The side of her face as she sat on the sofa, waiting for him until she fell asleep.

The way she would smile so incredibly happily over a completely ordinary gift he had bought her on a whim.

And a few nights ago... the last time she looked at him, with those eyes so calm they made his heart tremble.

"If I told you I was dying, would you believe me?"

"Sylvester, I don't want to wait for you anymore."

He slammed on the brakes, the car letting out an agonizing shriek at an empty intersection.

Sylvester collapsed over the steering wheel, gasping heavily for air, his heart squeezed so tightly by an invisible hand that his vision began to blur with pain.

No.

It couldn't be.

Vivian wouldn't die.

She loved him so much, had loved him for twenty-five years, how could she... how could she leave in such a manner?

Yes, it had to be a mistake.

The police must have gotten it wrong.

He restarted the car, flooring the accelerator, speeding frantically toward that address.

Chapter 6

Outside the morgue, the air was so freezing it felt suffocating.

Sylvester stood at the entrance, staring at the closed iron door, his legs feeling as though they were filled with lead, unable to take a single step forward.

He was still clinging to a sliver of hope.

Perhaps it was a misunderstanding. Perhaps it was just someone who looked similar. Perhaps Vivian was still alive, waiting in some corner he didn't know for him to apologize, to make amends.

After all, she loved him so much, how could she truly choose death?

The door opened, and a medical examiner in a white lab coat stepped out, holding a file.

"Mr. Hurst?" The examiner looked at him, "Please follow me."

Sylvester followed the examiner into the morgue. It was even colder inside, so cold his teeth began to chatter.

A gurney sat in the center of the room, covered with a white sheet that masked the vague silhouette of a human form beneath it.

The examiner walked over to the side of the gurney, glancing at Sylvester, "You need to prepare yourself mentally. Because the body was submerged in seawater for an extended period, the facial features are no longer recognizable. We will need a DNA comparison to confirm the identity with absolute certainty."

Sylvester nodded, his throat tight, unable to speak.

The examiner pulled back a corner of the white sheet.

Sylvester saw it.

It was a body swollen and distorted from the seawater, the skin pale and wrinkled, the hair matted together, the facial features entirely blurred.

Yet, certain things remained completely recognizable.

On the ring finger of the left hand, there was a deep indentation—a mark left behind by wearing a wedding ring for twenty-five years.

On the right wrist, there were needle punctures from long-term intravenous lines—the common marks of a cancer patient.

And then there was that white dress—though distorted and faded by the ocean water, he recognized it; it was the gift he had bought her carelessly for their twentieth anniversary.

She had never worn it once.

Not until the day she died.

Sylvester's entire body began to shake. He stepped forward inch by inch, his gaze locked onto the body.

"No..." He shook his head, his voice cracking, "This isn't her... This absolutely isn't her..."

But he knew he was only lying to himself.

The ring mark, the needle punctures, the white dress... every single piece of evidence pointed to one brutal reality—

This was Vivian Hurst.

The woman who had waited for him for twenty-five years.

The woman who had loved him for twenty-five years.

The woman who had been neglected by him for twenty-five years.

Now, she lay here, cold and rigid, never to smile at him again, never to cry for him again, and never to wait for him to come home.

"We also recovered some items from the body," the examiner said, handing over a transparent evidence bag, "Please take a look."

Inside was a waterproof pouch—identical to the one he had found jammed in the crevice of the jagged rocks at the coastal park.

Inside the waterproof pouch were three items:

A teaching credential, with the photograph showing Vivian smiling gently.

A wedding ring, with the inner band engraved: "SYZ & XQY 1987."

An old mobile phone, completely water-damaged and broken.

And a slip of paper, the handwriting slightly smeared by the seawater, yet still entirely legible:

"Sylvester, by the time you see this note, I will no longer have to wait for you to come home."

"I have never envied your devotion to Sienna. My only regret is that I spent my entire life, yet failed to earn a single moment of your true sincerity."

"Do not let Harvey see what I look like at the end. Just tell him... Mom went to the mountain schools to teach."

"Finally, please tell my students I am sorry. Their teacher... broke her promise."

Staring at that note, Sylvester's tears finally spilled over.

One drop, then another, splashing onto the evidence bag, smudging the ink further.

He remembered Vivian asking him last night: "If I told you I was dying, would you believe me?"

He had replied: "This playing-the-victim act—you've been doing it for twenty-five years. Aren't you tired of it yet?"

It turned out it hadn't been an act.

That had been her very last, desperate attempt to cry out to him for help.

And he had personally pushed her into the abyss.

"Ah—!!!"

Sylvester suddenly let out a gut-wrenching, agonizing roar. He fell to his knees, throwing his arms tightly around the cold body.

"Vivian... Vivian, wake up... please wake up..."

"I was wrong... I was truly wrong..."

"Come back... please come back... I will never ignore you again... never again..."

But the body remained completely motionless, as cold as a block of stone.

The medical examiner stood to the side, watching in silence. He had witnessed scenes like this far too many times, yet each time, it still brought a profound ache to his heart.

"Mr. Hurst," the examiner spoke softly, "The DNA results won't be out until tomorrow, but based on the existing evidence, we can essentially confirm..."

"I know," Sylvester cut him off, his voice entirely hoarse, "I know... it's her..."

He held the body tightly, his tears flowing like a burst dam, utterly unstoppable.

Twenty-five years of memories came rushing back like a tidal wave—

Every single night she had spent waiting for him to come home.

Every single bowl of soup she had brewed for him.

Every single expression of love she had secretly written in her diaries.

Every single instance of heartbreak she suffered from his neglect.

Every single desperate cry for help.

He finally understood exactly what he had lost.

He had lost the only person in this entire world who had loved him with absolute sincerity.

He had lost his wife, the mother of his son, the other half of his very existence.

And now, everything was far too late.

"Vivian..." he whispered hoarsely, "I am so sorry..."

"In the next life... if there is a next life..."

"Let me be the one who waits for you."

"Let me be the one who loves you."

"Let me... spend an entire lifetime making it up to you."

Inside the morgue, nothing remained but the man's suppressed, broken weeping.

And the sound of the rain outside, growing heavier by the second.

Chapter 7

DNA comparison result: 99.99% match.

Sylvester clutched the thin sheet of paper, his knuckles terrifyingly white. The freezing air of the morgue seeped into the marrow of his bones, yet he felt no cold; his entire body felt as though it were burning.

What burned was the twenty-five years of accumulated neglect, indifference, and taking her for granted. Now, it had all turned into the fuel of regret, scorching him to ashes from the inside out.

"Mr. Hurst, these are the deceased's personal belongings." The medical examiner handed over an evidence bag.

Inside, besides the waterproof pouch from before, was an old mobile phone—not the one Vivian usually used, but an even older smartphone with a completely shattered screen.

"The phone was severely damaged, but our forensics department managed to recover the data." The examiner paused, "There is an audio recording inside, recorded by Mrs. Hurst before her death. Do you... wish to listen to it now?"

Sylvester gave a rigid nod.

The examiner operated the equipment and pressed the play button.

Following a burst of static, Vivian’s weak but calm voice echoed through the room:

"Sylvester, by the time you hear this recording, I suppose I will already be dead."

Sylvester shuddered violently.

"I want to clear up three things before I go. First, I never ran away with anyone. I never have. Those photos were photoshopped by Sienna. She showed me a 'candid photo' of you and her five years ago, though that was a fake too."