Chapter 7
Autumn in Cambridge was beautiful, with ancient brick–red buildings surrounded by golden leaves, the gentle waves of the River Cam reflecting Gothic spires, and the atmosphere of academia intertwining with freedom, making it almost possible to forget past wounds.
My advisor Martin was a top architectural scholar who appreciated my design philosophy and even made an exception to let me join his international project team, where students from around the world.
We often gathered in cafés after class to discuss projects late into the night. No one knew about my past–here, I was just Viv, a student who loved architecture, not someone’s wife or mother.
But Rhys seemed unable to accept this reality, bombarding me daily with countless phone calls, and when I didn’t answer, frantically sending messages like:
“Viv, you’re nothing without me! Come back now while I can still forgive you!”
Later, his tone began to waver:
“How long are you going to keep this up? Our son cries for you every day!”
“I can explain about Melody. Come back, let’s talk…”
Eventually, his messages carried humble pleas:
“Viv, I was wrong… I truly know I was wrong. Please come back? Noah and I can’t live without you.”
Looking at these messages, I could only laugh bitterly.
When I lay in the hospital signing my own surgery consent form, he hadn’t shown an ounce of concern.
When I spent countless sleepless nights making breakfast to their taste, he would simply say “That’s just what you’re supposed to do.”
Now, he finally realized–I wasn’t the one who couldn’t live without him; HE was the one who couldn’t live without
- ME.
I didn’t reply to any message until one night when my phone vibrated again with his text: “Viv, what the hell do you want from me?!”
Staring at the screen, I finally moved my fingers to type just one sentence: “The divorce papers I’ve already signed are in your study drawer. Please sign them yourself,” before blocking him on all platforms.
After realizing he couldn’t contact me at all, Rhys completely lost his mind.
He began harassing my classmates, my advisor, and even called the department office, hysterically demanding to
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know “where Viv is.”
Martin frowned as he handed me his phone showing a text message from an unknown number: “Professor, please tell Viv that her husband and son are waiting for her. Family is the most important thing.”
I laughed coldly and deleted it immediately.
But Rhys’s madness didn’t stop there as he began posting photos of Noah on every social platform with captions like “Viv, your son misses you” and “Please come back.”
He even recorded videos of Noah crying into the camera and then sent them to me through friends‘ phones: “Mommy, please come home! Daddy and I miss you so much!”
When friends and relatives asked what was happening, I simply shook my head and replied, “Just ignore him.”
He thought this would force me to return, but he was wrong.
Two years later, my graduation design won the RIBA Gold Medal, and Martin excitedly patted my shoulder saying, “Viv, you’re destined for greatness.”
After the award ceremony, while I was mingling with colleagues in a simple black cocktail dress with a glass of champagne, a familiar voice suddenly spoke behind me:
“Viv.”
I turned to see Rhys, who looked much more haggard than a year ago, with dark circles under his eyes and a suit that no longer looked as crisp as before.
Noah stood beside him, timidly looking at me and softly calling, “Mommy…‘
I remained motionless, just calmly looking at them.
Rhys’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice hoarse: “I signed the divorce papers. Can we talk privately now?”
I looked at him coldly and replied, “What is there to talk about, Mr. Harmon? We’re finished.”
Without any response, Rhys simply handed me his phone, which displayed his chat history with Melody.
The last message he sent was two years ago: “Melody, this ends here. Don’t contact me again.”
Below were a series of unread messages marked with red dots:
[09/15/2021 23:47] “Rhys, what do you mean? You’re cutting me off for that plain Jane?”
[09/16/2021 08:12] “Answer your phone! Do you know how much I’ve sacrificed for you?”
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[09/17/2021 14:35] “Rhys! Do you think Viv will ever forgive you? She probably hates your guts by now!”
[10/01/2021 09:05] “It’s your birthday today. Remember how we celebrated last year? I’m waiting at our usual
place.”
[01/01/2022 00:03] “Happy New Year… I miss you.”
[03/08/2022 15:22] “I’m asking one last time, do you want to meet or not?”
[05/20/2022 13:14] “You’ll regret this! What do you even see in Viv?! She’s nothing but a housewife who revolves
around the kitchen!”
[07/30/2022 22:08] “Please, just answer me once…”
The last message marked as read was the breakup text Rhys had sent two years ago, with all subsequent messages bearing glaring red unread markers, time frozen 728 days in the past.
I calmly closed the phone and handed it back to him, saying quietly, “Rhys, none of these matters anymore.”
Hearing this, his pupils contracted sharply as if in pain, his voice trembling: “Doesn’t matter? Viv, I’ve regretted everything every single day for two years!”
“I truly cut all ties with Melody–there’s absolutely nothing between us.”
“I’ve been turning this over in my mind for two years, and I admit it–I admit I neglected you because of her, and
even looked down on you because I didn’t understand your work.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as his eyes reddened: “Jack and the others–I let them disrespect you, making you uncomfortable at every gathering. I know I was wrong about all of it.”
“For two years–730 days and nights–not a day has passed without me reflecting on myself and our relationship.”
Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist with painful force: “Do you know? Every night before sleep, I look at our wedding photo, and the first thing I do each morning is check your social media, even though you blocked me long ago. I–I
truly know I was wrong!”
By the end, his voice had become almost unrecognizable with emotion–that once arrogant man now hunched like a child who had made a terrible mistake, waiting for forgiveness that would never come.
But I was no longer the same Viv as before.
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