Waking Up From A 5-Year Dream

Dennis seemed to sense something off about me. His expression faltered briefly before he suggested, "Why don't we leave now? Find somewhere to relax for a bit."

I looked up at him, smiling faintly. "Let's take the yacht," I suggested. "A night cruise. We can watch the sunrise tomorrow."

…

In the car, he started discussing plans for the next day. "I've already prepared a birthday surprise for you. Once things settle down, let's start planning for a child. How does that sound?"

I stayed silent, gazing out the window as the city lights flickered by. I didn't respond.

The car had just started moving when his phone rang. He answered it, his brows knitting together as he spoke, a note of hesitation in his voice.

I turned to him, my tone calm. "If you've got something to handle, go ahead."

He hesitated. "Tracy, I…"

"It's fine," I cut him off gently. "I'll wait for you on the yacht."

I couldn't see the caller ID, but I didn't need to. Only one person could make him wear that expression.

…

Alone on the yacht, I took out my phone and opened Camille's social media page.

A freshly uploaded photo greeted me, captioned: [Success feels sweeter with someone by your side. Midnight snacks, late-night talks—thank you for always looking out for me.]

The comments beneath it were full of admiration.

[Your husband spoils you so much!]

[This is what a dream couple looks like!]

But my eyes were drawn to something else—the bracelet in the photo. It was Dennis's bracelet.

I dialed his number, but it was Camille's voice that answered. "What is it, Tracy? Calling so late—looking for Dennis?" Her tone was dripping with mockery.

She didn't stop there. "Give it up. He won't be coming back tonight. Why would he? I handed him over to you, and you still couldn't keep him. Pathetic."

I didn't respond. I hung up the phone, my grip tight as I turned to the yacht's crew.

"Set sail."

"Should we wait for anyone else?" one of them asked.

"No need. It's just me," I replied softly.

The yacht glided into the open sea, slicing through the waters. I stood alone at the bow, staring up at the starlit sky.

The wind was icy, cutting through me like shards of glass. The stars above glittered faintly, their light scattering over the rippling waves below.

He never came.

I sat on the deck, my gaze vacant, fixed on the endless expanse of the ocean.

Memories of the past five years swirled in my mind like fragments of a shattered mirror. His warmth, his promises, his gentle presence—they all surfaced, only to fall apart into jagged pieces.

All of it had been a lie. Every tender moment, every kind word. Now, it felt like a cruel joke, hollow and mocking.

Before dawn, I made one last call to him. This time, his phone was off.

I stared at the screen for a moment before setting up a timed release for two files: a recording of a phone call and a video of me creating that painting—the one now falsely paraded as Camille's masterpiece.

With that done, I walked to the stern of the yacht, gazing one last time at the faint glow on the horizon.

Then, I leapt into the freezing embrace of the sea.

Elsewhere, Dennis hurriedly left Camille's side. "I have to go," he told her. "I promised I'd watch the sunrise with Tracy."

Camille blocked his way unhappily. "Dennis, I need you right now too…"

He shook his head. "Not now. I can't."

Before he could leave, his assistant ran up, face pale.

"Mr. Malcolm," he stammered, "your wife… she jumped into the sea."