No Going Back

The next morning, Sean canceled all his meetings just to cheer me up.

When we pulled up to the city’s most famous rooftop couples’ restaurant, I saw a heart-shaped display made entirely of fresh flowers.

I’d tried to book this place so many times before, but Sean had always been too busy with work to come. This time, to win me over, he booked the entire place for us.

However, it felt like biting into candy that had long since gone stale—sweet in theory, bitter in reality.

The restaurant’s speakers were playing the piano piece we used to love when we first fell for each other.

Suddenly, I was back at the arts festival in high school, where I danced while he played the piano. Everyone said we were a perfect match.

Later, right after graduation, he had played this very piece when he confessed to me.

We dated for four years and have been married for three. As his company grew, his time at home shrank.

At some point, the lipstick stains on his collars, the strawberry hair clips in his suit pockets, and the stray hairs in his folders started making me jump.

Last night, he asked why I was getting harder and harder to please. However, he’d forgotten that I used to be a girl who could be won over with a single sweet.

When the food came, a young waitress lost her grip on a tray and accidentally spilled hot soup onto my leg.

I yelped and jumped up. Sean rushed to steady the waitress, his eyes unconsciously revealing his worry for her.

My dress today was light and thin. Within moments, white steam rose from my thigh, the skin already stinging in a cluster of tiny burning spots.

It hurt so badly, but my chest hurt a thousand times worse.

I glanced toward the waitress with a ponytail, but Sean quickly stepped between us, blocking my view.

When he finally noticed my injury, he looked pained and immediately called the restaurant manager over.

Still, my gaze followed the waitress’s retreating figure, and I realized her back matched the girl in those photos I’d seen yesterday.

So this was her.

While the doctor treated my burn, Sean winced as he watched on, as if he were the one in pain.

Seeing me flinch, he told the doctor softly, “Please be gentle. My wife’s terrified of pain.”

His voice was so gentle that it made my eyes sting.

However, before I could say anything, he crouched in front of me and continued, “Jane, I found out that the waitress is fresh out of college. You’re Mrs. Roth, and should be more forgiving toward a young girl, don’t you think?”

I said nothing, only stared at the angry red burn across my leg.

Sean knew I cared about my looks and was afraid of pain. Even a single pimple could throw me off for days.

Now I had a burn big enough to make me give up wearing short skirts forever, yet he wanted me to be understanding?

The warmth that had just barely returned to my heart froze over again.

Then came the final blow. “Honestly, your burn isn’t that bad. Let’s just drop it. If word gets out that Mrs. Roth bullied a young girl, imagine how bad that would look!”

Every word sounded like it was for my sake, but each one was actually defending his lover.

The tenderness in his eyes when he looked at me was real, but his heart was no longer mine alone.

Suddenly, I felt tired. All those jealous outbursts and desperate attempts to keep him were nothing but a joke.

So I looked him straight in the eye and said, “Sean, I can stop being Mrs. Roth anytime.”