"Ma'am, the meat is stewed until it's tender today. It's delicious."

From start to finish, I remained calm and composed, as if the person who had been discarded so carelessly by him—along with that old photo carrying the joys of youth—was not me.

His mother took notice and laughed to tease: "Ginger, I didn't just invite you here for a meal today."

I was slightly startled by this and looked up.

His mother's gaze swept meaningfully over Luna and then landed on Luke, leaning slightly to ask me.

"Luna is my colleague's daughter, just back from studying abroad. Luke isn't young anymore; what do you think about them being together?"

As her words fell, everyone at the table turned their eyes to me in unison.

Only Luke kept his head down, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the chopsticks.

I wiped the oil from the corner of my lips and forced out a smile: "They look very well-matched."

Only then did Luke raise his eyes, his brows carrying a hint of arrogance and laziness, as he feigned indifference to respond.

"It's rare for you to say something nice. You should have been this sensible long ago."

Chapter 3

After Luke finished speaking, Luna lowered her head shyly, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

My ears burned slightly, though it was out of shame and resentment.

Luke did it on purpose; he was telling me that only a woman like Luna was worthy of standing by his side.

And someone like me, who didn't know her place, was only fit to be thrown away.

I said nothing and reached out to scoop a bowl of fish soup.

The spoon trembled slightly, and a few drops of boiling broth splashed onto the back of my hand, instantly leaving glaring red marks.

But I silently pulled my hand back under the table, letting no one see.

His mother placed food in Luna's bowl and said with a smile, "Luke, you and Luna are getting along quite well. I think you should find a time for our two families to set the wedding date."

Luke paused for a moment, then said, "Sure, Mom, you arrange it."

As the words fell, Luna happily took his hand. Luke did not pull away; his fingers rested quietly on the table, letting her hold them.

The fish soup in front of me had just come off the stove, thick with steam. Forgetting to blow on it, I picked it up and took a big gulp.

The scalding broth poured into my mouth, burning all the way down my esophagus.

When it passed through my chest, it felt like something had been burned out of me, leaving a hole.

I was choked into a violent cough, my eyes instantly reddening.

For three years, I had begged for a public relationship and never got it.

Luna had only needed a month to secure his marriage proposal.

I suppressed the bitterness welling up in my heart and put on a calm expression.

His mother nudged me with her elbow, beaming, "Ginger, it looks like I'll be holding a grandchild soon."

"You need to hurry up too; don't wait until Luke is already a father while you're still single."

I smiled. "I won't. I might be there soon, too."

This wasn't a lie; my mother had been arranging blind dates for me lately, and I had refused all of them before.

But now, there was no reason to refuse anymore.

After all, Luke was no longer a necessity for me.

The meal ended, and I got up to say goodbye.

Walking out of the building, the night wind hit me in the face, carrying the humid heat of early summer.

A voice came from behind me: "Ginger."

I turned back.

Luke, having just seen Luna into her car, ran toward me and stopped in front of me.

The street lamp shone from behind him, so I couldn't see his expression clearly.

He said nothing, only extended his hand. Lying in his palm was a black hair tie.

It was the one I had left in his car on the day we broke up.

The edges were already frayed; it was very old.

Luke spoke, his voice very faint, "Take this back, don't let Luna see it and misunderstand."

I let out a soft laugh and took it from his hand. Our fingertips touched his palm, and for a moment, there was warmth.

He looked at me and spoke again: "Ginger, in the future, we could..."

In the next second, I swung my arm.

The black hair tie traced a very short arc in the air and fell silently into the trash can beside us.

Luke's words came to an abrupt halt.

He stared at the trash can, as if he couldn't believe I had actually thrown it away.

"You..." His voice was stuck in his throat, and he couldn't say another word for a long time.

I watched his stunned expression and smiled slightly. "In the future, we don't have to stay in touch, so as not to let Luna misunderstand."

I turned and walked toward the apartment complex gate. Behind me, Luke’s voice, suppressed with anger, called out, "Ginger, stop right there."

I didn't stop.

Footsteps caught up, and Luke grabbed my wrist, his grip much heavier than it had been in the room earlier.

"What did you mean just now?"

I was forced to stop, looking down at his hand—his knuckles were distinct, and the veins were slightly raised.

I slowly pulled my wrist away and looked up at him.

"I mean... I don't want it anymore."

Chapter 4

Luke's face darkened completely, his jaw tightened, and his narrow eyes stared dead at my face.

"Ginger, what exactly do you want me to do?"

I didn't speak. He pressed, "Is it because of the few mean words I said to you on the day we broke up?"

A self-deprecating curve appeared at the corners of my mouth.

Those few mean words were heavy enough to crush a person, yet in his mouth, they were as light as a joke.

Luke continued, his tone carrying a trace of impatience.

"Luna is much easier to coax than you; she wouldn't be so calculating like you."

The street lamp fell on Luke's face—a face I had seen for over twenty years, but for the first time, it felt like a stranger's.

"Then go coax her."

His face darkened completely, his voice lowered, and every word sounded like it was squeezed through his teeth.

"Do you think I can't live without you?"

I looked at him, silent in response.

"Good." Luke curled the corners of his mouth into a smile.

He then left me with a back filled with anger, turned around, and stomped into the building.

When the building door was pushed open, it made a harsh, metallic friction sound, then slammed shut.

I turned around as well and continued walking toward the gate.

A few steps later, a loud "bang" sounded from behind.

Something was thrown from a second-floor window, shattering on the ground into several pieces.

Under the light of the street lamp, I recognized it as a ceramic cup.

It was one I had made by hand, and the first birthday present I had ever given him.

The bottom of the cup still had the label I had written in my own hand: "To Luke, Happy 23rd Birthday."

It had taken a month to fire, and I had ruined over a dozen pots before finally making this one that was barely presentable.

Now it was shattered.

Immediately after, a second object was thrown down.

It was the scarf I had knitted—grey, the stitches crooked, ripped out and re-knitted, my fingers pricked by the knitting needles I didn't know how many times.

He had said it was too ugly and wouldn't wear it, but every winter, he hung it in the very back of his wardrobe.

Now it was rolled into a ball, thrown out of the window, and landed by the flower bed, covered in mud.

The third item was a watch; he said the style was too old-fashioned.

The fourth item was a wallet; he said it was out of date.

I looked up, only seeing those things being thrown from the window one by one; I couldn't see his face.

The sound of them hitting the ground, one by one, was like someone pointing a gun at my chest.

I didn't stay any longer and turned to leave.

At the entrance of the complex, I hailed a taxi. As I sat in the back seat and the door closed, I realized my hands were shaking.

"Miss, where to?" the driver asked.

I gave the address of my home, my voice so hoarse I didn't recognize it myself.

As the words fell, my phone screen lit up—a social media notification.

Luna had made the relationship official.

It was a photo of her and Luke with the caption, "Finally waited for you."