotten your own words and decided to get back together with him?"

Listening to her bitter interrogation, I frowned slightly.

"Seraphina, by what right do you ask me that?"

"When I was Julian’s legal wife, you were the mistress. You played your little mind games back then, and I ignored you only because I still wanted to save that marriage. Now that you’re still trying to act up in front of me, do you really think I’m an easy target?"

Seraphina clearly didn't expect me to be so firm after the divorce. Her expression went blank for a second before she snapped back in a rage.

"How dare you call me a mistress! Your marriage was dead from the start, wasn't it? You only humiliated yourself by chasing him to the UK. You know perfectly well that Julian loves me most—he did then, he does now, and he always will."

"Clara, if I were you, I would have moved to a different city long ago."

As she spoke, the eyes of many patrons in the café fell upon her—filled with condemnation, disgust, and disdain. Seraphina realized it too late, but her first instinct wasn't reflection; it was to glare at me.

Suddenly, she stood up, raising her hand to strike me. But just as her hand swung upward, it was caught by a hurried Julian.

Julian looked at Seraphina coldly, his voice dropping an octave.

"You were going to hit Clara?"

Seraphina struggled, becoming hysterical.

"What if I did? She was just your second choice, your 'settling down' option. But now you're actually losing sleep and feeling heartache over this 'option'? Why shouldn't I hit her?"

"She's a curse, she's a—"

Slap!

Julian, unable to endure more, cut her off with a sharp slap across the face.

In an instant, the entire café went silent.