At ten o'clock that night, Clara lay in bed, wrapping herself tightly in the blankets. Yet, she couldn't stop the waves of bone-chilling cold rising through her body.

Her head felt heavy and dizzy, her skin alternating between burning heat and icy shivers.

She didn't know when she fell asleep, nor when she finally drifted awake.

Clara stumbled out of bed to pour herself some warm water. Her grip failed, and the entire kettle crashed to the floor, splashing scalding water over her feet and legs.

The sharp sting of the burn jolted her into a brief moment of lucidity. She instinctively headed for the bathroom to rinse the area with cold water, but as soon as she turned on the tap, the world began to spin. She collapsed directly into the bathtub.

The last flicker of consciousness before she blacked out was a single thought:

Am I really going to die here like this...?

Fate, it seemed, still had a flicker of mercy for Clara.

When she woke up in the hospital, she felt a rush of relief and a strange excitement, like a prisoner given a second chance at life.

But that mercy was short-lived.

The moment she opened her eyes, she saw Arthur standing by the door, his face darkened with a simmering rage.

Arthur strode to her bedside. Ignoring her deathly pale complexion, he grabbed her by the collar and barked, "Have you lost your mind? Playing the victim didn't work, so now you’re using these extreme stunts to get my attention?"

"Cough... cough..."

Clara, barely conscious and still ravaged by fever, was sent into a violent fit of coughing by his rough handling.

She coughed until her lips turned white and her eyes grew bloodshot.

Arthur, convinced it was an act, sneered at her. "Stop the performance. You might have fooled my parents, but you won't fool me!"

Once the coughing finally subsided, Clara pried his hand away with cold determination. Her voice was thin but steady as she spoke each word through her pallor: "This isn't a stunt. Yesterday, I walked four hours in the pouring rain from the cemetery. I had a fever and collapsed from exhaustion. It was an accident."

"If I had a choice, I’d prefer your attention never fell on me again for the rest of my life."

She had suffered enough for him.

Arthur’s grip faltered, and he looked at her with a trace of hesitation. "You... you walked back?"

Did it even matter anymore?

Clara adjusted her collar, lay back down, and pulled the covers over her head.

A second later, Leo burst into the room, shouting, "Dad! Why are you wasting your breath on the Wicked Witch? Auntie Mia has been waiting forever!"

He glared at Clara as if she were a monster disrupting their perfect family dynamic. "Transportation is so advanced these days, and you couldn't get a car? You’re obviously faking it. I’ve seen this in movies—you’re disgusting!"

Arthur felt a fleeting sense that Leo's words were out of line, but to escape the guilt rising in his chest, he chose blind belief. He let out a cold laugh. "Clara, I truly underestimated you."

At that moment, Mia appeared, leaning against the doorframe. Her voice was weak, barely a whisper. "Arthur... maybe I should just take a cab home. Clara looks like she’s in a really bad way..."

As she spoke, her body swayed, and she began to collapse toward the side.

Arthur lunged forward to catch her, his face filled with genuine concern. "If you’re dizzy, just sit and wait for me. I only came to check on her for a second."

"Ha."

Clara let out a soft, sharp laugh. He hadn't even come to the hospital specifically for her.

Mia continued her act. "No, it’s fine. I’m okay. Taking care of Clara is more important... Ah!"

She let out a startled cry as Arthur swept her up into his arms.

He turned back toward Clara before leaving, dropping a final, icy sentence: "Stop wasting your energy on these useless games."

Leo followed behind them, pausing only to pull a series of mocking faces at her.

A young nurse came in to change Clara’s IV, looking on with an envious sigh. "Were those your brother and sister-in-law? They seem so close."

Clara replied flatly, "That was my husband, my son, and his 'first love'."

The nurse went silent, her expression shifting instantly to one of righteous indignation. "I knew that woman was acting! She made a huge scene over nothing, demanding every test under the sun... I had no idea she was putting on such a show..."

The nurse's sudden shift in mood actually made Clara feel a bit better, and she offered her first genuine smile in over a year.

Fortunately, the fall hadn't caused serious injury. After a week of observation, the hospital cleared her for discharge.

On the day she left, no one came to pick her up.

Clara looked up at the blue sky and white clouds, feeling the gentle breeze against her skin. She had never felt so light.

It was as if a crushing weight had been lifted from her soul, leaving behind a sudden, exhilarating sense of rebirth.

She walked down the tree-lined avenue, her pace quickening until she broke into a light jog.

She realized then that true freedom was simply letting go of the emotional baggage she had carried for so long.

When she arrived home and opened the door, the shattered kettle was still lying on the floor. It was a stark reminder of how hurried and pathetic her departure had been.

It was also proof that Arthur hadn't stepped foot in the house once while she was gone.

She felt nothing.

She went to the walk-in closet and began packing up her designer clothes—the ones with the tags still on—along with various plush toys. She owed her life to the neighbor downstairs who had called the ambulance; otherwise, she truly might have died there.

She packed the new clothes, the toys, and several high-end kitchen sets she had bought but never used into three large boxes.

After talking to the neighbor, who happily accepted the gifts, the boxes were moved out.

The closet was now nearly empty, save for one coat and a few basic changes of clothes.

She scanned the room one last time and reached into a hidden drawer, pulling out a portfolio of design sketches. Before she had become Arthur’s wife, she had been a rising star in the jewelry design world.

She had buried that part of herself for him.

When the day finally came to leave, she would take nothing but her dreams.

As she was packing, Arthur’s voice suddenly echoed from the front door. "Clara?"