He used to flood the group chat daily with candid shots of me making coffee or jotting down schedules. Everyone in the company knew he was madly in love with me.
Back then, buoyed by love, even working without pay felt sweet. But as the company grew stronger and business boomed, Carl began to view me as inexperienced and incapable of handling larger projects.
Thus, he’d hired Ivy who was fresh out of college to take over all my responsibilities.
Carl had even banned the group chat from mentioning anything about me. Overtly and subtly, he showed favoritism toward his newly hired secretary.
Once, a colleague who used to be close to me was bold enough to comment that Ivy wasn’t as competent as I had been. Consequently, Carl had docked her a year’s bonus.
In the end, I’d secretly transferred her money to prevent her from impulsively quitting her job.
Over time, Carl had conveniently forgotten how I had stood by him from the ground up, leveraging my parents’ connections to bring him countless business opportunities.
When I entered the house that felt unfamiliar despite ten years of living in it, I quietly began packing my belongings and other essentials.
Midway, my gaze fell on a thick photo album sitting on a corner of the bookshelf, its surface coated in a thin layer of dust. I gently picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed, flipping open the first page.
Inside were countless photos that documented all the rabbit-themed gifts Carl had sought out for me over the past ten years.
From plush toys and pendants to rabbit-themed postcards from around the world, to limited-edition handcrafted rabbit figurines, and even obscure paintings by little-known artists—all centered on rabbits.
Carl used to smile and say, “I’ll collect everything rabbit-related from around the world so you can wake up every day surrounded by your favorite things.”
Ten years ago, he had made a promise. Once he gifted me 9,999 rabbit-themed items, we would get married. He’d declared that he would bribe my heart with these gifts until I was willing to marry him.
The photo album was custom-made to hold exactly 9,999 photos. Yet as I flipped to the last page, a stark emptiness greeted me.
I stared at that blank space for a long time, a self-deprecating smile tugging at my lips.
So much effort, all for nothing.
I carried the photo album downstairs to an open area. Then, I pulled out a lighter from my pocket and ignited it.
The flame quickly spread along the album’s edges. One by one, the photos succumbed to the heat, crumbling into blackened ashes before vanishing entirely.
Those gifts had witnessed the ten years of my youth, and at this moment, they were reduced to nothing.
Carl happened to see this as he returned.
His face drained of color, and his eyes widened in shock and disbelief. The next moment, he rushed over and shoved me aside in an attempt to salvage the album from the fire.
However, the flames were too intense. The moment he got close, the searing heat forced him back.
The fire licked at his hand, turning it red with pain. He hissed sharply and retreated. Left with no choice, he frantically tried to stomp out the flames with his foot.
But it was futile.
Carl could only stand there as he helplessly watched as the photos—the memories of ten years—were swallowed by the blaze.
“Are you insane?” He finally turned to me, his voice trembling with rage.
His eyes burned hotter than the fire as he roared, “How could you burn the album? It took me ten years to collect the gifts! It’s all gone now. Do you have any idea what you just did?”
