Yet, Faye’s social media was filled with posts—pictures, updates, little snippets of their time together. Cooking together. Eating together. Laughing together.
As if she wanted the whole world to know.
As if she wanted me to see.
By the third day, my fever had finally subsided. And just as I thought things couldn’t be any more absurd—
An invitation arrived.
It was for Faye’s award ceremony.
When I was a child, my mother died because of insufficient medical skills. That day, I could do nothing but watch as she slipped away.
Since then, my dream had always been clear—to become a brilliant doctor, one who could conquer all diseases, one whose name would be etched in history. I had imagined standing on grand stages, receiving countless awards for my achievements in medicine.
But reality was cruel.
That dream never came true.
Still, before I walked away from it all, I wanted to see for myself.
So, I went to the award ceremony alone.
As soon as I stepped inside, my eyes landed on Tristan, who was standing close to Faye, carefully adjusting her hair. His fingers lingered, his expression soft. Their faces were so close that their lips almost touched.
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Tristan noticed my arrival, but there was no guilt in his eyes. Instead, he merely turned to me and said, with the same practiced gentleness he always used:
"I'm sorry, my wife. Faye’s condition hasn’t been stable these past two days, so I couldn’t go home to take care of her."
His words were an apology, but they carried no weight.
I ignored him and found a seat.
Seeing this, he hesitated for a moment before sitting beside me.
Not long after, Faye approached, her gaze sweeping over me before she smiled sweetly and spoke in that familiar, saccharine tone:
"Sister-in-law, I’ve always liked sitting with my brother since I was little. I still do, even now. You don’t mind, right?"
I met her gaze and hummed lightly, "No mind."
It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in Tristan’s eyes.
The award ceremony began.
The host on stage praised Faye to the heavens, reciting her so-called achievements one by one. But with every word, my hands clenched into fists.
Because every medical breakthrough they attributed to her—every brilliant discovery—had come from the knowledge recorded in my own notebook.
The very notebook I had spent years filling.
The audience was in awe.