I still remained silent.

Julian spoke again: "Selina, I previously..."

He stopped, realizing he had subconsciously used his own tone.

He glanced at me quickly, then adjusted his pitch, continuing in my voice:

"My husband should have made it very clear to you before. For work matters, contact us during work hours. Private visits and gifts are unnecessary."

Selina was stunned.

She clearly hadn't expected "Clara" to speak up at this moment, nor to use such an uncompromising tone.

Her gaze shifted back and forth between me and Julian, the smile on the corner of her mouth freezing; she couldn't even pull it off.

"Sister-in-law, that’s not what I meant..." Her voice sounded tight. "I was just genuinely worried about Julian’s health, nothing else—"

"Nothing else is for the best," Julian interrupted, his tone remaining flat. "He needs to rest, and we are both fine. You should go back."

The air in the ward seemed to vanish.

Selina stood there, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles turned white.

She looked at me—or rather, looked at "Julian"—seemingly waiting for some response from me.

But I remained silent, simply watching her quietly with Julian’s eyes.

No anger, no hostility, not even a hint of emotion.

And it was that void that made her feel more humiliated than any words could.

Because it meant—she wasn't even worth "Julian’s" attention.

"Then... I’ll go."

Selina managed a strained smile, picked up her bag, and turned to walk out.

The sound of her heels was much faster than when she arrived, a bit flustered, a bit pathetic.

The ward grew quiet once more.

I looked at Julian, silent for a moment before speaking: "Those things, had you already said them to her?"

Julian looked at me deeply, his brows furrowing slightly.

"When you went through my phone three months ago, didn't you see that message?"

Chapter 3

Three months ago.

I searched my memory, desperately trying to recall that message—

He had said to Selina: [Please contact me during working hours in the future; my wife doesn’t really like me replying to messages in my private time.]

I had found it, and I had seen it.

But I didn't believe it.

I thought he had deleted other, more important things and left only this one for me to see.

I opened my mouth, just about to say something.

The nightstand suddenly began to vibrate—it was my phone.

Julian reached out and picked it up.

Seeing that it was his mother calling, he pressed the answer button directly.

"Hello, Mom."

His mother’s voice came from the other end of the line, sounding somewhat hurried: "Clara, how is Julian? Is he badly hurt?"

Julian glanced at me and replied in a flat tone: "He’s fine."

"Then why didn't he answer when I called his phone? Is he awake now? Let me talk to him."

For some reason, Julian answered impulsively: "He... Julian isn't awake yet. Tell me if there’s anything you need."

I froze.

There was silence on the other end for a second.

Immediately after, the tone of Julian's mother changed.

It was no longer the hurried concern from a moment ago, but a sharp, dissatisfied, and bitter reprimand.

"My son was always fine whenever he went out alone; how did such a disaster happen as soon as he was with you?"

"Tell me, what is the use of you being a wife? You can’t cook, you can’t do laundry, you can’t even manage a household. All you do is spend money every day. How much money does Julian have to earn for you to squander like this?"

"Look at Selina. Her father is a professor, her mother is a chief physician, and she’s a returnee from overseas. She knows how to make money, manage a home, and care about others. Last time Julian’s stomach was upset, Selina specially brewed soup and brought it to the company. And you? What were you doing?"

"You were only swiping his card at the mall to buy bags!"

"If you hadn't hounded Julian so shamelessly back then, would he have married you? Are you worthy? Are you worthy of our Julian family?"

Every word came through clearly from the receiver, landing in the quiet ward like poison-tipped needles.

Julian’s fingers tightened abruptly, his knuckles turning white.

He looked up at me in shock—and then he froze.

Because my face was calm; there was no anger, no grievances, not even any unnecessary expression.

It was as if I were listening to a recording I had already heard countless times.

Not the first time, not the second.

It was the hundredth time, every single time he wasn't there.

Julian seemed to suddenly realize something, and his eyes instantly turned red.

"Mom—" he interrupted his mother sharply.

But he had forgotten again that he was me now.

His mother wouldn't stop; she only became more furious: "Don't you dare call me Mom! I call you a daughter-in-law to give you face, but you tell me, are you worthy? I don't know what Julian saw in you back then. All these years, what do you have?"

"You have no looks, no ability. And when you finally got pregnant, you even had a miscarriage—"

"What did you say?!" Julian’s voice rose sharply.

There was a pause on the other end, and then she hung up directly.

In an instant, the hospital room became terrifyingly quiet.

He held the phone, his hand dropping, his whole body stiffened there as if paralyzed.

Long after, as if he finally had the courage to face me, he slowly turned his head to look at me.

"The child... when did that happen? Why didn't you tell me?"

I didn't answer.

It wasn't that I didn't want to tell him; it was that I didn't know where to start.

Three years ago, the day I found out I was pregnant, Julian happened to have a very important project and was away on a business trip.

He was very busy during that time, sleeping only four hours a day, and he rarely answered calls.

I wanted to wait for him to come back to tell him, to give him a surprise.

But just a week before he returned, the accident happened.

I fell down the stairs and was taken directly to the hospital.

The baby couldn't be saved. Julian’s mother stood by my bed without even sitting down, and her first words were: "Don't tell Julian about this. He’s busy; don’t add to his trouble."

Her second sentence was: "You couldn't even keep a child; it’s shameful to talk about it."

The third: "Ask yourself, are you worthy of anyone?"

She didn't ask if I was in pain, didn't ask if I had eaten, didn't ask if I needed company.

She left as soon as she finished speaking, the sound of her high heels echoing in the hallway for a long time.

From then on, she never gave me a pleasant look again.

On every occasion when Julian wasn't around, she humiliated me to the extreme.

It wasn't that I hadn't thought about telling Julian.

But after missing the first chance to speak, I couldn't bring myself to do it later.

I lowered my eyes faintly and spoke very, very softly.

"Because there is no need to bring it up anymore."

Chapter 4

Julian didn’t speak again.

Neither did I.

We who should have been the two closest people were now less than a meter apart.

But the distance between our hearts was so vast.

In the end, it was I who broke the silence.

"I’m tired." After speaking softly, I lay back on the hospital bed, turning my back to him.

Behind me, it was very quiet.

Quiet enough that I could hear his shallow breathing, the movement of his Adam's apple, and the sound of him sighing lightly after ultimately saying nothing.

I don't know how long passed; the sky outside the window had turned completely dark.

Just as I was drifting into sleep, a rapid sound of footsteps came from the hallway.

Not high heels, but flat shoes.

Carrying a kind of cautious lightness, afraid to disturb others.

And also carrying an irrepressible urgency, wanting to be just a little faster.

The door was gently pushed open.

"Clara..."

I recognized it instantly—that was my mother’s voice.

I was just about to sit up when Julian spoke: "Mom, why are you here?"

My mother looked at him—the one in "Clara's" body—for just a second, and her eyes immediately turned red.

"I heard you were in an accident, and I was so worried I took a bus here overnight." Her voice was very, very soft. "How are you? Where are you hurt? Does it hurt?"

Julian shook his head.

My mother sat down by the side of the bed and then glanced in the direction of me—the "Julian" body.

"Is Julian asleep?"

Julian looked at me.

I didn't move, nor did I open my eyes.