Chapter 3

Chapter 3

At the time, he'd been holding Shen Qinghe up amid the smell of alcohol and the noise of the crowd.

“Qinghe's drunk. I'll call you back in a little while.”

He hadn't called back.

When he came home the next day and saw how pale I was, he'd asked what was wrong.

“I'm fine,” I'd said.

He believed me. Or, more precisely, he needed me to be fine.

Now he kept turning the pages. Gastric endoscopy results. Emergency registration forms. Late-night ride bookings. Photos of hospital receipts.

Beneath each, I'd written a short note.

“Gu Huai is at Qinghe's exhibition.”

“Gu Huai says I'm making a fuss over nothing.”

“Gu Huai told his assistant to bring porridge.”

“Gu Huai didn't answer.”

Farther on, even those few words grew scarce.

The last page held half a prenatal examination form. It had been torn; only the lower half remained. A doctor's instruction was still visible.

“A family member should accompany the patient for further examination.”

Where had the other half gone?

He didn't know. He'd never known.

His phone rang. Shen Qinghe.

He looked at the scrapbook and let it ring. As soon as the call ended, she called again. Finally, he answered.

“Huai, are you all right?” she asked softly. “Your mother said your wife has moved out. Was it because of me?”

He lowered his eyes to the torn form.

“Qinghe.”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember what happened on September 17, three years ago?”

A silence on the other end. Brief. So brief it could almost be missed.

Then she said, “It's been so long. I don't really remember. Why?”

He closed his eyes. “Nothing.”

He hung up.

That night, he couldn't sleep for the first time. Not because I'd left. Because he had suddenly realized how often, in places he never saw, I'd endured pain alone.

4

When I woke after surgery, my throat was so dry it felt as though I'd swallowed sand. The nurse gave me a little water.

“Your emergency contact has been changed to Lin Xi.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

She glanced at my phone. “You've had a lot of missed calls.”

I didn't look. I knew who they were from.

Before, I had always answered when Gu Huai called. In the shower, in a meeting, on an IV drip, or just after I'd finally fallen asleep at three in the morning. I was always afraid he'd be unhappy if he couldn't reach me.

Only later did I understand: when he couldn't reach me, it wasn't that he needed me. He just wasn't used to it.

Lin Xi came to collect me when I was discharged. The moment she saw my face, her eyes reddened.

“Su Wen, are you out of your mind? You had surgery and didn't even tell me?”

“You would've cried.”

She snatched my bag. “I'm crying now!”

She scolded me as she helped me into the car.

I'd rented my new apartment in advance. Just over forty square meters, with one bedroom and a living room, facing south. A breakfast stall downstairs sent the smell of fried dough up on the breeze at six every morning.

Compared with Gu Huai's two-hundred-square-meter luxury apartment, it was plain. But the moment I opened the door, I felt at peace.

No one to wait for. No need to guess who he was with tonight. No sitting at the dining table, finding an excuse to give in.

I opened my suitcase and hung up my clothes wherever I liked. I didn't need to sort them by color, keep his suits within easy reach, or reserve a drawer for his ties.

The apartment was small. Every inch was mine.

That afternoon, I opened my laptop and started dealing with things I'd put off far too long.

Contact a lawyer. List our marital assets. Arrange the division of ownership of our home. End my continuing exposure as guarantor for his company. Retrieve all my medical records from the past three years.

And the completed branding plan credited to Shen Qinghe instead of me.

After hearing me out, my lawyer, Chen, asked over the phone, “Ms. Su, are you sure you want to pursue this? It's been a long time.”

“I'm sure.”

“We'll need the original drafts, creation dates, file-transfer records, and message history.”

“I have all of it.”

My laptop screen glowed. In the folder were draft one, draft two, draft three, draft seventeen. Every version had a creation timestamp and a record of my edits.

I also had the messages Gu Huai had sent that year.

“Wenwen, let's leave your name out of the credits for now. The investors think more highly of Qinghe's credentials.”

“You're my wife. You don't need to compete with Qinghe over a little recognition.”

“Once the project is stable, I'll make it up to you.”

Looking at them, I suddenly laughed.

“What is it?” Chen asked.

“Nothing.”

I was only thinking how foolish I'd been.