Lightning flashed across the window, followed by a deafening clap of thunder that seemed to tear the sky apart. Wendy screamed, clutching her blanket tightly as cold sweat soaked her back.

In the pitch-black room, fear made her mind race. She felt like an abandoned orphan, unnoticed and uncared for. "Ethan!" she called out, her voice starting as a whisper and ending in a desperate cry, but the empty house offered no response.

Meanwhile, after locking the door and leaving the villa earlier that day, Ethan walked away briskly. His phone buzzed with a thunderstorm alert, but he shoved it back into his pocket with a frown. He told himself Wendy was strong—surely she wouldn't be afraid of a little thunder?

Yet, as he drove toward Lydia’s apartment, his thoughts kept drifting back to the pale, haunted look on Wendy’s face. Frustrated by his own distraction, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel at a red light, the horn blaring in the rain.

When he arrived at Lydia’s, she greeted him with a joyful smile. "Ethan, you're here!" Her voice was soft, reflecting her recovery from her recent hospital stay.

Ethan nodded, feeling a heavy fatigue. He headed to the kitchen to prepare a meal for her, but as he busied himself, another figure began to blur into his vision—it was Wendy. He remembered the countless nights she had spent in the kitchen, waiting for him to come home.

Lydia approached with a glass of water. "Ethan, take a break. Don't overwork yourself." She smiled gently, priding herself on understanding him better than anyone else. Ethan took a sip and returned to his task, his mind a thousand miles away.

When the meal was served, Ethan had no appetite. He turned on the TV to fill the silence, but the laughter from the screen felt detached. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard Wendy’s desperate cry from earlier that morning: "I'll die!"

At first, he hadn't cared. But now, it felt like a thousand needles were pricking his heart. He grew increasingly agitated, his feet moving restlessly toward the balcony. He lit a cigarette, the smoke obscuring his complex emotions.

Lydia watched him from the table, a sense of unease rising in her chest. She rarely saw Ethan smoke like this. She knew Wendy had asked for a divorce, and she had expected Ethan to be relieved. But his dark, brooding expression suggested otherwise.

"Ethan, let's eat before the food gets cold," Lydia said, trying to remain calm. She believed she was the one he loved, and that Wendy could never truly take him away.

Ethan snapped out of his thoughts and extinguished the cigarette. He gritted his teeth, trying to clear Wendy’s image from his mind. He picked up his fork and ate mechanically, his silence becoming a wall between him and Lydia.

Lydia sat across from him, her eyes flitting to his face. She wanted to ask about the divorce, but she was afraid the answer wouldn't match her hopes. Finally, unable to endure the tension, she put down her utensils.

"Ethan," she asked softly, "how did your talk with Wendy about the divorce go today?"