Winifred Dawson watched as Garrison Reeves walked inside. She stood still for a long moment, adjusting her mask amid the bustling crowd. Winter hadn’t arrived yet, but she felt a chill.
Outside the window, the sunlight was bright, but her heart was frozen solid.
Just as Winifred stepped out of the lobby, a message from Leland Burns came through: “Pack your things. I’ll send someone to pick you up.”
A shiver ran down her spine.
Before she could even start packing, Leland was already at her door. He had said he would arrange for someone to fetch her-yet here he was, in person.
The doorbell rang. Winifred peered through the peephole. As if sensing her gaze, Leland smiled at the tiny lens, his lips forming two distinct words: “Open up.”
She had no choice. Winifred knew his temper-if she didn’t let him in, the door wouldn’t survive. And with neighbors around, she couldn’t afford rumors or unnecessary drama. Reluctantly, she unlocked the door.
This was Leland’s first time here. Winifred had lived in this apartment for four or five years, and traces of her life with Garrison were everywhere. The shoe rack by the entrance held their pairs, side by side. Further in, their clothes, hats, the dining table chairs, the throw pillows on the sofa, the vase on the coffee table…
Just seeing it all, Leland could picture how Winifred and Garrison had lived-like any ordinary couple, wearing matching slippers, cooking meals together, curled up on the sofa watching TV. The flowers in the vase, bright and fresh, seemed to bear silent witness to their love in this hidden corner of the world.
Leland had prepared himself to stay composed. But stepping inside and facing this reality, a violent urge surged within him-to destroy everything, to erase Garrison from Winifred’s life completely.
The air carried a faint scent of lemon and mint from the cleaning spray. Winifred wasn’t the type to keep a spotless home; the fact that she hadn’t wrecked the place was already an achievement. Clearly, Garrison had taken care of it-or hired someone to.
There were no signs of a third person here. Just the two of them, alone together for years. What had happened between them?
Leland didn’t want to dwell on it, but his head throbbed, his face paling.
Winifred, watching him carefully, noticed the change. Against her better judgment, she spoke: “Mr. Burns… are you feeling unwell?”
He unclenched his fists and stared at her.
“If you’re not feeling well, you should go back. I can pack on my own and take a taxi to your place later.” She hoped to drag it out as long as possible.
“I’m fine.” Leland sat on the sofa. “Pack your things. I’ll wait here. One hour-is that enough?”
There was no getting rid of him. Winifred suspected he saw right through her stalling. Resigned, she went to her room, pulled out a suitcase, and haphazardly tossed in some clothes. As she worked, she caught movement at the door from the corner of her eye.
“Mr. Burns… could you wait outside?”
“Why? Is there somewhere I can’t go?” If she wanted him out, he’d do the opposite. Not only did he stay, but he began ordering her around-first demanding hot water, then complaining it was tasteless and insisting she brew coffee.
Flustered, Winifred rushed to prepare it. When she returned with the cup, she found Leland lounging on her bed, watching TV with leisurely ease.
Seeing him sprawled like a king on her bed, she swallowed her irritation.
After handing him the coffee, she resumed packing. She was the type who struggled in unfamiliar places, likely losing sleep over it. So she wanted to bring as much of her own things as possible.
Winifred didn’t own much, but as she packed, she kept finding little items she couldn’t leave behind. Soon, two suitcases and a travel bag were stuffed full.
Since Leland had offered to pick her up, he could damn well carry all this.
Leland pretended to watch TV, but his eyes roamed the room. He wanted to confirm whether Winifred and Garrison had shared a bed.
He knew the answer would only torment him, but he couldn’t stop himself. When Winifred opened the closet, he spotted men’s clothes hanging inside and a framed photo of her and Garrison on the shelf.
Even though Garrison wasn’t here, his presence lingered-in the air, in every corner. It made Leland sick.
He took a sip of coffee. Freshly brewed, it scalded his tongue. Gritting his teeth, he suppressed the discomfort, darkly considering: Should I just buy this entire district and bulldoze it?
By the time Winifred finished packing, Leland had drained his coffee and grown bored with the TV. He set the cup on the nightstand, then casually flipped over the photo frame, hiding it from view.
The small noise caught Winifred’s attention. She looked up from struggling with her suitcase zipper just as Leland moved from the foot of the bed to the headboard.
Her hands lacked strength-she couldn’t even zip the suitcase properly.
She hesitated to ask for help, but Leland seemed to sense it. He strode over, looming above the mess of luggage like an emperor surveying worthless trash. Then, he crouched down and began tossing things out.
“Mr. Burns-” Winifred had thought he was coming to assist. Instead, he was making things worse. Watching him dismantle her carefully packed bags, her eyes burned with frustration.
“Winifred Dawson, do you think my place is a junkyard?” He pulled out a mug. “Why bring this? Do you think I don’t have cups for you to drink from?”
Winifred stared at the mug in his hands. Garrison had painted the design himself. It had been with her for years-even during hospital stays.
The tenderness in her eyes betrayed its importance. For a split second, Leland wanted to drop it, watch it shatter.
The impulse was petty and childish. He forced himself to set it down.
“Just take a few changes of clothes. My place has everything. If you’re missing anything, I’ll have the staff buy it.”
“… Alright.”
Leland continued purging the luggage, discarding what he deemed unnecessary. Two suitcases became one; the travel bag vanished. In the end, only a handful of clothes remained-not even skincare products made the cut.
Compared to Leland’s casual dominance, Winifred was stiff with discomfort. This was her home, yet she felt like an intruder.
Leland was a storm, crashing into her peaceful life, leaving chaos in his wake. And she couldn’t protest-couldn’t even voice her grievances.
“Let’s go.”
Winifred hesitated, eyeing the mess. “Let me clean up first.”
Leland watched coldly as she straightened the closet.
What he wanted to say was: You might never come back. What’s the point? Given time, dust would bury even the most cherished things, rendering them worthless clutter.
Winifred tidied quickly. Maybe traveling light was better-if Garrison returned suddenly, moving back would be easier.
She reached for her suitcase, but Leland grabbed it first. Without a word, he carried it out, leaving her to follow in silence.