But he was resilient. Through his own hard work, he gained admission to the best university, and from then on, his life seemed to skyrocket. He graduated with a doctorate at twenty-five, became a brilliant young scientist at twenty-eight, held multiple patents, and had a boundless future.

He thought everything would be smooth sailing from there, but at thirty, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease—early-onset and hereditary. To make matters worse, due to the condition, he made a mistake with a chemical during an experiment, leading to the accidental death of a junior lab colleague by poisoning.

Although he escaped prison due to his illness, his life entered its darkest hour. The former genius became a pariah, his old friends cut ties with him, his adoptive parents disowned him, and even his girlfriend of many years left without a word. The gossip and the endless retaliation from the victim’s family nearly drove him over the edge!

So he fled that city, hoping for a fresh start. But he never expected that when he sought a checkup in a new place, he would be diagnosed with terminal bone cancer.

In utter despair, he wanted to end everything with death, but he never expected to encounter Clara Vance.

"You see," Ethan said with a smile, his eyes sparkling under the moonlight, "we are both people abandoned by fate. But perhaps, we can pick each other up."

Fate is a strange thing; two people struggling in the dark became each other's salvation. They went through rehabilitation together, underwent treatment together, and learned how to live again together. Ethan accompanied her through hand rehabilitation exercises, and she accompanied him to chemotherapy; he taught her to read and write, and she cooked for him and brewed his medicine.

And so, love was born.

Unlike the way things had naturally progressed with Julian Vance, this time Clara received a formal confession.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon. Ethan was pushing her wheelchair through the park. Swans swam on the lake, and the willows were budding with new life. He suddenly stopped, knelt before her, and pulled a small box from his pocket.

Inside the box was a very simple silver ring with the name "Clara" engraved on the inside.

"Clara," he called her by her new name, his gaze gentle and serious, "I know you've been through many bad things, and you might no longer believe in love or fear being hurt again."

"But I still want to ask you—would you be willing to give me a chance to walk the rest of the road with you? It won't be long, maybe just a few years, but I will do my best to make it a little warmer."

Clara looked into his clear eyes and suddenly realized that all the insecurity, fear, and doubt in her heart had vanished in that moment.

True love wasn't something that made you feel anxious about gain and loss; it was something that made you feel at peace.

She reached out her hand and said softly, "Yes."

They registered their marriage soon after. There was no wedding; they just went to the Civil Affairs Bureau to have a photo taken. In the photo, both were smiling, with light in their eyes.

Later, they met Seraphina at an orphanage. Seraphina was only two then, small and thin, huddled in a corner. She didn't cry or make a fuss, she just quietly watched the other children play. Clara saw her and immediately felt as if she were looking at her younger self.

Ethan took her hand. "Let's bring her home."

And so, they had a home.

Their days were peaceful and warm. Ethan’s condition fluctuated; when he was well, he would teach Seraphina to draw and accompany Clara to work at the radio station. When he wasn't well, he would forget many things, even who they were.

But he never forgot to love them.

Until two years ago, when Ethan Jiang’s life reached its end.

It was a very peaceful summer night, the cicadas chirping in waves outside the window. He lay in the hospital bed, already very thin, but his gaze remained clear. He pulled a drawing from under his pillow and handed it to Clara.

The drawing showed two butterflies breaking out of their cocoons—one blue, one white—spreading their wings and flying toward the sun.

"Butterflies that have broken their cocoons have beautiful wings," Ethan said softly, his voice already very faint. "They can fly toward the sky, toward the wilderness. After I'm gone, don't lock yourself back inside that thick cocoon. Fly toward something more beautiful."

Clara held his hand and nodded vigorously.

"You'll be okay, right?" he asked.

"I will," she said.

Only then did Ethan close his eyes contentedly, a smile still on his lips.

Clara didn't cry. Perhaps when a person is at the limit of sorrow, they cannot shed tears; only the soul mourns and trembles.

But she remembered his words.

She had to fly.

Chapter 13

"Mom, I'm finished speaking."

Seraphina’s voice pulled Clara back to reality.

She looked down at her daughter and smiled tenderly. "Daddy must be very happy to hear all that."

Clara then spoke a little about her own recent life.

The job transfer, the changes at the radio station, and... meeting someone from her past.

"But I’m living well, Ethan. Don’t worry. Seraphina and I will both be okay."

After paying their respects, Clara prepared to leave.

To her surprise, as soon as she turned around, she saw Julian Vance.

Today, he was wearing a gray pullover hoodie and black trousers. He held a bouquet of white chrysanthemums in his hand, and his hair, free of the usual styling wax, fell softly against his forehead.

Dressed like this, he looked clean and refreshed—not like a man who had dominated the business world for years, but more like a student.

He looked remarkably like the boy in the alleyway years ago, whose mouth was bleeding from a fight but whose eyes remained stubbornly defiant.

Clara instinctively shielded her daughter and stepped back, looking at him with vigilance.

"What are you doing here!"

Julian explained hurriedly, "I just wanted to see you. I mean no harm!"

Clara said coldly, "You’ve seen me. Now you can leave."

Julian stood his ground, his gaze falling on Seraphina with a trace of melancholy.

"If our child were still here, they would probably be around Seraphina’s age, wouldn't they?"

Seraphina looked at him curiously. "Mom, how does this uncle know my name? Is he your friend?"

Clara stroked her head and softened her tone. "Just someone I know."

Julian felt an intense pang of bitterness in his heart.

He knelt down, trying to make his voice sound as gentle as possible. "Hello, Seraphina. I am your mother’s... old friend."

Seraphina blinked and suddenly said, "Uncle, you look very sad."

Julian froze.

The child’s eyes were too pure; she had seen right through his facade at a single glance.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried to smile, but it looked more painful than crying.

Clara pulled Seraphina slightly behind her, her gaze inadvertently landing on the white chrysanthemums.

"Julian Vance, you are not welcome here."

"I only..." Julian’s voice choked up.

He looked at the photo on the tombstone. The man named Ethan Jiang smiled so gently, so cleanly, as if he had never been tainted by this world.

Finally, Julian’s gaze fell upon the delicate plate of osmanthus cakes.

In an instant, his eyes welled with tears.

He remembered that many years ago, there was an old osmanthus tree in the residential compound where they lived.

Every time the flowers bloomed, his mother would pick some to make osmanthus cakes.

He didn't like sweets and found the fragrance of osmanthus too overpowering, so he rarely ate them.

But Clara Vance loved them.

She would pester his mother to teach her how to make them, then spend the whole afternoon busy in the kitchen, her face covered in flour.

When they were done, she would run to him holding the steaming pastries. "Julian, try one! I put less sugar this time!"

He would frown and take a tiny bite, then say, "Still sweet."

But she wouldn't get angry. She would just laugh. "Then you eat the salty ones, and I'll eat the sweet ones."

Julian remembered clearly that during the days when the osmanthus bloomed best, Clara even dragged him to shake the tree.

The golden flowers rustled down, covering her hair and shoulders.

She twirled in the rain of flowers, her laughter as crisp as wind chimes.

Back then, he said, "Aren't you being silly?"

She replied, "You don't understand. This is called romance."

Thinking of it now, it felt like another lifetime.

Snapping back to the present, Julian strode forward and placed the white chrysanthemums beside the tombstone.

"Is this Seraphina’s father?"

Clara glanced at Seraphina and frowned slightly. "Let's find another place to talk."

She took Seraphina home, asked a neighbor to watch her for a while, and then found a nearby coffee shop to sit down with Julian.