"Elaine… mm…"

The rush of water kept crashing against the tiles, and Theodore Ashford’s muffled groan slipped through the bathroom door.

Three in the morning. Vivian Summers stood frozen at the doorway, her face draining of color bit by bit.

Five years married, and not once had they actually lived like a real couple.

Yet on their fifth anniversary, he was in the shower calling another woman’s name—handling himself while thinking of someone else.

Every strained breath, every low sound, hit her like fine needles, pricking straight into her chest. The ache spread so sharp and fast it felt like someone had shoved her underwater, and no matter how she struggled, she just couldn’t get air.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, terrified that even a tiny sob would slip out. She spun around to leave, but her bad leg gave a sudden tremble. She stumbled into the sink, then crumpled onto the cold floor.

"Vivian?"

Theodore’s voice carried that leftover huskiness, the kind that made it obvious what he’d been doing. He tried to steady his breathing, but it was still shaky.

"I… I just needed the bathroom. Didn’t know you were showering…"

She blurted out the excuse, scrambling to push herself up. The more anxious she got, the worse it went—her palms slid over the wet tiles and counter, and it took her forever just to stand straight.

The door swung open. Theodore stepped out, his white robe hanging loose around his shoulders, though the belt was tugged tight at his waist.

"You fell? Let me help you." He reached out, moving like he fully intended to pick her up.

Her eyes were rimmed red from pain, but she still batted his hand away, stubborn even in her mess. "No. I’ve got it."

Then, almost catching herself from another fall, she limped her way back to the bedroom, practically fleeing.

And fleeing was exactly the right word.

Since the day she married Theodore Ashford, all she’d ever done was run.

Running from the outside world, from people’s strange looks, and from the pity she always caught in Theodore’s eyes—the unspoken judgment that his wife was a cripple.

How could someone like her ever be worthy of someone as polished, brilliant, and untouchable as Theodore?

She used to have a pair of long, strong legs too…

Theodore Ashford walked out after her, his voice soft, sounding like he genuinely cared. “Did you fall? Want me to check?”

“No… I’m fine.” Vivian Summers gripped the blanket tighter, as if she could hide both herself and the mess she felt inside.

“Really okay?” He did look worried.

“Mm.” She turned her back to him and nodded hard.

“Didn’t you say you were going to the bathroom?”

“I don’t feel like it anymore. I’m sleepy.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Alright. And… today’s our anniversary. I got you a gift. Open it tomorrow, see if you like it.”

“Okay.” The gift box had been sitting on the nightstand; she’d noticed it long ago. She didn’t need to open it to know what it was.

Same size box every year, same packaging, same watch inside.

Counting the birthday ones, she already had nine identical watches in her drawer. This would be the tenth.

That was the end of the conversation. He switched off the lights and lay down. The faint scent of his shower gel drifted in the dark.

But she barely felt the mattress dip. The bed was two meters wide; she slept on one end, he slept at the other edge. Between them was enough space to fit three more people.

Neither of them mentioned the name Elaine. Neither brought up what had happened in the bathroom. It was like the whole thing had evaporated into thin air.

She lay stiff on her back, her eyes burning with a painful heat.

Elaine Avalon—his college classmate, his first love, his untouchable moonlight.

The year they graduated, Elaine went abroad. That was the end of their relationship.

Theodore fell apart afterward, drowning himself in alcohol day after day.

She had gone to the same middle school as him.

She wouldn’t deny it—back then, she had already quietly fallen for him.

Back then, he was the dream guy every girl in school secretly liked—the perfect grades, the perfect face, that untouchable “high‑mountain flower” everyone could only look at from afar.

And her? She was just an arts student. Sure, she looked decent enough, but in a campus full of pretty girls, she never thought she stood out. In a high school where test scores basically decided your worth, arts students were invisible at best, and at worst, labeled with all kinds of stereotypes.

So that tiny crush she had on him could only stay buried deep. She never even dared imagine she’d get close to someone like him.

Everything changed the summer she came home after graduating from her dance academy. That was when she ran into him—completely lost, totally unlike the Theodore Ashford she remembered.

That night he’d drunk himself senseless again, stumbling all over the place, crossing the street without even checking the lights.

A car sped toward him, too fast to stop.

And she—worried sick and trailing him from a distance—lunged forward and shoved him out of the way.

She was the one who got hit.

She studied dance. She had already secured a guaranteed spot for graduate studies. But that accident ruined her leg for good, turning her into someone who’d never step onto a stage again.

After that, he quit drinking and married her.

He was always gentle, always grateful, always guilty—sending gifts, handing her money, speaking softly, keeping his distance. The only thing he never gave her was love.

She used to think that maybe, with time, things would warm up. That maybe the years would wash away everything sharp and painful.

But she never imagined that after five whole years, Elaine would still be carved so deeply in his heart.

So deep that even when he was alone in the bathroom handling his own needs, the name he whispered wasn’t hers—it was Elaine.

In the end, she was just too naïve, too ready to believe in pretty fantasies.

She didn’t sleep at all that night.

She must’ve read that email a hundred times by now, maybe more.

It was the admission letter from a university overseas—her offer for grad school. She’d planned to talk to him about it tonight, to ask if he’d be okay with her leaving the country for a while.

But looking at things now, there was really nothing left to discuss.

Five years of marriage, countless sleepless nights… finally, it all felt like it was coming to an end.

When Theodore Ashford got up, she kept her eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. She heard him out in the living room telling Mrs. Yates, “I’ll be working late tonight. Let my wife know she doesn’t need to wait up. Tell her to rest first.”

After saying that, he actually doubled back and stood at the bedroom door for a second. She curled deeper into the blanket, her pillow already soaked through with tears she’d cried quietly in the dark.

Before, every morning, she would lay out his clothes neatly at the bedside so he could grab them and go.

But today, she didn’t.

He went to the walk‑in closet, picked out a set himself, and left for the office without another word.

Only after the door shut did she finally open her eyes. They felt hot and puffy, like she hadn’t slept in days.

Her phone alarm suddenly went off.

It was her scheduled English‑study time.

Ever since marrying him, with her leg the way it was, she’d barely gone out. Most days she was just home all day, slicing time into little pieces to keep herself from sinking into the emptiness.

She tapped off the alarm and started scrolling aimlessly through different apps.

Her head was a mess; nothing she looked at made sense.

Then, on one social platform, a video popped up.

And the person in the frame—she knew that face far too well…

Then she checked the username: Elaine LL.

Of course the algorithm would throw this at her.

The upload time was marked as last night.

Vivian Summers clicked on the video, and instantly the upbeat music blasted out, mixed with people shouting, “One, two, three, welcome Elaine back! Cheers!”

And among those voices was Theodore’s.