I can't even remember when the last time was.

I only recall that long, long ago, we would go for walks in the park on weekend evenings.

He would hold my hand, or sometimes not, just walking side by side.

When we reached the lakeside, there would be a breeze, and he would stand on the windward side—as natural as breathing.

Back then, he would cancel an entire week’s schedule when I had a fever, moving his meeting room into our home.

When I woke up in the middle of the night, he would be sitting by the bedside, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, yet he would tirelessly replace the wet towel on my forehead, over and over again.

In those days, there were no misunderstandings between us, no cold wars, and no note from Selina.

When he looked at me, his eyes were full of light; when I looked at him, my heart was full of peace.

I thought those days would last forever.

I thought that no matter which direction the wind blew, he would stand in front of me and block everything for me.

But later, the wind became too strong.

I don't know if he was blown away, or if I walked away myself.

As these memories surged, I suddenly felt my eyes grow hot.

It wasn't because the present was too bitter, but because the past was too good.

It was so good that I took it for granted, forgetting that such a person and such love require cultivation.

"I'm sorry," I said very, very softly.

Julian looked at me, stunned.

The sunlight outside the window shone in, landing on his reddened eyes—bright, like shattered glass.

We had finally reconciled.

Not with each other, but with our own conflicted inner selves.

I had waited a long time for those three words, and he had waited just as long.

But I knew that Julian, just like me, did not feel the relief I had imagined when those words were finally spoken.

"You don't need to apologize," he said, his voice raspy.

"I need to," I said. "Not for you, but for myself."

"I don't want to go on like this anymore."

Julian froze.

At that moment, my phone suddenly vibrated.

Julian picked it up, glanced at it, and his expression changed immediately.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He turned the phone screen toward me.

It was a message from my mother: [Clara, Mom is home. Your mother-in-law called again just now, saying that after you leave the hospital, you should go stay at her place for a few days—she wants to ‘teach you some manners.’ Mom already agreed for you, so don’t talk back, just be obedient.]

I stared at the text, feeling no anger, no grievances.

Only a deep, heavy exhaustion.

Like someone who has been soaking in water for too long and can no longer feel the cold.

But Julian’s fingers, gripping the phone, were trembling.

"Teach you some manners?" he recited the words syllable by syllable, his voice as cold as ice. "What kind of manners does my mother want to teach you?"

I didn't answer.

He set the phone down and looked up at me.

In his eyes was a very dark light, like the oppressive, suffocating darkness before a storm.

In the next second, he picked up his own phone and began to type.

[Mom, Clara will not be coming to live with you. She doesn't need to learn any manners, and she didn't marry me to learn them.]

[I married her to treat her well, not to let her suffer grievances.]

[If you cannot treat her well and cannot accept her as family, then don’t bother acknowledging me either.]

After sending the message, he placed the phone firmly on the nightstand.

The dull thud was filled with all his emotions.

On my face, he wore his own expression—grim and resolute, like a trapped beast that had finally bared its fangs.

I looked at him and sighed: "Julian, you didn't need to do that."

There was still residual anger in his eyes, but the moment he saw me, that anger slowly sank—sinking to the very bottom.

"I needed to," his voice was heavy, so heavy that each word hit like a fist against a wall. "You should have told me everything and let me handle these things, instead of you bearing it all alone."

Julian’s mother did not reply to that text.

That silence was more deafening than any verbal abuse—because it meant he had finally rendered her speechless.

I suddenly wanted to hug him.

I stood up, my bare feet touching the cold tile floor. Under his stunned gaze, I bent down and wrapped my arms around him.

Using his arms to circle my own shoulders.

Using his chest to press against my own heartbeat.

Julian stiffened.

He didn't push me away, nor did he hug me back; he just stayed rigid like that for a long time.

Then, he slowly buried his face into my shoulder.

Soon, I felt warm liquid soaking through the collar of my hospital gown.

He was crying, using my body, sobbing silently—crying like a child who had endured for a lifetime and finally didn't have to anymore.

Chapter 7

I don't know when the rain started outside the window.

It wasn't the downpour from the day of the accident; it was a fine, dense, silent rain.

Water streamed down the glass, blurring the sky outside into a hazy gray.

I didn't let go. Neither did he.

"Clara, when we get out of the hospital, whether we’ve switched back or not, let’s start over, okay?"

"Not going back to the past, but starting fresh. Something new."

My whole body stiffened, but he didn't notice.

I was very thankful that Julian couldn't see my eyes right now.

Because if he saw them, he would know that I still intended to leave.

He didn't know that I had already booked the plane ticket to France.

I didn't answer him, but he took it as a default, hugging me even tighter.

In the days that followed, Julian seemed like a different person.

Or rather, he had changed back to the person he used to be.

The person who would pour a glass of warm water and leave it by the bedside before I woke up in the morning.

The person who would frown when the nurse came to draw blood, standing in front of me and asking, "Can you be more gentle?"

The person who would silently tuck his own quilt over me after I had inadvertently mentioned, "I'm a little cold."

As Julian helped me dry my hair, I closed my eyes, thinking back many years.

Back then, we were just married, living in a small apartment.

Every time I washed my hair, he would help me dry it like this.

I would say it didn't need drying, that it would dry on its own. He said no, that my previous migraines were because I hadn't dried my hair properly.

I said I didn't remember, and he said he remembered.

Back then, I didn't know what he was thinking when he said those three words: "I remember."

Now I know.

He was saying: Your business, I remember it all. What you’ve forgotten, I will remember for you.

My eyes grew hot, but I didn't open them.

I was afraid that if I opened my eyes, I would see that look of heartache—the "Julian-style" pain—reflected on my own face.

I was afraid I wouldn't be able to resist saying "yes," wouldn't be able to resist saying let’s start over, wouldn't be able to resist crossing that trip to France off my schedule.

But I couldn't.

The better he treated me these past few days, the clearer my mind became.

His current tenderness was compensation.

Compensation for the days he wasn't there, compensation for the words he didn't say, compensation for the "I'm sorry" he had owed me for three years.

But compensation is not life.

Life is long, mundane, and day after day.

Could he be like this every single day from now on?

Could he refrain from losing his temper when I acted unreasonably again?

Could he refrain from getting angry when I doubted him again?

I didn't know.

I only knew that I dared not gamble anymore.

There had been problems in this marriage long ago; it wasn't just because of those misunderstandings. Even if the misunderstandings were cleared, the problems remained.

One day, two days, three days—the day of departure was getting closer.

Every night, I thought of the same thing—if we haven't switched back by tomorrow, I will cancel the ticket.

I couldn't exactly fly to France in Julian’s body.

Using his passport, his face, his name, to start my new life.

On the night before the date on my ticket, Julian helped me tuck in the quilt, just like the days before.

Then he bent down and dropped a gentle kiss on my forehead.