Arthur was stung by Clara’s sharp words and couldn't help but snap back. "They were practically your own parents. Is it really such a burden to visit their graves for me? You’re a grown woman—can’t you figure out how to call a cab?"

In the past, even though he was cold, he had never gone this far. No matter how displeased he was, he had always made Clara’s safety a priority.

Clara didn't bother arguing with him. She opened the door and stepped out. The heavy

thud

as she slammed the door behind her carried the weight of her unspoken resentment.

Arthur didn't hesitate for a single second. He pulled a U-turn and sped away, leaving Clara to stand in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

Almost instantly, Clara’s phone vibrated.

It was a gloating message from Mia:

Winning against you is just too easy.

Six words. They made Clara feel a wave of physical nausea.

She scrolled up through their chat history. It was filled with Mia’s relentless, day-and-night harassment and her constant need to show off.

Clara had never replied before.

In the past, she had been too heartbroken, too exhausted from crying day and night to find the energy to respond.

But now that she was free, she thought for a moment and typed out a single line:

I wish you both a happy marriage in advance.

She knew perfectly well that as soon as the divorce papers took effect in a month, Arthur would waste no time marrying his "Pure White Moonlight."

This blessing was sincere.

Of course, she also sincerely hoped that their married life would be a chaotic mess, trampling whatever "pure intentions" they once had into the dirt.

Strangely, Mia seemed to lose her mind at the reply and began hurling insults.

“You shameless bitch! If it weren't for you, I would have married him years ago.”

“Do you really think he likes you? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You probably don’t even know this, but Leo tells me every day how much he wants to burn you to death, you Wicked Witch. He wants me to be his mother!”

Clara actually hadn't known that last part.

She stared blankly at the message. How could a child say something so malicious?

But the sorrow soon dissipated like smoke in the wind. No matter how malicious he was, he wouldn't be her child for much longer.

She turned on "Do Not Disturb," put her phone away, and stopped looking.

After walking for an hour, she finally reached the cemetery entrance.

The caretaker was a familiar face to Clara; after all, very few people came to visit graves on New Year's Day.

As the caretaker recorded her entry, he glanced behind her. "Came alone today?"

"Yes."

She didn't offer any further explanation. Picking up the flowers, she navigated the familiar path to the gravesite.

The couple in the photographs were still young. No one could have predicted such a tragic accident.

Back then, Clara had just met Arthur through a blind date. Arthur had brought Mia along as a silent form of rebellion against his parents.

Arthur’s father had been driving, with his mother in the passenger seat, constantly trying to play matchmaker and lighten the mood.

Clara sat by the window, while Mia sat in the middle.

Perhaps because he was too focused on the conversation, Arthur’s father didn't see the truck barreling toward them at the intersection.

The moment the violent crash occurred, Clara only had time to pull Arthur—who was on the side closest to the truck—toward her. A shard of metal from the truck sliced through her hand, severing her ring and pinky fingers.

Then, everything went black.

When she woke up, Arthur’s face was swollen from crying. He looked at her with a mixture of resentment and obligation, forcing the words through gritted teeth: "Let’s go get our marriage license."

Mia had disappeared for reasons unknown.

For a long time, Arthur blamed Clara for his parents' death.

But time is a powerful force. Eventually, the distance between them narrowed, and they shared two years of genuine sweetness.

And then...

Clara pulled herself out of her thoughts and placed the flowers before the headstone. Her voice was raspy. "Mom, Dad... this is the last time I’ll call you that."

"I’m exhausted from being by Arthur’s side. Now that his true love is back, he should be happy from now on. You two don't have to worry."

"He couldn't come to see you today, but I will come every year in the future."

She didn't know what else to say, so she sat there in silence for a while.

A gust of wind blew, swirling a petal that landed softly against her cheek.

Was it their way of sighing for her?

Clara stayed until noon, shared a simple meal with the caretaker, and then began the long walk back.

Halfway there, the sky suddenly turned dark, and a torrential downpour began.

She tried to call for a ride, but the queue was hundreds of people long.

There wasn't a soul on the road, nor a single tree to provide shelter.

Clara gritted her teeth and pushed forward through the rain. Four hours later, she finally reached the city center. Her reflection in a glass window revealed her pathetic state.

Drenched to the bone, hair plastered to her scalp, and a hollow, lifeless expression—she looked like someone who had crawled out of a gutter.

Just as she was about to look away, her eyes focused on the scene behind the glass.

What a cruel coincidence.

Inside the restaurant, Arthur sat across from Leo and Mia. They were chatting and laughing, looking for all the world like a perfect family of three.

And there she was, outside the glass, looking like a homeless drifter.

Only then did Clara realize that from the moment Arthur had left her that morning, he hadn't called her once.

She pulled out her phone; it was already waterlogged.

Yet, she stubbornly tried to dial his number.

It actually rang.

Inside the restaurant, Arthur pulled out his phone and glanced at it. His brow furrowed in annoyance as he promptly hung up.

Clara watched as the call was disconnected. The screen flickered back to the home page, flashed once, and then went completely dark.

No matter how hard she pressed the buttons, it wouldn't turn back on.

Just like Arthur’s heart. No matter how much she tried to warm it, it would never catch fire.

Clara stared at the phone for a long time. She removed the SIM card, tossed the device into a trash can, and began walking slowly toward the place she used to call home.