Chapter 7

Xue Shiye knew I disliked crowds and rarely pressed me to attend his social gatherings. I knew his work kept him busy, so I never sulked when he was occasionally late.

We chose furniture together and grew a pothos that stubbornly refused to get any bigger. He couldn’t cook, but loved grocery shopping with me. Every trip, he took out his phone to calculate which bundle was better value.

I teased him. An architect, counting every penny over a cabbage?

He answered in all seriousness.

“I’ll have a family to support. Of course I need to budget.”

I loved hearing him speak of the future.

Because I was in it.

He proposed on our second anniversary. No grand ceremony. We were eating when he suddenly produced a ring and asked whether I would share his life from then on.

I couldn’t stop crying. As he put the ring on me, his hand trembled more than mine. He smiled and wiped away his own tears.

When we discussed the date, I asked for September seventeenth. He asked why. I only said it mattered to me.

He agreed.

Then I asked for Elm Hall.

It was old and far from his family’s home. His parents wanted a reception at a luxury hotel, but he turned them down for me.

“As long as Wangshu likes it.”

That night, he held me and asked why I was so determined about the hall. After a long hesitation, I told him:

“There are memories there I don’t want to discuss. I want to begin again in that place.”

He kissed my forehead.

“All right. Then from now on, let’s fill it with happy memories.”

I held him tightly.

I believed him. I believed I could finally put the regrets of five years ago behind me. That the man before me would spend the rest of his life with me.

So when he first disappointed me, I didn’t leave.

Nor the second time.

Again and again, I found excuses. Work was busy. Wedding preparations were tiring. Once this rush was over, once we were married, he would be himself again.

Somewhere along the way, he stopped asking what I actually wanted.

Eight months ago, we were supposed to finalize the hall decorations. I had booked the appointment a month ahead.

Half an hour before we were due to leave, he said he couldn’t come.

Lin Yingqiao had sprained her ankle practicing a dance. She couldn’t reach anyone else, so he had to take her to the hospital.

I didn’t stop him. She was injured. How could he leave her?

But I waited at the hall until late afternoon before he messaged to say she was fine and only needed rest.

“That’s good,” I replied.

Then I asked when he would be free so I could rebook with the staff.

Much later, he answered:

“Just decide these things yourself. I wouldn’t be any help there anyway.”

I stared at the chat for a long time before typing:

“Okay.”

After that, he became less and less willing to help prepare.

The guest list was mine to write. The invitations were mine to choose. The ceremony was mine to arrange with the host.

If I occasionally asked his opinion, he snapped: