Sophia's taillights disappeared around the corner. Ethan remained motionless.

Cigarette ash crumbled from his fingertips.

"Mr. Sullivan, shall we return to the office?" the driver asked cautiously.

Ethan tucked the divorce certificate into his suit pocket. "Moon Bay."

His phone vibrated. Victor's voice brimmed with undisguised satisfaction. "All settled?"

"Yes."

"There's an important gala tonight. Represent the company."

Ethan watched the blur of passing scenery. "Not interested."

"For a woman?" Victor scoffed. "I closed a merger on my wedding day."

"How commendable." He ended the call.

The elevator mirror revealed his shadowed eyes.

The foyer light flickered on as he entered. Sophia's slippers sat neatly on the second shelf.

He traced the embroidered bellflowers with his thumb.

One toothbrush was missing from the bathroom set.

Cold water splashed against his bloodshot eyes.

The antique appraisal show droned on. "This artifact's true value lies in—"

He switched it off. A book spine peeked from the couch cushions.

The purchase date on Ancient Ceramic Restoration Techniques matched their anniversary.

Their wedding portrait still hung in the bedroom.

Sophia's bouquet-clutching fingers looked pale in the photo. He remembered her silent tears that day.

Thunder cracked outside.

Last typhoon season, she'd curled against him whispering, "Mother used to sing lullabies during storms..."

His bedside phone lit up and dimmed.

On the fifth attempt, soft breathing answered.

"It's raining," he said.

"Yes." Sophia's voice mingled with the downpour. "The kaffir lily on the balcony—"

"I brought it in."

Silence stretched.

Raindrops tapped the glass like a countdown.

"I'm sorry," Ethan suddenly said. "For everything."

A faint rustling—perhaps her wiping tears.

"It's over." Her whisper barely carried. "I'm fine now."

The wall clock ticked.

Three minutes passed before he spoke again. "Let's start over."

Thunder swallowed his next words.