I smiled as I replied, “I don’t love him anymore.”
Those simple three words left Nathan with an inexplicable sense of suffocation.
He had replayed that moment in his mind countless times, trying to find something in my eyes that might explain my words. But in the end, he found nothing.
He grew increasingly restless and pulled up our chat history.
But when he opened it, the last message from me was just an acknowledgment of him reminding me to meet at the courthouse at 9:00 am to pick up the divorce papers. I simply replied with “Okay,” and that was it.
In the past, I had always clung to him. I would share everything with him, no matter how big or small, and he would always respond promptly.
As he scrolled back through the messages, he saw that it had become more common for me to talk to myself over time, with him occasionally replying with a simple “Okay” or “Got it.”
The company’s work was busy, and with Jenny’s depression and the suicide attempts after Donald’s passing, Nathan couldn’t manage everything.
Then, suddenly, a message from Jeremy popped up.
“Lois is going to marry Chris.”
Nathan jumped to his feet, knocking over the easel next to him. The landscape painting fell to the floor, and as he rushed to pick it up, a medical report was pinned under the canvas.
He froze for a moment. After reading the report, his fingers trembled.
“The patient experiences severe emotional fluctuations, recurrent suicidal thoughts, and significant sleep disorders. Diagnosis indicates moderate depression.”
The date at the bottom of the report matched the day Nathan had suggested the fake divorce.
“Nathan, what’s going on?” Jenny appeared at the door, having heard the noise. She rushed into the studio, her eyes calculating when she saw the diagnosis report in Nathan’s hands.
“Can I see this report?” she asked softly.
Nathan didn’t respond, his chest tightening with a deep, painful ache.
Jenny casually took the report from him, flipping through a few pages before sighing dramatically and patting Nathan on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Nathan.
“Did you forget? I’m a depression patient, too. You’ve seen how I act when I’m sick. When I saw Lois that day, she looked perfectly healthy–nothing like someone with an illness. She must have been too angry and made up this fake diagnosis to fool you.”
Jenny looked at Nathan, her words poised to continue. But Nathan, suppressing his emotions, snatched the report from her hand.
After a couple of steps, he paused and turned back to face
