Chapter 4Don’t Let Me Fade Away

Vivian moved much faster than I expected.

Within half a day, she had packed up her few belongings and led me to a cramped, drafty attic she had rented years ago.

After setting up the small cot, she handed me a cup of warm water, her voice soft with apology. "I'm sorry you have to live like this."

I looked at her worn hands. The gold band was gone.

She had left it behind, sitting alone on the kitchen counter of their old home.

I didn't mind this tiny, dilapidated attic at all. It felt safer than the house we left.

It was only then that I discovered she was a writer.

Watching her write by the dim light of a desk lamp was a mesmerizing sight.

Noticing my gaze, she offered a shy, self-conscious smile. "I was planning to put my pen down for good after I got married. But I've changed my mind."

Because of her earlier published works, Vivian had received an invitation to submit a piece for the prestigious Winchester Prize. She spent her nights pouring her soul onto paper, preparing her entry.

While she worked, I slipped away to check on my father.

Under Arthur’s undivided care, Selene’s recovery was going smoothly.

When I went to the hospital, I saw Arthur pushing her wheelchair through the courtyard garden. The moment his eyes landed on me, his expression hardened into ice. He muttered a few words to Selene, turned the wheelchair around, and walked away.

I had no ill intentions. I only wanted to see if the man who had committed my mother to an asylum was capable of feeling love.

He was. He just didn't have any left for Vivian.

And that realization made him all the more repulsive.

He could have easily let her go. Instead, he kept her bound to him, blaming her for his own failures and punishing her for fourteen miserable years.

Now that she isn't there to stop you, Arthur, how will you ruin yourself this time? I wondered, watching their retreating figures.

After spending two idyllic weeks playing the devoted brother at the hospital, Arthur finally remembered his wife.

He showed up at our attic door, clutching the divorce papers.

"What kind of tantrum is this, Vivian?" he roared, blocking the doorway when I arrived. "Selene is my sister! How many times do I have to explain myself to you?"

Inside, Vivian’s voice sounded quiet but steel-hard. "Save your breath, Arthur. I don't care about your explanations anymore. Just sign the papers."

A heavy silence fell over them. I pushed past him, ignoring his glare, and walked inside. I casually placed the confirmation letter for the Winchester Prize entry on the table.

Arthur's eyes locked onto the letter. "You... you entered the competition?"

When Vivian gave a slow nod, his face contorted with rage.

"We had a deal! You promised to stop writing once we got married! You lied to me... Is this why you want a divorce? Vivian, why do you have to compete with a dying girl for this prize?"

"Enough!" Vivian's voice cracked, sharp and piercing. "Did you only marry me so I would stop writing?"

Arthur stammered, unable to meet her eyes. His silence was the only confession she needed.

So that was the truth. That was the foundation of their entire marriage.

Perhaps the sweet memories Vivian cherished of Arthur's early kindness were real, but they were fueled by a deep, dark guilt. He had built their life on the ashes of her dreams.

My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe.

I forced myself to pick up a pen and thrust it into his hand. "Sign the papers. And get out. Now."

Under my cold, unwavering glare, Arthur finally put pen to paper.

Once the door slammed shut, the cramped room fell dead silent. Vivian curled into herself on a wooden chair, her shoulders trembling. I didn't know how to comfort her, so I knelt beside her.

"Keep writing," I whispered. "You are going to be a brilliant writer. Millions of people will read your words."

She slowly lifted her tear-stained face, her eyes filled with doubt.

I squeezed her cold hand and smiled.

I wanted her to have a life free of pain, free of tears, full of the bright, beautiful things she deserved. This time, she would write her own destiny.