Elena needed him less and less.

When the third year’s report arrived, Arthur was in the middle of a meeting.

He opened the envelope in front of all his executives and read it page by page. His expression shifted from tension to a blank stare, then finally stopped.

[Psychological age assessment: 24 years old. Patient has reached the cognitive level of a normal adult. It is recommended to complete the treatment assessment by the end of this month. If there are no complications, she may be officially discharged.]

24 years old.

Arthur stared at that line, suddenly feeling a sour ache in his nose.

"Meeting adjourned." He dropped those two words, walked out of the conference room, and dialed the sanitarium.

"I am Elena’s family member. When can she be discharged? I’m coming to pick her up."

A gentle female voice came through the phone: "Mr. Arthur, Miss Elena’s discharge assessment is scheduled for next Wednesday."

"If she passes, she can leave."

"However, the patient’s psychological state is completely different now from when she left. Please, prepare yourself mentally."

Arthur tightened his grip on the phone.

"What do you mean?"

"In layman’s terms, the Miss Elena you knew is now a 24-year-old, independent, sound adult. She may not be as reliant on you or as intimate with you as before. Please, you must respect her boundaries."

Arthur did not speak.

He stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at the city lights outside.

He suddenly remembered the little girl from three years ago who threw herself into his arms and cried, "Arthur, I miss you so much."

The girl who would secretly write in a diary, who would fill entire pages with his name, who would be happy all day just because of one word from him.

Was she really gone?

"I understand." He hung up the phone and turned to his assistant. "Book a flight to Zurich for next Wednesday. First class, and book two tickets for the return trip."

He paused again: "And order a bouquet of flowers—white bellflowers. She used to like them."

The assistant asked cautiously: "Mr. Arthur, should I tell Miss Elena in advance that you are coming to pick her up?"

Arthur thought about it and shook his head.

"No, I want to give her a surprise."

What he didn't know was that, ten thousand miles away at the Zurich sanitarium, Elena was sitting in the doctor’s office, listening to her attending physician give her final discharge consultation.

"Miss Elena, your assessment results are excellent," the doctor said with a smile. "However, I would like to remind you that you may face some emotional challenges after discharge. You have some complex feelings for your uncle... Mr. Arthur, don't you?"

Chapter 11

Elena lowered her eyes, not denying it.

"We worked through many traumatic memories during treatment, but we didn't touch upon love," the doctor said gently. "Because that is something you need to face on your own. Elena, do you love him?"

She remained silent for a long time, eventually saying, "I don't know. I used to be unable to distinguish between dependency and love. Now I feel I can tell the difference, but I am afraid of the answer."

The doctor nodded. "Then wait until you see him, and let the answer reveal itself."

As she walked out of the doctor's office, she passed the nurses' station and heard two nurses chatting in French.

"That Chinese man is here again. It’s the third time this month."

"Isn't it supposed to be once a month? Why has he become so frequent?"

"I heard the patient is about to be discharged; he’s probably nervous. Yesterday, he stood at the entrance for four hours, just watching the corridor through the glass."

Elena’s footsteps faltered.

Arthur was here yesterday?

She walked to the end of the corridor and looked out through the small glass window.

It was snowing outside, and the sky had already darkened; there was nothing there.

But she suddenly recalled him shouting "Please, don't give up on me" through the iron gate three years ago, and her heart gave a sharp, painful throb.

Tomorrow, she would be discharged.

Tomorrow, Elena would see him.

Should she call him Uncle, or Arthur?

Should she rush up and hug him, or offer a polite handshake?

Elena clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

Elena, you are no longer a child.

You cannot be willful, you cannot be dependent, and you cannot make things difficult for him again.

Tomorrow, you must act like an adult.

An adult who no longer clings to him.

On the day of discharge, the sky was clear.

Elena changed into a camel-colored coat; her hair had grown to her waist. She wore light makeup and a pair of beige high heels.

The woman in the mirror was a different person from the girl three years ago who wore hospital pajamas and had a timid gaze.

The nurse walked her to the front gate, smiling as she said, "Miss Elena, you look beautiful."

"Thank you."

The iron gate opened, and a cold breeze rushed in.

A black sedan was parked at the entrance.

Arthur was leaning against the car door, wearing a dark gray overcoat.

He was thinner than he had been three years ago, with a hint of gloom between his brows, but his features were still impossibly deep.

The moment he saw Elena, he froze.

Elena walked toward him in her high heels, step by step, each step feeling like it was treading on his heartbeat.

When she reached him, Elena stopped and extended her hand.

"Uncle, long time no see."

Her voice was calm, polite, and distant.

Arthur looked down at her outstretched hand, hesitant to take it.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice so hoarse it was barely audible: "Elena..."

"Just call me Elena," she smiled. "I’m grown up now; you don’t have to use my full name."

Arthur finally took her hand. His palm was burning hot, and his fingers trembled slightly, gripping her tight as if afraid she might run away.

She pulled back gently, but he wouldn't let go.

"Uncle, you’re holding on too tight."

Arthur finally let go, his gaze complex as he watched her. "You really have changed."

"People change." Elena tucked her hands into her coat pockets. "Let's go; the plane won't wait."

The car pulled away from the sanitarium, driving through the streets of Zurich.

Along the way, the car was terrifyingly quiet.

Elena pretended to look out the window, but from the corner of her eye, she could feel him watching her the entire time.

As they neared the airport, he finally spoke: "You haven't been home for three years; the house has changed a lot."

"I know. Cassie changed it," she said calmly. "It doesn't matter; I'm going to move out anyway."

The car braked sharply.

"Move out?" Arthur turned his head, his brows knit tightly.

"Yes, Uncle. I’m twenty-four; it’s time to be independent."

Elena turned to look at him, her smile perfectly appropriate. "I can’t just rely on you for the rest of my life, right?"

Arthur’s face turned grim in an instant.

Chapter 12

"Elena, you are angry with me."

"No."

Elena shook her head. Just as she was about to say something, his phone rang.

The name that popped up on the screen made her entire body stiffen—Cassie.

Arthur glanced at it and hung up immediately.

"Why is she still contacting you?"

Elena asked, her tone colder than she had intended.

"She keeps pestering me," Arthur frowned. "I won’t pay attention to her."

"Oh."

Another silence.

After boarding the plane, Elena fastened her seatbelt, ordered an orange juice, and opened a magazine, all by herself.

Arthur sat beside her, watching her the whole time.

"What are you looking at?" She didn't even lift her head.

"You used to..." he paused, "you used to let me fasten your seatbelt for you."

"The past is the past." Elena turned a page of the magazine. "Uncle, one cannot live in the past forever."

Arthur stopped speaking.

During the dozen-hour flight, she slept for a while. When she woke up, she found a blanket draped over her.

Arthur hadn't slept; the skin under his eyes was dark, and he had been staring at files the entire time.

"Aren't you going to rest?"

"I’m not sleepy." His voice was very soft. "I’m afraid that if I close my eyes, you’ll disappear."

Elena’s heart gave a sharp tug, as if someone had gripped it firmly with their hand.

But she quickly suppressed the emotion and said indifferently, "Where would I go? Haven't I returned to the country with you?"

When the plane landed, it was eleven o'clock at night.

An assistant came to pick them up, and the car drove back to the villa where Elena had lived for twelve years.

She stood at the entrance, looking at the unfamiliar decor, unable to help but freeze for a moment.

The painting of the stars on the wall was gone, replaced by a cold, abstract piece.