I Found His Letter, I Ruined His Plan

Chapter 4

The wedding photo hit Linda like a punch to the chest. In an instant, every detail she'd ignored before suddenly clicked into place. She finally understood what she really was to him. A replacement.

She thought of her own wedding.

That wedding had been modest in scale. At David's suggestion, only his closest comrades and a few relatives were invited. The reason was to keep it low-key and not extravagant. She had understood and agreed.

The night before the wedding, David said there was an urgent mission to deploy and stayed out all night.

She had been alone in the wedding room they had prepared at home, looking at her gown. Her heart felt a little empty, but more than that, she understood as the family member of a soldier.

On the wedding day, he appeared on time, dressed in his formal suit, handsome as ever, but between his brows was a trace of unshakable fatigue, and even... a hint of melancholy.

The emcee asked him to say something to the bride. He took the microphone, paused for a few seconds, and said, "Thank you, Linda Queen, for your understanding and support of my work. In the future... I will fulfill my duties as a husband."

The wording was precise, like a work report.

Laughter and applause rose from the audience. Everyone said Captain Brown was too serious.

She had laughed along, the slight strangeness in her heart masked by the shyness and noise of a new marriage.

Was that fatigue and melancholy because the night before, he had been "deploying" to another woman?

And that phrase "fulfill my duties"—had it been, from the very beginning, the definition of this marriage?

And then, at the wedding, Lucy had not appeared.

David's explanation was that Lucy had been sent on an important mission and couldn't make it back.

She had even called Lucy to comfort her, telling her not to worry, that work was more important.

Lucy's voice on the phone had been a little hoarse. She had said, "Linda, I'm so sorry. I missed your once-in-a-lifetime wedding... You must be happy. David... he really values you."

At the time, she had taken it as a friend's blessing and apology. Now, savoring it, every word felt hypocritical and cruel.

That hoarse voice—had she been crying?

Because she couldn't stand openly by his side? And David's "valuing" had indeed carried a different meaning.

This marriage, from the very beginning, had been a three-person silent play. Only she had been kept in the dark, performing a solo act, thinking she had everything.

Night had deepened. The sound of a key turning came from outside the door.

David was back. He carried the chill of the outdoors and a faint smell of cigarette smoke.

He lightened his footsteps and went to the living room first, probably thinking she was already asleep.

Linda still sat in the darkness of the study, motionless.

After a moment, she heard the master bedroom door open and close softly. He must have gone to check on her.

A little while later, footsteps headed toward the guest room—the room he used when he worked late and didn't want to disturb her.

The house fell quiet again.

But the quiet did not last long.

Linda heard extremely faint, deliberately lowered voices coming from downstairs.

Not from inside the house. From the yard downstairs.

She was like a soulless husk, pulled by an invisible force, slowly rising and moving to the small window facing the yard.

Outside the window was the heavy night. A dim streetlamp stood in the yard.

In the shadows at the edge of the light stood two figures, very close together.

It was David and Lucy.

David had his back to the window. Lucy faced him, her head slightly lifted.

The distance was a bit far, so she couldn't make out the words, only see that Lucy's shoulders were gently shaking, as if she were crying.

David raised his hand. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then placed it on Lucy's shoulder, patting it gently. It was a habitual, soothing gesture.

But the next moment, Lucy suddenly leaned forward, resting her forehead against David's chest.

David's body stiffened noticeably. His hand on her shoulder stopped, hovering in mid-air, but he did not push her away immediately.

The streetlamp stretched the shadow of the two leaning together, casting it long on the cold ground, intimate and close.

Linda stood in the darkness behind the window upstairs, watching silently.

The last flicker of feeling in her heart was extinguished by this scene.

No anger, no jealousy, not even deeper pain. Just a complete, frozen deadness.

So while she was hospitalized after her miscarriage, physically and emotionally devastated, while she was just discovering that her life had been a joke, they could still be so "inseparable."

The suicide note had said to protect Lucy's future without worry.

So now, was he using his body warmth and embrace to personally "comfort" his "first love," ensuring her emotional stability, her future unimpeded?

How dutiful, Captain Brown.

To his "in-duty" wife, cold as ice; to his "out-of-duty" lover, tender and attentive.

She watched as David eventually stepped back half a step, keeping a little distance from Lucy, and said something in a low voice.

Lucy nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

Then the two of them, one after the other, quietly disappeared down the path outside the yard gate.

David was probably walking her back to her dormitory.

Linda left the window. Without turning on the light, she felt her way to the desk by memory and turned on the computer.

The cold light of the screen lit up her pale face, but her eyes were an unfathomable black.

She logged into her internal system account. Her fingers paused over the keyboard for a moment, then began typing with unusual steadiness.

In the title bar, she typed "Divorce Application Report."

The content was concise, calm, like writing a case summary.

She checked it over. No typos. The wording was objective, devoid of any emotional accusation. She didn't even mention the suicide note, the wedding photo, the scene downstairs just now, or the child she had lost.

Those were the shame and wounds she kept for herself. There was no need to display them for others to judge.

What she wanted was simply the fastest way to sever all these nauseating connections.

When she finished, she turned off the computer. The study fell back into darkness.

She walked to the living room and sat down on the sofa, staring out at the endless night, waiting for dawn.

That night was exceptionally long.