I clutched the scarf, my knuckles white.

I thought I had thrown everything away; it turned out I had kept this.

I wrapped the scarf around my neck and walked over to the mirror.

The person in the mirror was wearing a white sweater and a red scarf, as if I had returned to five years ago.

Back then, I had dressed the same way, standing in front of him, asking him if I looked good.

He said I looked good, that I looked good in anything. Then I called him a smooth talker, and he just smiled.

I stared for a long time. The woman in the mirror looked young, but something in her eyes was different.

Five years ago, there was light in those eyes, anticipation, and every imagination about the future.

Now, those eyes were like a stagnant pool—no ripples, no light.

I took off the scarf and placed it on the table.

"Liam," I called his name.

"Hmm."

"Do you want to turn me back into the person I was five years ago?" my voice was very soft. "But I'm no longer the 'me' from five years ago; that girl is gone."

He looked at me. He knew I was speaking the truth.

The Clara from five years ago would laugh, play around, and act coquettish while leaning on his shoulder.

Now, I couldn't do any of that. I didn't even dare to cry out loud.

He stood up, walked over to me, picked up the scarf from the table, and wrapped it around my neck again.

His fingers brushed against the skin of my neck; they were cold.

He slowly adjusted the scarf and straightened the fringe.

"I don't need you to change back," he said, his voice low. "Whatever you are like, I want you. Five years ago I didn't know, but now, even if I die, I want you."

I looked up at him.

There was no sympathy or pity in his eyes, only something very deep and indescribable.

We were very close, close enough for me to see the bloodshot veins in his eyes.

He had lost weight. In these days in Norway, he hadn't had a single good night's sleep.

I noticed it, but I didn't say anything.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

I froze. Bergen rarely had visitors; I had no friends here.

I walked to the door and glanced through the peephole.

Then I went rigid.

Standing outside the door was a woman in a camel-colored coat, her hair styled neatly in a bun, her face painted with delicate makeup.

Her brows and eyes were five parts similar to Liam's.

Liam's mother.

Chapter 15

I opened the door awkwardly.

"Aren't you going to invite me in for a seat?" Liam's mother's voice was calm, so calm that no emotion could be heard in it.

I stepped aside to let her pass, and she walked in.

She swept a glance over the cramped apartment, her gaze lingering on the photo on the bookshelf for a second before shifting away.

"Mom," Liam's voice sounded somewhat stiff. "Why are you here?"

"I came to find my son." Liam's mother sat on the only sofa and placed her bag on her lap. "And while I'm at it, I wanted to see what kind of woman could make my son ruin his marriage."

I stood by the door, my hand still on the knob, my knuckles turning white.

Her gaze swept over me, from top to bottom, as if she were appraising a product she wasn't very satisfied with.

I didn't hide, nor did I lower my head.

Liam walked to my side, blocking her view of me. "Mom, what are you here for?"

"I told you, I'm here to find you," Liam's mother said, her tone unhurried. "The wedding wasn't finished, you won't answer your phone, you don't return messages. What do you expect me, as your mother, to think?"

"I told you, I'll handle the wedding matters myself."

"You'll handle it yourself?" Liam's mother laughed, but there was no warmth in it. "Is the result of your handling running off to Norway and living in a place like this?"

She looked around, her gaze falling on the old refrigerator in the corner and the half-used bottle of dish soap on the stove.

Every glance was like a ruler, measuring the shabbiness of the place.

I didn't speak. I had known this day would come.

Five years ago, she stood at the door of the old house in Linwood and told me, "You aren't good enough for him."

Five years later, she stood in this apartment in Bergen and looked at me with the same eyes.

Nothing had changed. The only thing that changed was me—five years ago I would have cried, but now I wouldn't.

"Mom, go back," Liam's voice turned cold. "You don't need to interfere in my affairs."

"You don't need me to interfere?" Liam's mother stood up. "You ruined the marriage; how are we supposed to answer to the Jiang family? Do you know your father is so angry he's been hospitalized?"

Liam's fingers paused. "What's wrong with Dad?"

"High blood pressure, caused by you." Liam's mother looked at him. "Come back with me now, apologize to Joanne, and the marriage might still—"

"Impossible," Liam interrupted her.

Liam's mother was silent for a few seconds before turning to me. "Ms. Su, may I have a word with you alone?"

"Mom—"

"You go out." Liam's mother’s tone left no room for refusal.

Liam glanced at me. I nodded at him.

He hesitated for a moment, picked up his coat, and walked out. The door closed. Only the two women were left in the apartment.

Liam's mother sat back down and pointed to the edge of the bed opposite her. "Sit down."

I sat down and placed my hands on my knees.

"The things I said to you five years ago," she began, "do you still remember them?"

"I remember."

"I said you weren't good enough for my son. I still hold that opinion now." Her voice was calm; there was no malice, no mockery, just a statement of a fact she believed to be true.

"I heard about your situation. Your sister, your brother-in-law, all those things. I don't blame you. Those weren't your fault."

I looked up, somewhat surprised.

"But you can't have children anymore, right?" she asked, looking at me.

My fingers curled into my palms. "That's right."

"The Liam family has had a single male heir for three generations; Liam is an only son," she said. "If you love him, you should think about his best interests."

I didn't respond.

"I'm not here to force you," she stood up. "I'm just here to tell you that you are not suitable for each other. You weren't suitable before, and now you are even less so. Think about it yourself."

She picked up her bag and walked toward the door.

When she reached the exit, she stopped without looking back.

"Ms. Su, you are a good child. You were five years ago, and you still are now. But a good child doesn't necessarily make a good wife."

Chapter 16

Liam's mother had left.

I sat on the edge of the bed, motionless.

The rain outside continued to fall, leaving a blur on the window, like the path ahead that I couldn't clearly see.

I heard Liam and his mother speaking in the hallway; I couldn't make out the content, but the tone was urgent.

Then came the sound of the elevator—the door opening and closing.

The hallway went quiet.

The door opened again. Liam walked in, raindrops clinging to his coat.

He walked over to me, squatted down, and looked into my eyes.

"What did she say?"

I looked into his eyes. There was a lot in them—worry, guilt, and a hint of fear I didn't quite understand.

He was afraid that I would retreat back into my shell. He was afraid the seam we had finally opened would close again.

"She said the Liam family has had a single heir for three generations," I said in a flat voice. "She said we aren't suitable."

"Don't listen to her—"

"She's right," I interrupted him. "Liam, was it true that you had accepted an arranged marriage back then? Or was she lying to me?"

He was silent for a few seconds. "She was lying to you."

"Then how long did you wait for me?"

"From the day you disappeared, I waited for three years. In the fourth year, my father got sick, and my mother threatened me with her life."

My voice trembled. "So you and Joanne have only known each other for a year?"

"Yes," he said.

My tears started falling. "I went to find you back then, and your mother lied to me, saying you had accepted the arrangement. I believed her. It took me five years to digest the words 'not good enough for him'."

He took my hand. "You don't have to digest them anymore; it's me who isn't good enough for you."