The Final Note

The night of Leo's first hundred-thousand-person concert, he sang the love song he'd written for me years ago, then proposed to his new flame on stage. The cameras swept across the crowd, briefly passing over me. After the show, I was dragged into a car. Leo gripped my wrist hard, his voice vicious as he demanded, "Why did you have to show up? What do you want? How much will it take for you to let me go?" I thought for a moment, then replied, "Give me another three million." He let out a scornful laugh, wrote a check, and flung it in my face. "I knew it was always about the money," he said. Later, he showed up at the hospital, his eyes red as he asked the doctor, "What will it take to cure her?" I sighed from the bedside. "Leo, you know perfectly well that no amount of money can cure late-stage cancer."

1

When the doctor handed me the diagnosis, Leo called. I held up a finger to ask for a moment, then answered. But the voice on the other end was unfamiliar—a crisp, professional woman's voice. "Miss Claire, Leo is at a critical point in his career. Your abilities are limited, and you're no longer fit to be his manager. Starlight Entertainment will offer you fair compensation. Please have no further contact with him." She went on for a while, and when I remained silent, her tone finally cracked with frustration. "What else do you want?" I answered softly, "I want to see Leo one more time." There was a pause on the other end. Then I heard a voice I knew all too well—cold and distant. "Let her." It was Leo.

2

Before I left the hospital, the doctor urged me repeatedly. "Miss Claire, your cancer cells have already begun to spread. You need to be hospitalized for chemotherapy immediately." I murmured an acknowledgment, folded the diagnosis into my bag, and left. The meeting was set for the penthouse suite of a hotel. When I pushed open the door, the room was a mess, thick with an unmistakable, intimate atmosphere. A wave of nausea hit me, and I rushed to the bathroom, retching until I was nearly bringing up bile. Leo stood by the window, watching me with a cold expression. "What more do you want that you had to say it in person?" Rosa lounged on the sofa, poking her head out. "Sister Claire, a man's heart is never satisfied. You're just a manager—how much severance do you think you're entitled to?" She was Leo's junior at the same agency, with a pretty face. I stared at her, momentarily dazed. Leo had only been with Starlight for about two years when he met Rosa. The girl clearly had a crush on him, but back then, Leo's world revolved around me. When did it start to change? Probably last winter. One night, Leo was due on stage for an event but hadn't shown up. I went to find him and saw him with Rosa in the dressing room. She had her back to him, and he had his arms around her, fastening the clasp of her necklace. "What perfume is this? It smells nice." "Water lily," Rosa said. Once the clasp was secure, she turned around with a smile. "If you like it, I'll get you a bottle sometime, senior." As she spoke, her lips brushed his cheek. They both froze. In the charged silence, Rosa looked up, her ears and cheeks flushed. "Claire, hurry up and deal with this. We have an event tonight." Leo's icy voice snapped me back to the present. I forced down the ache in my chest and managed a smile. "The price you offered me before was for a manager. But you know our relationship was more than that." Leo reacted violently. He shot to his feet, his eyes dark and cold as he stared at me. After a moment, he softened his tone and said to Rosa, "Wait outside. I'll talk to her." Once she was gone, he strode over and grabbed my wrist. "Claire, are you trying to ruin me?" He used to look at me with burning love in his eyes. Now there was only a bone-deep loathing. He looked like he wanted to kill me. I forced a bitter smile. "You didn't tell them we're already married, did you?" "No, I didn't." His grip tightened, as if he wanted to crush my wrist. "Good thing we have that marriage certificate. Otherwise, what right would you have to blackmail me like this?"

3

I remembered two years ago, when he took me to the courthouse to get our marriage license. He said, "From now on, every cent I earn is our shared property. Claire, I've been waiting for this day since I was eighteen." Back then, Leo was like a clingy puppy, taking me to every single music festival he performed at. But apparently, even a puppy can turn around and bite you one day. I looked him in the eye and said calmly, "I want sixty million." He hadn't been famous long; that was roughly how much he'd made so far. If he gave it to me, his finances would be in a tight spot. "Impossible." He let go of my wrist and stared at me coldly. "If you really want to end this, be reasonable. Claire, you're not as valuable as you think you are." We'd been together for eleven years, from the very beginning when we had nothing. And now, with one sentence, he could sum it up: Claire, you're not as valuable as you think. Leo stormed out. I walked to the door just in time to see Rosa fall into his arms, murmuring soothing words. Two sentences from her, and the tension in Leo's face melted. He pulled her close. As he looked up, he clearly saw me standing in the doorway, but he didn't hesitate to kiss her. Rosa murmured playfully, "Easy, senior." I stood in the room, the scents around me slowly closing in like rising tide, suffocating me. I was alone now. I didn't really need the money. But... I was in so much pain. So much pain. I couldn't think of any other way to make him suffer as much as I did, without dragging myself down with him.

4

That night's event was livestreamed. Leo and Rosa walked the red carpet together, smiling as reporters asked, "Now that you're both at the same agency and close as siblings, is there good news on the horizon?" Rosa smiled shyly without answering, while Leo replied calmly, "We'll let things take their natural course." "We hear your former manager was let go for incompetence and embezzlement." "Let the past be the past. I don't want to dwell on it." I stood by the window, my trembling hand turning off the livestream. The moonlight poured in, pale and cold. That night, I dreamed of the past again. Leo and I had always lived here. When he wrote a new song, he'd lean by the window and play it for me. Behind him, the city lights twinkled. Those songs, later sung by millions, had only one listener back then—me. Leo said, "Sister, wait until I'm famous. When I hold my first hundred-thousand-person concert, I'll propose to you in front of the whole world." And when he finally became the center of attention, the first person he discarded was me.

When I woke up, the pain in my stomach was so intense I nearly blacked out. The sun was blazing, but it couldn't chase away the chill. The room was empty. All these years, Leo was the only one I had. My only friend had gone abroad for grad school right after college and eventually settled there. She never really liked Leo. We barely kept in touch. I fell out of bed, curling up on the floor, drenched in cold sweat from the pain. A sweet, metallic taste crept up my throat. That's when Leo called. "Have you thought it over?" His voice was cold and impatient, but he was still trying to reason with me. "Ask for less, and I'll give it to you cleanly. We can end this early, and you can do whatever you want. What's the point of dragging it out? Claire, say something." The pain finally subsided. I slowly sat up, leaning against the bed frame, my voice breathless. "Fine. Half, then." He seemed surprised I agreed so easily. "Really?" "Yes. But I want you to come home. Bring the first guitar you ever had, and play me a song." I didn't know what I was still holding on to. Maybe it's just that when you're dying, you cling to the things you can't let go of. When Leo came back, I happened to be downstairs. He got out of the car, with Rosa beside him. I couldn't help but sneer. "Can't bear to be apart for even a moment?" She clung to his arm, her smile tolerant but helpless. "Sister Claire, you're probably too old to understand the fun of young love. This is what the honeymoon phase is like." How could I not understand? Leo and I had a very, very long honeymoon phase. So long I thought it would last forever.

5

Before Leo came upstairs with me, Rosa deliberately grabbed him and left a lipstick mark on the collar of his white shirt. "Go on. I'll wait for you downstairs." Her voice was sweet, her expression reluctant. "We still need to go see the sunset at Seaside Park later." It was with that voice that she'd sung so many duets with Leo. Leo nodded. Upstairs, he walked in, sat down on the old sofa, and took the guitar off his back. "What do you want to hear?" "The Proposal." He froze, frowning at me like I was some kind of monster. I wondered what flashed through his mind in that moment. Was it the eighteen-year-old Leo and twenty-year-old Claire, sitting together in a corner of the school track, him playing the guitar in the dark, every note perfect? After he finished, he'd put the guitar away, pull me close, and lean me against his shoulder. "This is the best song I've ever written, for my dearest Claire." But now... After a long pause, he let out a cold laugh. "Trying to play the sentiment card, huh? Claire, I'm telling you, it won't work. If you want to hear it, I'll play it." He butchered the love song, playing it so badly it was barely recognizable. I couldn't help but sigh. "Your singing has gotten so much worse... and yet you're famous now. It's a crime against reason." He bristled, nearly jumping off the sofa. "You have no right to say that! I trusted you with everything back then. I let you handle all my work. And what did you get? Your judgment and work ethic were terrible. If I hadn't broken away from you, I'd never be where I am now." A wave of bitterness rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down. I looked at him and nodded. "You're right. My judgment is terrible." "Enough." He put the guitar away and held out his hand impatiently. "Give me your phone." "Why?" "I'll give you the money, but I need to delete all the old photos and chat logs." He raised an eyebrow. "Or do you want to use them to blackmail me again?" I took out my bag and fumbled for my phone, accidentally pulling out the folded diagnosis. It fell to the floor. My heart nearly stopped for a beat, but I quickly realized how ridiculous my reaction was. Leo didn't even bother to glance at it. He just took my phone and deleted everything related to him, including the backups in the cloud. He knew perfectly well that I would never expose him. I was terrified of endless arguments and confrontations. When Leo first started getting famous, he was caught up in a plagiarism scandal. His social media was flooded with hate comments. He couldn't handle it, so I dealt with it. One night, I opened a direct message and a bloody, grotesque image popped up—Leo's face photoshopped onto a mutilated corpse. After that, I never posted anything online again.

Leo finished deleting everything and stood up. "Come on. Let's get the divorce finalized before the courthouse closes." On the way there, I sat in the passenger seat. He and Rosa were in the back. He didn't even bother to hide it from her; he must have already smoothed things over. The rearview mirror showed me everything clearly. Rosa played with his fingers, saying casually, "That guitar is so old and beat up. Let me get you a new one." "Sure." Leo agreed without hesitation. Rosa looked up, glanced at me, and said pointedly, "Some things are old and worn out. They should have been thrown away long ago." The painkillers weren't strong enough. The ache in my stomach grew worse. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Finally, I couldn't hold back. "Leo, if your girlfriend says one more word, I'll add another ten million to my price. Otherwise, forget the divorce." Rosa finally shut up.

6

We made it to the courthouse just before it closed. Leo and I got our divorce certificate. He and Rosa went to Seaside Park to watch the sunset. I took a cab to the hospital. We went our separate ways. On the way, the cab driver was playing the radio. Leo's song came on—from his debut album, *For My Beloved*. His voice was so clear back then, every word sung with deep emotion. But that beloved had been killed off last autumn. I remembered last autumn, when Leo finally became famous with an album that was nominated for the highest award. Around the same time, the agency had assigned him a new manager. And I was stuck in a hotel, hiding from the reporters who were camped outside our home. I hadn't left in two weeks. That night, he came back from the celebration party, reeking of alcohol and an unfamiliar perfume. Water lily, maybe. I sat on the sofa, watching him calmly. "Leo, I need to go out." "No." He walked over and stood in front of me, looking down at me. "It looks like some of our dates have been exposed. The reporters are looking for evidence. Don't make things harder for me." My heart clenched. I looked up at him. "So I'm something shameful? I have to hide here forever for the sake of your career, is that it?" His eyes darkened with irritation. "What's your problem? Claire, you've changed. I've been up for days writing songs, I've been edited to look bad on variety shows, and you haven't said a word of concern. Now that I've won an award, you can't even say congratulations?" With that, he slammed the door and left, probably too drunk to care. The one who changed first was telling me I'd changed. I blinked, thinking I was smiling, but tears were streaming down my face.

7

At first, I didn't check into the hospital. I just went for regular treatments. With the money, I bought the old apartment I'd been renting for years. It was a rundown place, and the landlord gave me a good price because of how long I'd lived there. "Miss Claire, are you sure you want to buy this place?" he asked, checking with me repeatedly. I nodded. I was going to die soon. If I died in someone else's house, it would be a hassle for them. Thirty million was a huge amount of money. Buying the apartment used less than a tenth of it. I set aside enough for my treatment and donated the rest. The third time I passed out at home from vomiting blood, I had no choice but to check into the hospital. "You should have a family member come take care of you," the doctor said. But I didn't have any family. I never knew my father. My mother raised me alone, but she had a congenital heart condition and passed away before I came of age. The doctor suggested hiring a caregiver. "Given your condition, you'll eventually have trouble even moving around. You'll need help with some things." "I'll think about it," I said. The TV in the hospital room was playing a commercial for Leo's solo concert. It was going to be held at the city's new stadium—the first venue in the country to hold a hundred thousand people. The camera zoomed in on his sharp, handsome face, softened by a hint of tenderness. "I've been waiting for this day for so long. I hope all my fans who love me will come." Something compelled me to remember five years ago. A legendary singer was on tour, and Leo bought two tickets to take me. When the singer performed "She Came to My Concert," Leo suddenly grabbed my hand. "One day, you'll come to my solo concert too," he said solemnly, his eyes shining in the dark like stars. "Sister, believe me." I always believed him. That's why I quit my job to become his manager, without even a fixed salary. And at first, he was good to me. He deposited all his earnings from songs and performances into my account. He couldn't keep secrets, so he'd post cryptic, fragmented lines on various platforms. His small fanbase would guess at their meaning, never understanding. Only he and I knew they were secret confessions meant for us. But later, Leo deleted them all. Back then, Leo never called me by my full name. When he was being sweet, he'd call me "Sister" or "Claire." Occasionally, in special moments, he'd call me "Senior." Leo was my junior in high school. He was two years younger, two grades below me. We met in the summer. He was walking with some friends, spinning a basketball, and accidentally knocked over the stack of exam papers I was carrying. It was close to the college entrance exams. The school held a talent show for the graduating class. Leo went on stage with his guitar. He was tall and lean, with sharp features. "I'm going to sing Jay Chou's 'Her Eyelashes' for Senior Claire from Class 6," he said. "Senior, wait for me for two years. We'll meet again in college."

8

That day, I was in the hospital room, hooked up to painkillers and anti-nausea meds, when two young girls appeared at the door. They were from a milder ward upstairs. They huddled together, whispering. "Is it her?" "She looks like her, but she's thinner and older." I called them in. "Can I help you?" My voice sounded like a broken bellows from all the vomiting. They shuffled in hesitantly, looking at me with wide eyes. "Sister, do you know Leo?" I stiffened. "Of course. His concert ads have been running for a month." "Did you used to date him?" One of the girls pulled out her phone, tapped a few times, and handed it to me. It was a short video, probably taken on a phone. The image was a bit blurry, but I could still make out the scene: a beach at a music festival. It was drizzling. Leo and I were walking, one behind the other. I was carrying his spare guitar. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew. Leo stopped, took off his jacket, and wrapped it tightly around me. Then he slung the other guitar over his shoulder, put his arm around me, and kept walking. As I watched, my vision blurred. I'd almost forgotten we ever had such good times. "Sister, why are you crying?" The girl's clear voice pulled me back. "So is that really you and Leo? Did he dump you as soon as he got famous and get with Rosa?" I didn't know how to answer. Luckily, a nurse came in for rounds and ushered them out. I took out my phone and saw that Weibo was in an uproar. Someone had leaked that video from years ago, claiming I was more than just Leo's manager—that we'd been in a relationship, and he'd abandoned me for fame and fortune. I scrolled further and realized that while I'd been too sick to check my phone, he and Rosa had gone public with their relationship. Then a new hashtag shot to the top of the trending list: "Leo Responds." He'd written a long post. First, he admitted we'd been together. Then he pivoted, saying he hadn't been able to make it big and didn't want to waste my youth, so we'd parted ways. Even though we'd been apart for a while, and the feelings had faded even longer ago, I could tell the post wasn't in his voice. It was probably a PR move by his agency. Soon after, he called me, hoping I'd cooperate and help him clarify things. "Sorry, I'm busy." I was about to hang up when he shouted, "Claire, you took thirty million from me. We parted on good terms." We hadn't parted on good terms. I was just too sick to fight. I didn't have much time left, and I didn't want to spend it tangled up in trivial matters of love and hate while being tortured by cancer. "No, Leo. We got divorced. We didn't just break up." He hung up on me. That night, I started vomiting blood uncontrollably. My nose started bleeding too. The doctor examined me and said the cancer had spread. I needed surgery. So I didn't look at my phone for a few days. When I finally did, public opinion had completely turned against me. Leo had released a few photos. They showed me in a dim KTV room, sitting among a group of men, holding a bottle of alcohol, with a fawning, ingratiating smile on my face. He'd only captioned them with four words: "The innocent know the truth." But the images sparked a flood of vicious speculation about me. They said I was shallow and greedy, that when I realized Leo wasn't going to be famous, I'd tried to climb the social ladder elsewhere. My phone fell onto the blanket. I doubled over, my heart and stomach clenching with a sharp, searing pain. I could barely breathe. Before this, I thought nothing could be more painful than the cancer and chemotherapy. But I was wrong. I refused to believe Leo didn't remember. In that photo, I was drinking myself sick to get him a spot at a major gala. I'd guzzled booze with a bunch of investors until I vomited blood. One of them had clapped me on the back, calling me a heroine, and finally agreed to give Leo the opportunity. The doctor had even said my stomach cancer was linked to overwork and excessive drinking.

9

I created a new Weibo account, wanting to post something to defend myself. But my finger hovered over the screen, frozen. What could I say? I'd gotten a new phone at the start of the year, when we were already drifting apart. There wasn't much of Leo on it, and he'd deleted everything else during our last meeting. In the end, I just took a photo of the divorce certificate. But I couldn't bring myself to post it. The incision from my surgery was still throbbing. The painkillers dripped slowly into my veins. And then it hit me—Leo must have tampered with my phone when we met. That night, I received another anonymous transfer to my bank account. There were two lines of text in the memo: "Don't pursue this. Don't fight back. It won't end well for you." It was obviously from Leo. He'd already mastered the ways of a top celebrity: cautious, decisive, ruthless, trying to solve everything with money. But I couldn't help remembering years ago, during the plagiarism scandal. The tide had turned, and Leo was holding up surprisingly well. The other party couldn't take it anymore and tried to bribe him into admitting guilt. Leo just laughed, contemptuously tossing the card back. "You think money can solve everything? Dream on." He grabbed my hand and walked away. Then, in a secluded corner, he pulled me into a crushing hug. "Sister," he mumbled, "one day, I'll stand at the top. No one will ever humiliate me again." And now he had. Except now, he was the one using money to humiliate others. I started coughing and retching again. My mouth filled with a bitter, metallic taste, and I vomited even harder. I pressed the call button for the nurse. She rushed in, then hurried off to get the doctor. The young doctor stood by my bed, looking at the bloodstained phone on my pillow. His eyes held a knowing look. "Claire, your condition is worsening. If you let your emotions get the better of you, it won't help your treatment." I stared at the ceiling and said, "I'm sorry." "You didn't do anything wrong. You don't need to apologize." He prescribed some sedatives, but the nurse held my wrists and couldn't find a vein to insert the needle. Finally, she managed to get an IV into my bruised forearm. I curled up in the dark hospital room, acutely aware of my life slipping away. In the days that followed, I slept more than I was awake. Whenever I dreamed, it was always of a younger Leo and a younger me. Sometimes, another person appeared in my dreams. She always watched coldly as Leo clung to me, and after our dates ended and he left, she'd be the first to warn me. "Claire, get a grip. His dreams are too big. They'll lead you astray." I'd smile helplessly. "But I love him." "You're such a... hopeless romantic." She'd ignore me and go out to the balcony to smoke. Through the haze of smoke, her sharp, handsome face would blur. "Claire, keep messing around with Leo if you want. If he never gets famous, you'll spend your whole life with him. Age-gap relationships are a disaster. Don't contact me. I have enough trouble with my thesis."

When I opened my eyes, I thought I was still dreaming. Vera stood by my bed, her eyes red. Our gazes met, and her lips trembled. Then tears spilled down her cheeks. I stared at her, dazed, until her face—older now, more mature—blurred before my eyes. Only then did I realize I was crying too. "When did you come back?" "You think I wanted to?" She crouched down, her voice gruff as she tucked the blanket around me. Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. "I fell asleep in the lab a couple of days ago. I don't know why, but I dreamed of you."

10

Vera and I weren't friends at first. In fact, she resented me because I'd taken the national scholarship she thought she deserved. She was fiercely competitive, always striving to be the best, and she looked down on me for spending so much time with Leo at his gigs and dates instead of studying. But during our junior year, when I collapsed on the track during the 800-meter run from low blood sugar, she was the one who carried me all the way to the school clinic. "You're so light. Spend less on your little boyfriend and take better care of yourself." That's how we became friends. I asked Vera, "You just came back like this? What about your work at the university?" "What about it? I've already got my doctorate. What's a year or two?" She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, then, remembering she was in a hospital room, shoved it back irritably. "Claire, if I hadn't come back on my own, were you just going to not tell me you were sick?" I closed my eyes, trying to suppress the rising nausea in my throat. "What good would it have done?" It would only have made one more person sad. "What good?" Her voice was tight with rage, veins standing out on her forehead. "At least someone could have helped you deal with that bastard Leo! Claire, I told you. I told you he'd do anything to climb to the top, even sacrifice anyone." I looked into her furious eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry." And then all that fury dissolved into tears. She held me tightly, her hand tracing the sharp bones of my back as she sobbed. "Claire, do you even know you're the only real friend I have? What am I supposed to do when you're gone?" I didn't know what to say, so I apologized again. "What did you do wrong? Why are you apologizing?" She was right. I shouldn't be the one apologizing. The one who should was standing at the top of a skyscraper, waiting to walk down a bright, smooth path for the rest of his life. I pulled out my phone and checked the countdown. Three days until Leo's concert. The biggest show in the country. Ads for it were plastered all over the city. He and Starlight were banking on this performance to launch him into an unreachable stratosphere. Maybe it was seeing Vera, but I felt a little better. I didn't vomit as much over the next few days, and I managed to choke down a bit more of the bland hospital food. She sat by my bed, telling me about her life abroad. "American food is terrible. They don't seem to understand that the highest compliment for a dessert is 'not too sweet.' And my classmates—they're so racist. They think a Chinese person can't do anything right. In the end, they all fell short of me." Vera always put on a cold front in front of others, but I knew she was a chatterbox. Whenever she achieved something, she'd go over every detail again and again without getting bored. I loved listening to her talk. But I probably wouldn't get to hear it much longer.

On the day of the concert, I asked the doctor to give me a double dose of painkillers. Then I changed into regular clothes, put on makeup, and applied lipstick to my pale lips. My hair had mostly fallen out from the chemotherapy, so Vera bought me a wig. She walked me to the entrance of the stadium, looking worried. She repeated her instructions over and over. "If you feel unwell, call me. Getting back at him isn't worth your health, got it?" I nodded. I walked into the stadium with the crowd, the sound of a violin filling my ears. I took a seat in the front row and pulled my mask up higher. Around me were young, energetic girls, chattering excitedly about the concert's setlist. They eventually tried to include me. "Sister, are you a fan too? I heard Leo's going to propose to Rosa tonight. Is it true?" My smile was hidden behind the mask. "I've heard that." Throughout the entire show, I sat in the audience, quietly watching Leo. He sang a lot of songs. None of them were from his first album. He didn't want to remember anything about me. Except for one. "The next song I'm going to sing is called 'The Proposal,'" he said. "I'm dedicating it to Rosa. Thank you for staying by my side through the hard times, all the way to today, through all these years." He didn't change a single word of the song. Except for the name in the last line. The eighteen-year-old Leo, sitting in the dark, had finished playing the song. When Claire asked him about it, he'd gripped her hand tightly. "I don't care! I just know we'll be together for a long, long time. When I make it big, I'll buy you the most beautiful wedding dress, Sister!" Amidst the roar of the crowd, Rosa walked onto the stage in a white wedding dress. Her sparkling eyes were filled with tears, but her smile was brighter than anyone else's. Cameras flashed. People were taking pictures everywhere. I stood up and walked out. The girl who'd spoken to me earlier asked in surprise, "Sister, aren't you going to stay? There are a few more songs." "No, I've heard enough." I'd already heard my favorite song plenty of times, back in the summer when I was twenty. As I reached the stadium entrance, a sharp pain shot through my stomach. My vision went dark. I doubled over, clutching my aching stomach, and stumbled into the restroom. By the time the pain subsided, the concert was over. I walked out a side entrance, pulled out my phone to call Vera, when a strong hand grabbed me and yanked me into a nearby van. Leo's grip was tight on my wrist. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. He must have just come off stage; the glittery eyeshadow was still on his eyelids. I looked at the empty seat beside him. "Where's Rosa?" He didn't answer. He just kept pressing. "Why did you have to show up? What do you want? How much will it take for you to let me go?" So I was the one who wouldn't let him go. I thought for a moment and said casually, "Give me another three million." Leo's eyes were full of contempt. He wrote a check and threw it in my face. "I knew it was always about the money." I tucked the check away. His manager pushed me out of the van, and I stumbled a few steps before catching my balance. Leo's voice came from behind me. "Don't make yourself look so pitiful, coming here to play the victim. I won't give you any more money next time." Eleven years. After all this time, that's all that was left between us—these baseless accusations.

11

It was late by the time Vera and I got back to the hospital. She helped me take off my makeup and change clothes. "What do you want to eat tomorrow?" she asked. We both knew I couldn't eat anything except specific liquid foods. But I played along. "I really want to try one of those disgustingly sweet American cakes. See how bad they are." "That's easy. I'll go out tomorrow and search the whole city for one." We talked for a bit. Then I pulled out the check and handed it to her. "Here, a little gift for you, Vera." She looked down at Leo's signature in the dim hospital light and froze. "He saw you?" "Yeah. He told me not to make myself look so pitiful. Said I wouldn't get any more money next time." Vera's eyes were red. "I'll kill him." I patted her hand. I wanted to say something, but a wave of drowsiness washed over me. "Never mind. I'll take a nap first. We can talk when I wake up." I slept for a very, very long time. Scenes from my dreams flickered by like a movie. I was eighteen. My mother had died because there was no suitable heart donor. I placed her ashes in a cemetery in the suburbs. After taking a few days off, I finally went back to school. On my first day back, I ran into Leo. He knocked the papers out of my arms and scrambled to help me pick them up. Before he left, he tugged at the hem of my uniform and murmured, "Senior, my name is Leo." I was twenty-two. I used the money I'd earned from part-time jobs to buy a new guitar case and gave it to Leo. We sat in the back corner of a sightseeing bus. A leaf spiraled down and landed on his head. He casually shook it off and handed me the guitar. "Sister, try playing it." I didn't know how, so I just plucked a few random strings. But he clapped and cheered like it was the best thing he'd ever heard. "The most beautiful sound in the world!" I was twenty-six. We'd just gotten our marriage license. I was in the kitchen cooking noodles when Leo wrapped his arms around me from behind. He pressed his cheek against my shoulder, his voice a little hoarse. "Sister, I'm hungry." "Don't bother me. The noodles will be ready soon." "I'm hungry for something else." He turned me around to face him. "Tonight's our wedding night. You know what that means, don't you?" I was twenty-eight. On the first day of autumn, I went to visit my mother's grave. When I came back, everything of his was gone from the house. He didn't answer my calls. Finally, late at night, he sent me three words: "It's over." The dream was long and vivid, as if I'd never wake up. Later, I learned I'd been unconscious for five days. My vital signs were fading. The hospital had even issued a critical notice. When I finally opened my eyes, the light was blinding. Vera's voice, full of fury and hatred, reached my ears. "Get out!" I turned my head with difficulty and saw her standing in the doorway, arms outstretched. And standing in front of her was Leo.

12 (Leo's Perspective)

After a flawless exit from the stage, Leo let out a long breath. He was heading to the dressing room to take off his makeup when his manager, Vance, approached him, his face serious. "Claire was sitting in the audience just now." Leo froze. Vance continued, "She still can't let go! She took all that money from you, and she's still trying to leech off you. Leo, if you don't deal with her, she'll always be a threat to your career." Leo wanted to say that Claire wouldn't do that. But then he remembered the thirty million she'd just taken from him, and he kept his mouth shut. It had been a long time. Maybe she had changed. So he followed Vance out, not even bothering to take off his makeup, and met her in the van. The light inside was dim. He couldn't quite make out her expression, but her face was pale, and she looked thinner. For some reason,