"Those boxes... every single one of them was a gift Andrea gave me over the years."

"That blue velvet one was a pair of wool gloves she bought with her first month's salary during her first year of work. I scolded her for wasting money, so she never dared to give them to me openly again. She would secretly put them under my pillow or tuck them into my wardrobe."

"That paper box with the faded ribbon was the first scarf she learned to knit. The stitches were crooked and ugly, so I wore it once and then put it away."

"And that small wood-grain box... she put a pair of pearl earrings in there for my birthday two years ago. They weren't big, but the style was exactly what I liked when I was young. I was so busy preparing a birthday party for Macy that day that I didn't even look closely; I just tossed it aside."

She counted them one by one, her voice getting lower.

"I thought those boxes, just like her, would always be there. That they wouldn't be lost, and she wouldn't run away." She collapsed, leaning against the unit, her body shaking with sobs as she gasped for air. "I was wrong. I was so wrong. I kept all the boxes safely... I didn't 'not want' them. I just thought there was still time. That there would be many more 'later's."

Chapter 15

Andrea’s funeral was held on a gloomy morning.

Very few people attended. Aside from Julian and Andrea’s parents, there were only a few former colleagues from the convenience store where she once worked. The scene was heart-wrenchingly desolate.

Andrea’s mother wept uncontrollably from beginning to end, nearly unable to stand. She had to be supported on both sides by Arthur and Macy.

As she gazed at her daughter’s small funeral portrait, her tears of remorse never ceased.

Julian, however, was unusually calm.

Dressed in a solemn black suit, he stood at the very front with a silent expression, his gaze fixed on Andrea’s portrait, which captured her with a faint smile.

As he held the urn, which still seemed to carry a trace of warmth, Julian’s fingers trembled slightly for a moment before he regained his composure.

He did not follow his mother-in-law's suggestion to place the ashes in a cemetery; instead, he took them home.

He returned to the house that was once full of life but was now only cold and empty.

Julian placed the small urn on the most prominent cabinet in the living room, right next to their wedding photo.

He looked around.

Every corner of this home seemed to retain traces of Andrea.

On the balcony, the potted plants she had meticulously cared for were now wilting due to neglect.

In the kitchen, there was the cat-patterned mug she always used.

On the sofa lay the thin, faded blanket she often used to cover herself.

On the study shelves were her old books about cooking.

He remembered when they were first married, how Andrea would use limited ingredients to make simple yet varied meals, saying with a smile, "When we have our own kitchen in the future, I’ll cook a full imperial feast for you."

He remembered how she worked several jobs at once to pay off the debts, coming home late at night and falling asleep on the sofa from exhaustion. When he gently covered her with a blanket, she would grab his hand in her daze and mumble, "Julian, I’ll pay it off soon. I won't be a burden to you."

He remembered when her stomach hurt, she would always endure it in silence. After he discovered it, she would force a smile to comfort him, saying, "It’s just an old problem. I'll be fine after some hot water."

He remembered how she secretly saved money to buy him the fountain pen he had casually mentioned liking, packaging it meticulously and handing it to him like a treasure, her eyes sparkling.

Then, in that final month.

He clearly remembered himself saying to a pale Andrea: "Macy isn't staying long this time, only one month. I want to spend more time with her."

And Andrea had only looked at him calmly, nodded, and said: "Okay."

How could he have said those words so easily back then?

What exactly had blinded his eyes and heart?

Late at night.

Julian remained seated on the living room sofa without turning on the lights. Only sparse lamplight and moonlight filtered in from the window.

A sudden ringtone broke the deathly silence.

It was Macy calling.

Julian stared at the name jumping on the screen. A trace of faint weariness and numbness crossed his heart, but he picked up regardless.

"Julian! Something's wrong!" Macy’s voice carried a panicked sob, with a noisy background. "Mom suddenly collapsed! We just brought her to the Emergency Room at the First City Hospital!"

Julian pinched the bridge of his nose.

Andrea had just left, and now his mother-in-law was in trouble. He responded tiredly, "I understand. I'm coming over now."

After hanging up, he glanced at Andrea’s urn and said in a low voice, "I’m going out for a bit."

When he arrived at the Emergency Department, Andrea’s mother had already been pushed into the resuscitation room.

Arthur waited anxiously at the door, his face ashen.

Macy’s eyes were red and swollen. Seeing Julian was like seeing a savior: "Julian! You're here! The doctor says she needs a blood transfusion immediately, or Mom will be in danger! But there isn't enough blood."

"Take mine," Julian rolled up his sleeve and said to the nearby nurse. "I'm Type O. Take mine for the emergency first."

The nurse shook her head: "Sir, the patient is Rh-negative. She must have a cross-matched transfusion of the same type. Type O won't work; there would be a severe hemolytic reaction."

Julian was stunned. Rh-negative? He only knew his mother-in-law had a rare blood type, but he hadn't realized it was this one.

"Then... what about Macy?" Arthur looked at Macy as if catching the last straw. "Macy, you are Mom’s daughter. Your blood type..."

The nurse looked at Macy and then at the charts in her hand. "We have already tested Ms. Macy’s blood type. Ms. Macy is Type B, Rh-positive. She does not meet the criteria for the transfusion."

"What?" Arthur’s eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at Macy.

Julian was also frozen. Both of Andrea’s parents were Rh-negative; how could this be, unless—?

Arthur had clearly realized something as well. He looked at the closed door of the resuscitation room, then at the daughter before him. His lips trembled, but he couldn't utter a single word.

Chapter 16

After the transfusion, Andrea’s mother fortunately moved out of critical danger and was transferred to a general ward for observation.

Once the anesthesia wore off, Macy immediately stepped forward. "Mom, you're awake? How do you feel?" Her face was full of concern, yet her voice carried an imperceptible tension.

Martha looked at her, her gaze resting on her face.

"Macy," she spoke, her voice hoarse and dry, carrying an exhaustion that came from a weary soul. "The nurse showed me your blood type report."

Macy’s body stiffened, and her eyes began to dart away. "Mom, blood type doesn't prove anything. Maybe... maybe the hospital made a mistake back then, or..."

"A mistake?" Martha closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her eyes were filled with bottomless agony. "Once is a mistake, but twice? When we found you and brought you back, it was based on your childhood photos, the birthmark on your body, and the story from your foster parents. But there was actually a physical exam later. I saw the report and had my doubts, but seeing how well-behaved you were, I thought perhaps there was an error somewhere. I couldn't bear to let you experience being abandoned again, so I deceived myself and suppressed it."

With every word she spoke, Macy’s face grew a shade paler.

"I always thought that because Andrea had occupied your place for so many years, we owed you and had to compensate you doubly. So I favored you, spoiled you, and gave you the best of everything, even ignoring Andrea and making her suffer." Tears rolled down from her clouded eyes, flowing silently. "I thought I was making up for a mistake. I thought I was being true to my conscience."

"Mom! No! Don't think like that!" Macy panicked. She grabbed her mother’s hand and said urgently, "I am your daughter! Has our bond all these years been a lie? I know I'm willful sometimes, but I'm just so afraid of losing you! When I knew it might not be true back then, I was afraid too, but you were so good to me! I couldn't let go... I couldn't give up this warmth! I didn't mean to steal Sister's things; I just wanted to be loved, to be noticed!" She wept pitiably.