Genius Lady: Her Ex-Husband Regretted it

After an intense and passionate night, Rhea Seehorn was drenched in a fine sheen of sweat.

Unlike before, Patrick Fabian didn't head for the shower. Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around her from behind, holding her as if he wanted to meld her into his very being.

Rhea felt herself melting in his embrace, a mix of unexpected joy, nervousness, excitement, and a touch of sorrow flooding her heart.

They had been married for three years, and this was the first time he had ever held her like this.

She felt truly loved.

Her heart pounded wildly, like a deer caught in headlights. She slowly turned around and hugged him back fiercely, a sweet, beautiful smile spreading across her face, as if she was holding the entire world in her arms.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Patrick eventually released her, got dressed, and sat up. He took a box of cigarettes from the drawer, expertly flicked one out, lit it, and took a deep drag.

White smoke curled around him, blurring his handsome, chiseled features. His expression was unreadable, lost in thought, and he didn't seem to notice the cigarette burning close to his fingers.

Rhea coughed lightly. "Didn't you quit smoking a long time ago?"

Patrick stubbed out the cigarette, his deep gaze locking onto her eyes. After a few seconds of silence, he said, "Rhea, let's separate."

It was like a bolt from the blue.

Rhea froze, her heated heart instantly turning to ice.

Her face turned pale as she stared at him in a daze, her voice trembling slightly, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"Then why do you want to separate?"

"Amy is back. I'm sorry."

Amy Adams, his ex-girlfriend.

Rhea felt a searing pain in her heart. Three years-three whole years of living together, sharing joys and sorrows-couldn't compare to the return of that woman!

He didn't love her. That was her greatest mistake.

Disappointment, frustration, and sadness engulfed her. Rhea bit her lip, her body stiffening.

She fumbled to put on her clothes, ready to get out of bed.

Patrick pressed down on her shoulder, his voice gentle, "Where are you going?"

Rhea fought back her tears.

"To make breakfast."

"Let me do it. You can rest a bit more." His voice was low and tender.

Rhea murmured a response, lay back down, and pulled the covers over her tear-streaked face.

Once he left, she got up, ran to the bathroom, and finally allowed herself to break down, sobbing uncontrollably.

Tears fell like broken pearls, unstoppable.

She never knew that loving someone could hurt this much, like a piece of her heart had been gouged out.

She cried until she was shaking, leaning against the wall for support.

She didn't know how long had passed when Patrick called her for breakfast from downstairs.

Rhea responded, splashed cold water on her face repeatedly to wash away the evidence of her tears.

But no matter how much she washed, her eyes remained red and bloodshot.

When she went downstairs, Patrick was waiting in the dining room.

He stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, his dark trousers highlighting his long, straight legs, exuding an air of refined elegance.

Just standing there, he seemed to radiate brilliance.

Rhea silently walked to the dining table and sat down.

Patrick leaned slightly towards her, noticing her red eyes, his gaze unusually gentle.

"Have you been crying?"

Rhea looked up and forced a smile, "I got some face wash in my eyes. It'll be fine soon."

"Be careful next time. Let's eat." Patrick sat beside her, handing her a glass of milk.

Rhea took it, lowering her gaze to his beautiful fingers on the glass.

The sumptuous breakfast spread before them was tantalizing, yet neither touched their food.

Never in her life had a meal felt so sorrowful.

After half an hour, the dishes remained untouched.

Rhea put down her chopsticks, stood up, and said softly, "I'll go pack my things."

Patrick's grip on his forks tightened slightly, "There's no rush."

Rhea gave a bitter smile. It had come to this, and he still thought she shouldn't leave quickly. Did he expect her to wait until she was kicked out?

She turned and went upstairs, packing her belongings into a suitcase. It took her most of the morning. Finally, she zipped it shut and carried it downstairs.

Patrick came to meet her, reaching out for the suitcase, "Let me help you."

"No, thanks." Rhea straightened her back and walked out with the suitcase.

Walking through the garden, looking at the familiar flowers and trees, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow. How could one not be emotional?

Three years-the so-called feelings that come with time-were only her own.

She loved him so much, wholeheartedly, with passion and affection, but what was the use?

Let go, let go.

They walked to the front gate, one after the other. A car was already waiting outside.

Patrick handed her a check.

"Thank you for your company these three years."

Rhea stood there stubbornly, unsure whether to take it.

Patrick stuffed the check into her suitcase.

"Take it. You'll need it in the future."

"Okay."

Rhea responded dryly, lifting her head to greedily take in his attractive lips, high nose, and handsome brows.

Recalling the intimacy they shared in bed, his eyes covering hers, she felt her heart being wrenched apart, the pain indescribable.

She thought that one day, she might finally be able to stop loving him.

Three years? Ten years?

Maybe a lifetime.

Falling in love with someone seemed easy but forgetting them was incredibly hard.

Patrick looked at her for a moment, then suddenly pulled her into his arms. His face was calm, but his eyes were turbulent. "It won't be easy on your own. If you have any difficulties, call me."

Tears welled up but she swallowed them back. Rhea said, "Okay."

"The past two years, I wasn't well and had a bad temper. I've wronged you."

"It's fine."

"Take care of yourself."

"You too." Rhea slowly lifted her hand, hugging him as if it were a final goodbye.

Suddenly, she pushed him away, quickly wiped her face, grabbed her suitcase, and turned to leave.

After a few steps, she heard Patrick ask, "Who is Christopher?"

Her heart trembled slightly, and her lifted foot slowly came down.

The buried past came crashing down like a tidal wave.

She felt so sad she couldn't speak.

Patrick spoke again, "He must be very important to you. Sorry for occupying you for three years. I wish you happiness."