She didn’t turn around. Just waved a hand over her shoulder.

“Go to bed. Don’t wait up.”

The door closed behind her.

I sat on the couch all night, waiting. She never came back.

By morning, my whole body was stiff. I stood slowly, bracing myself on my knees and shuffled to the bathroom.

Staring at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror, I gave a small, bitter smile.

What was I expecting?

I picked up my phone and called a friend—he’s a lawyer.

“Can you draw up a divorce agreement for me?”

There was a pause.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“But didn’t you love her like she was your whole world? You wouldn’t marry anyone else.”

I said nothing.

The first time I saw Bianca, I knew.

I never believed in love at first sight—until it happened to me.

For three years, I chased her. Rain or shine, I brought her breakfast every single morning.

My classmates laughed. Called me a simp. Said she’d never choose someone like me.

But I didn’t care.

I believed that sincerity could move mountains.

At our graduation party, she said,

“If you can bring me 999 roses before midnight, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

I ran through every florist near campus and along the nearby streets, just to gather the 999 roses she asked for.

Because I hoped that with those roses, I could finally hold the woman I loved.

Her dream was to become a powerful woman in the business world—and I supported her without question.

Every night, she came home late, exhausted, collapsing onto the sofa the moment she stepped inside. I took off her shoes, washed her feet, massaged her tired legs and whispered encouragement into her ear.

I wanted her to succeed. And because of my constant care, she was able to throw herself into her work without distractions.

But I’m human too. I get tired. I get worn down. Still, no matter how drained I felt, I never said a word.

Because to love someone… is to give them everything, without expecting anything in return.

Eventually, she did succeed. She got busier than ever.

“Dinner with a client tonight.”

“There’s a meeting this evening.”

“I’m not coming home—don’t wait up.”

Each message came in a quick, clipped tone before she hung up.

Even though I felt disappointed, I never complained. I stayed behind the scenes, silently supporting her.

My friends said I was being pathetic. I used to brush it off. Love is love—does it really matter who’s giving more?

But now, I understand.