“Baby, today is your birthday. Did you get the gift I sent you?”
“Baby, it’s been 365 days since you left. I miss you so much I can’t sleep.”
“Baby, you once said you wanted a child who looked like both of us. If you were still here, our baby would already be two years old.”
“…”
I clicked on his profile picture—it was our high school graduation photo.
He was kissing me on the cheek, and I was laughing brightly.
The memory suddenly came alive again.
That day, he whispered in my ear:
“Sophia, don’t keep smiling at me like that. I’m afraid I won’t be able to resist kissing you.”
It was one of the rare times he had spoken sweetly, making me laugh until my eyes curved.
My eyes dropped lower. His username read: Daniel Hughes (Widowed).
Anyone who saw those posts would believe I was long gone, and that he was still mourning me day and night.
And I faintly remembered why.
During our wedding vows, he had said that for us there would never be divorce—only death.
The irony was that in the end, he was the one who coldly filed for divorce.
At that time, he and Emily Brooks were no longer even hiding.
They wore childish couple’s outfits, holding hands as they strolled down the streets.