And then he said, "Andrea, let's get married."

For these past three years, he had treated her with impeccable kindness.

She had once been filled with gratitude and love, believing that the suffering was finally over and that they could truly support each other for the rest of their lives.

Until three months ago, when she accidentally stumbled upon that secret account.

She saw "The first day of our long-awaited reunion."

She saw the suppressed throbbing of his heart, the reminiscences, and the resentment hidden between the lines.

He hated Macy for abandoning everything—including him—to fly away without a second thought back then.

He hated that his deep affection had been betrayed.

And she, Andrea, had been nothing more than a tool he used for his revenge from start to finish.

Ding-dong—Ding-dong—

Andrea jerked violently. Gritting her teeth, she propped herself up against the edge of the bed and moved toward the door.

Through the peephole, the hallway light was dim. Julian was carrying someone in his arms.

Macy’s eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, and her long hair was disheveled. She was wrapped in his coat, sleeping without a hint of defensiveness.

Julian looked up, his brow slightly furrowed. He mouthed the words: "Open the door. She’s asleep, be quiet."

The moment the door opened a crack, Julian turned sideways and squeezed through. The bedroom door was pushed open gently and then closed just as softly.

From inside came a soothing whisper that was almost a murmur, followed by the rustling sound of a blanket being tucked in.

It was quite a while before Julian came out, pulling the door shut firmly behind him.

He walked into the living room. "You're still up?" he asked, his voice kept very low. "Macy had too much to drink and isn't feeling well. It was hard to find a cab outside, so I brought her back here first. She’ll stay here tonight." He paused, as if explaining, yet also giving an order. "You can make do in the guest room for tonight."

Andrea’s gaze moved from his face to the tightly shut master bedroom door, then back again.

Julian seemed to remember something and took two steps forward. "By the way, why did you call so many times today? Was there something going on?"

He looked at her pale face and the cold sweat on her forehead, his brow furrowing again. "Why do you look so terrible? Is your stomach acting up again?"

Andrea shook her head. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

"As long as you're okay." Julian seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, his tone softening. "Macy isn't staying long this time; she’s leaving after the New Year. I want to spend more time with her during this final month."

The stabbing pain in Andrea’s stomach came in waves, each one sharper than the last, nearly draining her of all strength.

She opened her mouth, her voice weak. "Julian... I... I haven't been feeling very well this month, either."

She lifted her eyes to look at him. Perhaps he would react like he used to—immediately worrying, immediately taking her to the hospital.

But Julian’s frown only deepened. He looked at Andrea, his tone carrying a hint of reproach and confusion. "Andrea, it wasn't easy for Macy to come back this once. You always liked to compete with her when you were kids. Why are you still like this now that you're grown up?"

He let out a sigh. "Stop making a scene, okay? We have a long future ahead of us. You can have me accompany you for as long as you want later. Just for this one month, let her have her way, alright?"

The pain in Andrea's stomach and the coldness in her heart intertwined into a dull numbness.

The corner of her mouth twitched. "I understand."

Chapter 3

Over the following week, Julian rarely came home.

However, every evening at 7:30 sharp, a notification for a food delivery would pop up on Andrea’s phone screen.

Then came his text: "Drink the porridge while it’s hot. Eat on time, don't make me worry."

She remembered the past. No matter how busy Julian was, he would try his best to rush back and spend an hour or two in the kitchen, slowly simmering a pot of her favorite soup.

He used to say that takeout was dirty and not as reassuring as home-cooked meals.

She never drank any of the porridge he sent.

Each time, she calmly tapped open that secret social media account.

Sure enough, there were daily updates.

"Day 65 of our reunion. Took her back to our old university. Walking down the shaded paths of the past, it felt as if nothing had changed."

"Day 67 of our reunion. She caught a cold. Bought her medicine and brewed ginger tea. She still doesn't know how to look after herself."

"Day 70 of our reunion. Accompanied her to look at apartments. She wants to set up a home here in the country as well."

During the second week, Andrea went to the hospital alone for her follow-up.

The process of chemotherapy was agonizing and long.

What followed was a wave of intense nausea. She vomited so violently in the hospital restroom that it felt as though she was bringing up bile itself.

Looking at her haggard reflection and her hair, which had thinned so much it could no longer hide her scalp, she turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over her face again and again.

Just as she reached the stairwell, her phone rang. The word "Dad" flashed on the screen.

Andrea froze. Her father rarely called her of his own accord.

She picked up, but before she could speak, his angry voice lashed out through the receiver: "Andrea! Where have you been today? Do you have any idea that it’s your mother’s birthday? The whole family has been waiting for you to eat! Your mother spent the entire afternoon working in the kitchen, and you managed to forget even this?"

Andrea’s fingers tightened around the phone, her nails digging into her palm.

Between the repeated chemotherapy sessions and the increasingly sharp bouts of pain this month, she truly had forgotten.

"I’m sorry, Dad," she said softly, her voice carrying an unmistakable weakness. "I..."

"Don't make excuses!" her father interrupted. "Get over here, right now! The food is getting cold!"

The call was abruptly disconnected.

Andrea listened to the dial tone, standing in the busy hospital corridor for a long time.

Her stomach was in turmoil, and the nausea she had just suppressed came rushing back.

She leaned against the cold wall, taking several deep breaths before she finally managed to push down the dizziness.

On her way, she asked the driver to stop in front of a high-end scarf boutique.

She walked in and used what little balance was left on her phone to pick out a new silk scarf recommended by the clerk.

This would likely be the last birthday gift she could ever give her mother.

The door opened quickly.

Her mother stood there with a bright smile, but the moment her eyes fell on Andrea, the joy vanished, replaced by blatant dissatisfaction and disdain.

She looked Andrea up and down, taking in her pale, gaunt face and lifeless eyes.

"Why do you look like such a mess?" her mother’s voice was sharp and impatient. "You look so gloomy, it's irritating just to look at you! Look at Macy—she’s like a ray of sunshine. She’s a joy to be around!"

Andrea felt a dull ache in her heart.

She lowered her eyelashes and didn't argue. She only said softly, "Mom, happy birthday."

She handed over the beautifully wrapped gift box.

Her mother glanced at it but didn't take it, stepping aside to let her in. "Come in. We were just waiting for you."

Andrea walked inside.

The dining table was already laden with dishes. It was a feast: braised prawns, steamed crabs, sea cucumbers with scallions, and fish soup.

Julian stood up immediately, pulling out the chair next to him. "I’m sorry, Andrea," he leaned in, whispering an explanation. "I’ve been so busy lately. I only heard Macy mention it today that it was Mom’s birthday. I meant to tell you, but I forgot in the rush. Macy just called me over as well."

Andrea nodded calmly. "It’s fine."

Julian was momentarily stunned by her overly calm reaction.

At that moment, Macy placed a piece of crab in her mother’s bowl. "Mom, you worked so hard! Quick, try the crab you made yourself! Your cooking just keeps getting better."

"Oh, you! Always such a sweet talker," Martha laughed, unable to hide her delight, as she peeled a shrimp for Macy. "If you like it, eat more!"

The atmosphere at the table became lively again. Her father sipped his wine, her mother and Macy laughed and chatted, and Julian chimed in occasionally, his gaze drifting toward Macy time and again.