I Was Never the Woman in Focus Chapter 09

I Was Never the Woman in Focus Chapter 09

Half a year later. 

Spring arrived slowly in Oslo, but it came at last. 

Kelly sat at an outdoor table of a corner café. The warm sun rested gently on her shoulders, nothing like the hollow winter sunlight. 

She set her brand–new mirrorless camera on the table and examined it. The silver body paired with a prime lens had cost her over eight thousand kroner, bought with her first scholarship payment. 

The barista set a latte down in front of her. The latte art was messy, but the milk foam was rich and thick. She thanked him and took a sip. 

Her old used film camera had always been faulty, with mold spots inside the viewfinder that blurred every face it captured. Back then, she’d told herself blurry photos had their own beauty. Now she knew the truth: she’d once settled for 

whatever leftovers were given to her. 

Her phone vibrated. A delivery notification from 

the international student service center popped 

1. up. The sender’s name was clearly marked: Zion 

Xavier. 

She finished her coffee, gathered her things, and 

walked to the service center. 

The package was a plain kraft paper envelope 

sealed with two layers of tape, wrapped inside a 

plastic courier bag. She signed for it, tucked the 

envelope under her arm, and headed back to her 

apartment. 

She greeted a classmate along the way with a 

smile and kept walking. 

Once inside, she hung up her coat and placed the 

envelope on her desk. She pulled out a pair of 

scissors and carefully cut the seal open. Her 

movements were calm and unhurried. 

The first item was a formal document printed on 

A4 paper: Cohabitation Termination and Property 

Division Agreement, three pages long. 

She flipped to the final page. Zion’s signature at 

the bottom was messy and uneven, strokes 

overlapping as if his hand had shaken, writing and 

crossing out repeatedly. The date was one week 

prior. 

She skimmed the contents quickly. All the savings 

from their joint bank account were signed over to 

her. The down payment for the wedding 

apartment she’d formally renounced was also 

transferred to her. Combined, it was a substantial sum. She did not stop to calculate the total. 

She set the agreement aside and pulled out the remaining item from the envelope: a small dark gray gift box tied with a black silk ribbon. 

She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside lay a brooch shaped like an aurora. A silver base was inlaid with tiny diamonds forming a soft arc, shifting shades of green and purple in the light. The craftsmanship was exquisite, clearly a custom piece, not mass–produced. 

She flipped it over. Tiny engraved words lined the back: To Keqin–Clarity, long overdue. 

The carved grooves were filled with black paint. 

Beneath the brooch lay a single sheet of letter paper, folded into thirds. She unfolded it. There was only one line written across the page: I’ve signed the papers. I won’t bother you again. Wishing you all the best for your future. 

The handwriting was smudged and wrinkled, ink bleeding across several characters as if tears had 

fallen onto the page. 

Kelly held the brooch up to the light. The tiny 

diamonds cast delicate sparkles across her 

fingers. It was beautiful–the kind of thoughtful, 

one–of–a–kind gift she had once dreamed of 

receiving, engraved with her name just for her. 

Yet looking at it now, she felt absolutely nothing. 

No joy, no anger, no sorrow, only complete and 

utter peace. 

It was like waiting endlessly for a bus. When it 

finally arrived, she no longer needed to board it. 

She placed the brooch back into its box, retied the 

ribbon, and set the box alongside the agreement. 

She tucked both items deep into the bottom 

drawer of her desk, pushing old envelopes and 

bills on top to cover them completely. 

She closed the drawer. She would not throw them. 

away on purpose, but she would never take them 

out again. 

She stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it 

open. 

The April wind of Northern Europe streamed 

inside, carrying the damp scent of melting snow 

and faint earthy undertones. 

In the distance across the fjord, an icebreaker 

sailed slowly out of the harbor. Its bright red hull 

stood out vividly against the deep blue water, 

leaving a long white wake that stretched farther 

and farther away. 

Kelly rested her palms on the windowsill and 

closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. 

When she opened them again, sunlight spilled 

across her face. She turned back to her desk and 

picked up her new camera. The lens cap was already off. 

She adjusted the settings, raised the camera, and 

framed the sky outside the window. The 

viewfinder showed a bright, perfectly clear scene- 

no mold spots, no blurriness. 

She pressed the shutter. 

Click. The sound was soft. 

She lowered the camera and checked the screen. 

A cloudless blue sky filled the frame, uniform and 

bright. No one else appeared in the shot. Just the 

sky she had captured for herself.