Beneath the Ruins

Beneath the Ruins

On the day of the West River earthquake, my husband abandoned me to fly to another city, chasing the moonlight of his heart—his one true love. I was trapped beneath rubble, sending him messages: "Hayden, there's an earthquake. I'm buried under the ruins. It's pitch black all around me, and I'm so scared…" After being rescued, I sent him two final texts, then tossed my phone into the collapsed debris. "Hayden, I can't hold on any longer. Lucky for you, you had work to do—otherwise you'd be buried here with me and our child." "I'm so glad you're safe." —I did it on purpose. I deliberately made him believe I was dead. I deliberately made him blame himself day and night for me and the unborn child in my womb. I wanted him to weep bitterly, to drown in regret. And when the truth could no longer be hidden, I would walk up to him and say, "I want a divorce."

1

In the second year of my marriage to Hayden, his moonlight returned from overseas. On the day I went with him to pick her up at the airport, I watched as a girl with long, straight black hair, dressed in a white gown, slender and fragile, threw herself into his arms with tear-filled eyes, like a migratory bird coming home. "Hayden, I've finally seen you again." And he—his body stiffened for a moment, then he reached out and gently patted her head. "There, there, it's all right." I stood right beside them, as superfluous as a third wheel. After hesitating, I stepped forward and took Hayden's hand, forcing a smile. "All right, now that we've picked her up, let's go." Only then did she seem to notice me, pulling away from his embrace. She smiled, but her face held a hint of surprise and awkwardness. "Brother Hayden, you got married?" Hayden murmured a reply. And so the three of us returned home in an awkward silence. Of course, perhaps I was the only one who felt awkward. Seraphina was Hayden's moonlight, his stepsister by circumstance, though not by blood. I'd always known Hayden had a moonlight in his heart, but I only learned this after we married. Hayden's family background was rather complicated. He was an orphan. His biological parents died in a car accident when he was nine, and afterward, his father's friend—Seraphina's father—took in the young, uncared-for Hayden. That was how the story of Hayden and Seraphina began. Hayden had always been a solitary child—silent, reserved, and, because of his childhood, exuding an aura that warned others to keep their distance. Seraphina, on the other hand, lived a life of comfort and happiness, innocent and carefree, like a little sun that slowly warmed Hayden, bringing him the warmth of a home. —Of course, Hayden never told me about his past with Seraphina; these were all my own guesses. But when I led Seraphina into the home I'd shared with Hayden for three years, watching her curiously look around, touching this and that, I knew my guesses were probably right.

That evening while cooking, Hayden bought some taro and asked me to make taro spareribs. He said, "Seraphina loves taro spareribs the most." I lowered my eyes and said nothing for a long time. Hayden was never a meticulous man. I'd known him for eight years—five years of me chasing him, three years of living together—and even so, he sometimes forgot my tastes. He couldn't even remember that I was allergic to taro. Yet he remembered Seraphina's preferences so clearly. Even though she'd been abroad for six years. I pressed my lips together and asked, "Hayden, have you forgotten? I'm allergic to taro. The moment I touch it, I break out in little rashes all over." He seemed to pause, then smiled and gently pushed me out of the kitchen. "Sorry, Yvonne, I didn't know you were allergic to taro. We've never had taro on our table before. Why don't you go sit in the living room for a bit? I'll handle dinner tonight." Actually, Hayden and I had eaten taro once before—three years ago, when I'd just won him over. That day, I was walking on air. At lunch, he ordered a taro chicken dish, and without a second thought, I took a bite. He was the one who took me to the hospital that time. But it had been so long. He'd probably forgotten. I nodded silently, saying nothing. Seraphina was still in the living room, and I didn't want to make the atmosphere too tense. At dinner, probably because of what had happened earlier, Hayden kept piling food onto my plate. "The shrimp today is good." I ate it slowly, and when I looked up, I saw Seraphina also placing a bite on my plate. She glanced at Hayden, then at me, her smile gentle, her movements natural. "Yes, sister, you should eat more shrimp. Brother makes the best shrimp." It was as if I were the guest in this house.

Seraphina ended up staying with us. It was Hayden's idea to bring her to our home. Three days earlier, Hayden had suddenly told me that his stepsister, who'd been living abroad, was coming back. He said she'd been having a very hard time all these years. Alone overseas, betrayed by her boyfriend, diagnosed with depression… As he spoke, his lips were tight, his eyes dark and tinged with despair. Watching him, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. So when he said, "She's coming back alone, doesn't want to go home or let her parents know, and wants to stay here for a while," I agreed without hesitation. At the time, I didn't know that his so-called "stepsister" was the moonlight he'd pined for all these years. It wasn't until I saw Seraphina's face at the airport that I suddenly realized—I'd seen her picture before. In Hayden's bookshelf, tucked inside page 68 of *Wang Shu Cao*. He'd hidden her photo in that book. On that page, he'd underlined a line with a pen: *"If someone asks about my sorrow, I dare not speak your name."* —She was the one hidden deep in Hayden's heart, the one he'd never stopped thinking about all these years. That night, lying in bed, I couldn't sleep thinking about Hayden and Seraphina. Hayden wrapped his arms around me from behind, his warm breath brushing my ear. "Can't sleep?" I nodded, and then I heard a crash. I got up and went to the living room. Seraphina was standing there, surrounded by shattered ceramic pieces, tears streaming down her face, her body trembling slightly.

2

What had broken was the ceramic figurine Hayden and I had made together. It was the day we got together, at a pottery shop. That day, I made one of him, and he made one of me. And we naturally became a couple. I'd always treasured it as our token of love, even carving on the base: *"Hayden and Yvonne, together forever."* But now, it was broken. I stared at the ceramic shards on the floor, frowning. Hayden's eyes, however, were fixed on Seraphina. Seraphina cried beautifully. When she wept, her eyelids flushed, her tears like pear blossoms in the rain—anyone would find it hard to scold her. "It's just a pair of ceramic figurines, nothing serious. Don't cry," he sighed softly, then pulled her to the sofa and sat her down, frowning. "How could you be so careless? You've cut your foot." Leaving me alone to clean up the mess like a maid. Seraphina sat on the sofa, brows furrowed, tears glistening, looking helpless and pitiful. "Sister… I didn't mean to… I just… I just…" "I couldn't sleep tonight, so I wanted to walk around. I saw the figurine and thought it was cute, so I wanted to take a closer look. But my hand slipped…" "Sister, I'm sorry…" Her hands were still trembling as she spoke, and before she could finish, she started crying again, as if remembering something painful. Watching this, I said nothing. I went to the balcony and pulled out a cigarette. Seraphina always called me "sister." While Hayden was cooking in the kitchen, she and I sat in the living room, and she kept calling me "sister," asking about every little thing between Hayden and me over the years. I corrected her: "I'm married to your brother Hayden, so you should call me 'sister-in-law.'" She didn't reply. Instead, she picked up a cat-shaped pillow from the sofa and smiled at me with delight. "Oh, sister, look at this! I gave this to Brother Hayden before I went abroad. I can't believe it's still here." I frowned immediately, my stomach churning. I rolled the cigarette between my fingers but didn't light it. Hayden didn't like women who smoked. The type he liked was always like Seraphina—black hair, white dress, clean and delicate. Maybe I'd been standing on the balcony too long, because Hayden came over and took the cigarette from my hand. "Don't smoke. It's bad for you." I hadn't planned to smoke anyway. I was pregnant and couldn't smoke. He just didn't know. I hadn't had a chance to tell him yet. "What about your sister?" I asked. He gestured toward the bedroom. "She's gone to sleep." I said "oh" and continued, "Don't you need to keep her company?" "What?" He was taken aback. I smiled and asked how much longer Seraphina would be staying with us. I looked at him, unusually candid. "Hayden, I don't like your sister." "You know? Back when I was chasing you, you got drunk once. You held me and kept calling out 'Seraphina.' At the time, I didn't know who you were calling for. But now…" "Do you really see her only as a sister?" "Hayden, make her leave. Either she moves out, or I do. Choose."

3

Hayden looked at me for a long time, his expression complicated, then let out a long sigh. "Yvonne, what happened earlier—Seraphina didn't mean it. She just… She has depression, and her emotions are unstable. Can you please be understanding?" "I know this is asking too much of you, but Seraphina's parents—and Seraphina herself—have done so much for me…" "I brought her here with no other intentions. What's in the past is in the past. Now, I truly see her only as a sister." "I have you, don't I?" Hayden asked me to trust him. I looked at him, thinking of many things. Hayden and I met in high school. In high school, he was handsome and excelled academically, but he wasn't very popular. The reason? He was too withdrawn. Back then, he sat in the last row, against the wall—the darkest corner of the classroom. When he sat there, the spot seemed even darker, as if even light couldn't reach it. But I liked him. I felt he was a lot like me. Hayden transferred to my class out of the blue. It was our senior year, the most critical year for college entrance exams. Normally, few students would switch schools during such a pivotal time, but he did. And throughout that year, I never once saw his parents. Of course, I never saw mine either. My parents divorced when I was very young. Neither of them wanted me. They went to court, and the judge awarded custody to my father. Soon after the divorce, they both remarried and started new families, leaving me as the odd one out. I guessed Hayden's family situation was similar to mine. Or maybe even worse. After all, my father, though neglectful, was generous with money. But Hayden, even during the grueling senior year, often worked part-time at a bubble tea shop near campus. I felt sorry for him. Besides, I knew Hayden was actually a very gentle person. He seemed cold, but once, when I'd argued with my father and was crying alone in the garden behind the school library, he passed by without a word and quietly placed a pack of tissues beside me. I still remember it was dusk, with a gentle breeze and golden sunlight casting a glow on him, making even his hair shimmer. I think that was the moment I fell for him. Later, I got into the same university as him. I started chasing him. I did everything I could to be good to him. During his four years of college, Hayden rarely went home. Even during holidays and summer or winter breaks, he stayed alone on campus. I shamelessly stayed by his side, insisting on celebrating holidays with him. I spent one Chinese New Year after another with him, one birthday after another. He liked girls with long hair and white dresses, so I grew out my short hair and changed into the dresses he liked. He loved home-cooked meals, saying they tasted like home, so I learned to cook and made them for him with my own hands. I did so many things for him. But as I did, I realized… many of those things had already been done for him by someone else. His life was filled with traces of another girl. But that was okay. I never gave up. If someone had done it before, I would do it better, even better, until no one could surpass me. All my life, no one had ever been good to me. So I tried my hardest to be good to him. I chased him for five years, and finally, the clouds parted to reveal the moon. But now, that girl was back. … "Even if you swear you see her only as a sister, what about Seraphina?" "Can you guarantee she doesn't have other feelings for you?" This time, he was silent for a long time. After a while, he finally said— "No. It's all in the past." Hayden promised me. He said no matter what, he would only see Seraphina as a sister. He said he was already looking for an apartment for her. In a few days, once her emotions stabilized and he found a suitable place, he would send her away. And me… I still couldn't bear to let go of him, or of the eight years between us. I decided to trust him one more time. For the sake of these eight years. And for the sake of the child growing inside me. I instinctively touched my lower abdomen, then quickly dropped my hand. "Hayden, you said it yourself. Don't lie to me." "If you deceive me, I promise you'll regret it." "I will make you regret it."

4

The day Seraphina moved out was overcast. Hayden and I went together to take her to her new place. She had a lot of things. Just cleaning and packing took nearly four hours. By the time we headed back, it was already raining. We'd barely gotten home when Hayden received a call from her. I didn't know what she said on the other end, but I clearly saw Hayden pause, then reply. He hung up, walked around the room she'd been staying in, grabbed an umbrella, and hurried out. "She forgot something. I need to take it to her." It was pouring outside. "Does it have to be now?" "She forgot something important. She needs it right away." I nodded. "Then I'll go with you." He finally looked at me, smiled, pulled me into his arms, and kissed my cheek. "You don't have to come. It's raining too hard outside. Don't worry, I'll be back as soon as I deliver it." I didn't insist. I wanted to go with him, but I was pregnant now and couldn't be so reckless. I sat on the sofa for a long time, slowly pouring myself a cup of hot water. By the time the water had cooled, Hayden still hadn't returned. I only received a message from him: "Yvonne, the rain's too heavy. I'll stay here a bit and come back when it lightens up. When I get back, I'll bring you that mochi from your favorite shop." I stared at the message for a while, replied "Okay," and stood up.

The door to Seraphina's apartment wasn't fully closed. She'd left it slightly ajar, and through the crack, I could see the warm light inside. But I didn't have the courage to push it open. The hallway was dim. Through the door, I could hear sobbing. Seraphina was crying. I heard her voice, choked with tears. "Brother Hayden, I've missed you so much. All these years abroad, I've thought of you every day and every night…" "Don't you miss me?" My hand, resting on the doorknob, began to tremble violently. "Seraphina, you're drunk. Let go of me. Don't be silly." Then came the sound of a bottle falling to the floor. It seemed Hayden had pushed her away. "I'm not! I'm not being silly!" "You were the one who said you liked me first! You said you wanted to be with me forever!" "You still like me, don't you? You must still like me!" "I asked Yvonne. You got together on June 10th, 2019. That day, you found out from my dad that I was in a relationship. You were mad at me because I was with someone else, so you agreed to be with her, didn't you?!" "Answer me!" It took a long time before I heard his reply, tinged with exhaustion. "So what if that's true? It's all in the past now. I…" My heart plummeted into an abyss. I stood frozen, my body cold, but my heart pounding wildly, as if it might leap out of my throat. Then, all sound in the room ceased, leaving only a muffled groan. —I knew that groan all too well. In the past, I loved nothing more than to wrap my arms around Hayden's neck and kiss him while he was reading. And then he'd make that sound. They were kissing. Or rather, Seraphina was kissing him. And Hayden? What was his reaction? What expression was on his face? Without thinking, I pushed the door open just a crack. In the flood of warm light, I clearly saw the shock on Hayden's face. But in the next moment, he slowly closed his eyes. They were kissing in the warm light. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I covered my mouth and ran. They must have heard the noise, because the two of them pulled apart. Hayden chased after me. "Yvonne!" "Yvonne, let me explain! It's not what you think!" Back home, Hayden tried over and over to explain himself. And me—I locked myself in the bedroom and threw up until there was nothing left. He stood outside, explaining. He said he'd stayed because Seraphina was drunk and emotionally unstable. He said everything was a misunderstanding, all because Seraphina was drunk. The things he'd said to her were a misunderstanding—he'd only been trying to stop her from clinging to him. The kiss, too. Finally, he said— "Yvonne, it's all in the past. I have you now. As for Seraphina, I truly see her only as a sister."

5

That night, I slept alone. I tossed and turned, thinking all night. The next morning, I got up and opened the door, and the first thing I saw was Hayden standing there. He looked like he hadn't slept at all—dark circles under his eyes, stubble on his chin, his expression cautious. He looked at me carefully, like a dog afraid of angering its owner. I thought for a moment, then smiled at him. "I'm hungry. I want some of your congee. Will you make some for me?" When he heard that, Hayden froze for a moment, then quickly smiled. He thought I'd gotten over it, that I'd forgiven him. But I hadn't. I'd just given up. I'd thought a lot that night. I was never one to dwell on others' faults. On the contrary, maybe because life had been so bitter, I'd always been good at remembering the kindness others showed me. So when I thought of Hayden, I always remembered the times he'd stayed by my bedside with a wet towel when I had a fever. I remembered the night he proposed, on the beach under the starry sky, holding me and kissing me. I remembered once, on his parents' death anniversary, when he held me and said hoarsely, "Yvonne, I only have you. You can never leave me." But then. I also remembered other things. I remembered how, these past days, he'd wavered between me and Seraphina time and again. I remembered how he'd forgotten what I was allergic to but remembered every detail of her tastes. I remembered how he said he loved me, but his eyes always looked at her. I remembered how eight years of my life couldn't buy me a true heart. I was tired. I was so tired. But I was also so unwilling to let go. I couldn't accept that after giving so much, I'd gotten nothing in return. I couldn't bear the thought of them flying off together the moment I left. We had a child. We'd been so close to happiness. I closed my eyes heavily. I wanted to make sure that even if I left, Hayden could never be with Seraphina without guilt. … In the days that followed, Hayden was incredibly good to me, almost overly careful. He went out of his way to buy my favorite cake, bought me the latest handbag to make amends, and every morning before leaving, he kissed my cheek. He started coming home on time and spending more time with me. But I also saw on Seraphina's social media that he was buying her medicine, cooking for her, celebrating her birthday… Her last post was a pair of comparison photos. One was of her and him from years ago, their faces young, their smiles bright and sincere. The other was a selfie. In it, Seraphina held a bouquet of roses, smiling sweetly, and behind her, a man in an apron was busy in the kitchen. The caption read: *"Time flies, and we remain the same as ever."* Anyone who saw that post would think they were a happy, newlywed couple. I looked at it, then gave it a like. A little while later, I got a call from Hayden. "Yvonne, are you off work? I'll pick you up for dinner." "Sure, let's go have Western food." I agreed cheerfully, thinking to myself, *He's so busy. Busy taking care of me, busy keeping her company. Can't let go of me, can't let go of her.* … I pretended not to notice anything and started playing the role of a devoted, trusting wife. One night, I clearly heard Seraphina calling him, and I simply asked, "Is that Seraphina?" He was lying beside me, half-asleep when he answered the phone. He sat up instinctively. "Yeah, she has a cold, her head hurts…" He started speaking without thinking, then froze. "Yvonne, I…" I smiled and said, "Oh. Then go see her. Just come back early." That night, Hayden didn't leave. He said she had medicine at home and had told her to take it and sleep it off. After he said that, he turned to look at me. His expression was hard to describe—like disbelief mixed with hesitation. After a long pause, he finally blurted out, "Why?" "Why what?" I played dumb. "You're sending me to another woman in the middle of the night to deliver medicine?" So he knew it was wrong. I smiled softly. "She's your sister, isn't she?" "Hayden, I've thought about it. I should trust you." "We have to move forward, don't we? What's done is done." That night, Hayden and I talked a lot. I was never one to act coy or show weakness. I always liked to put up a strong front. But that night, I imitated Seraphina. I learned to show weakness, to bare my heart, to exaggerate my pain, to act fragile, and then tell him— "Hayden, I only have you. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?" "You said you'd be good to me forever. You won't betray my trust, will you?" I knew his nature. I knew that if I did this, he would pity me and feel guilty. A man's guilt is always more reliable than his love. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. I slowly placed my hand on my lower abdomen, and a twisted sense of satisfaction welled up inside me. Satisfaction, yes—but mostly pain.

6

How I had longed for this child. Hayden and I both loved children. Maybe because of our broken families, we both desperately wanted a child of our own blood. Not long after we got married, there was a false alarm. I thought I was pregnant because of a faulty test. When I told him—I'll never forget his face. He looked like he'd been hit by a wave of joy, stunned for a moment before coming to his senses, his eyes shining. He was never one to show emotion, but that day, he couldn't stop smiling. He picked me up excitedly, then carefully set me down, his face full of regret and worry. He was afraid. Afraid that his actions might hurt me or the baby. This time, when I found out I was really pregnant, I was overjoyed and couldn't wait to tell him. But for some reason, that night, watching him look distracted, I didn't say a word. And now, as I touched my belly, I thought—what if Hayden knew I was carrying his child? What if he knew he was the one who killed it? What if the baby was lost because of him and Seraphina? What would he do? I must be crazy. I felt like one of those villainesses in TV dramas, using a child as leverage. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. He loved children so much. He'd looked forward to having a child with me. We'd even picked out names… If that happened, he'd never be able to be with Seraphina without guilt, would he?! … Ten days later was our second wedding anniversary. On that day, Hayden took me on a trip to West River. For some reason, as soon as I arrived, I felt unwell. The baby had been so well-behaved all along. I'd never had any discomfort since getting pregnant. That night, I lay in bed with my eyes closed, unable to sleep. Hayden slept soundly beside me. The night was deep and silent. The darkness amplified everything. I heard the vibration of a phone. It was Seraphina. Again. Hayden answered, said a few words, and hung up. The vibration came again, over and over. I could hear Seraphina crying on the other end. "Brother Hayden, can you come see me? I feel terrible all over." "I feel like I'm dying." "No one loves me. You don't want me anymore, do you?" "I'm standing on the rooftop now. The wind is so strong here, and it's so dark. Will you come see me?" In the end, Hayden rubbed his temples and let out a low sigh. I stayed in bed, pretending to be asleep, until he shook me awake. He kissed my cheek. "Yvonne, something came up at the office. I need to go back. I'll be back by tomorrow morning." Based on the sweet, accommodating, trusting persona I'd been putting on, I should have nodded obediently and said yes. But for some reason, my heart was pounding. I pretended to wake from a nightmare and wrapped my arms around his waist. I even squeezed out a few tears. "Hayden, please don't go. I just had a terrible dream. Don't leave me here alone…" But Hayden left anyway. He patted my head and told me to stay put and wait for him to come back. I never got to wait for him. At two in the morning, a massive earthquake struck West River. Buildings collapsed. I was buried beneath the rubble. …

What is it like to be trapped under debris? Darkness. Endless darkness. The air is limited, the space is limited, but the darkness is infinite. Infinite darkness magnifies every weakness and shadow within you. I thought I had already given up on Hayden, that I was completely disillusioned. I thought I had become invincible. But I hadn't. When I was buried under the rubble, unable to move, I realized I was still weak. In the darkness, I texted Hayden— "Hayden, there's an earthquake. I'm buried underground. It's so dark. I'm so scared…" "Am I going to die? I don't want to die…" In four short hours, I sent him countless messages—starting with fear, then numbness, and finally, a bone-deep hatred. During those four hours, I even received messages from friends checking on me, but Hayden never replied. I couldn't help wondering what he was doing. While I was buried under the rubble, was he at Seraphina's place, or even in her bed, holding her and whispering sweet nothings?! The thought made me tremble uncontrollably. I was buried for ten hours. When I was rescued, a different idea struck me. With trembling hands, I sent him two final texts, then threw my phone into the rubble. "Hayden, I can't hold on any longer. Lucky for you, you had work to do—otherwise you'd be buried here with me and our child." "I'm so glad you're safe." —I did it on purpose. I deliberately made him believe I was dead. I wanted him to feel guilt and regret for me. I wanted him to remember. It was his idea to bring me to West River. He left me here alone for his moonlight, leaving me and my child to die in a foreign land. And I, with my heart and soul focused on him, even in my final moments, was worried for him and glad for his safety. I wanted him to see my shadow in his dreams every night. I wanted him to be haunted by guilt, unable to sleep.

7

By the time Hayden received those texts, it was already broad daylight. The night before, when he found Seraphina, she was standing on the rooftop, the wind making her sway precariously. She turned to him and gave a thin smile. "Brother Hayden, you came back. I knew you still had me in your heart." For some reason, watching this scene, he felt a flicker of weariness. But more than that, he felt pity. That night, Seraphina clung to him, repeating her sorrows over and over. At this point, he couldn't quite explain what he was feeling. Did he still love Seraphina? It seemed… not as much anymore. He knew the one he loved was Yvonne. Eight years together—she was not just his lover, but his family. Even though she had chased him first, had loved him first, over these eight years, he had come to need her. As for Seraphina, it was just lingering regret. He just felt sorry for her. She was the love of his youth, the one he'd never been able to reach. Back then, everyone had been against them. And now. He knew he should push her away. But he didn't. He just patted her head and told her not to overthink things. "Did you take your medicine today? Do you still feel unwell? I'll take you to the doctor." He told himself it was fine. He was just taking care of a patient. He was just looking after his sister. It was fine. Yvonne didn't know anything. Yvonne loved him so much. Just this once. One last time. When he woke up in the morning, it was already light. His alarm woke him, and he instinctively grabbed his phone, only to find that his flight had been canceled. Then came a flood of notifications. Finally, he saw Yvonne's texts. One after another. She said there was an earthquake. She was buried underground. It was so dark. She was so scared. In an instant, he felt as if he'd fallen into an icy abyss. His hands trembled as he held the phone. He told himself it couldn't be true. None of this could be true. But the flood of news app alerts on his phone told him clearly that it was all real. He frantically called Yvonne, but no one answered. He texted her, but there was no reply. Fear began to grip him. It swept over him like a hurricane. Maybe his face was too pale, because Seraphina came over and asked, "Brother Hayden, what's wrong?" He looked at her, her face the same as always, and suddenly remembered the night before. Last night, at two in the morning, when Yvonne was buried under the rubble, what had he been doing?! His face darkened even more. He grabbed his coat from the sofa and rushed out. "Brother Hayden, where are you going?" He thought he heard Seraphina's voice, but maybe he didn't. He just walked straight ahead, stumbling. He didn't know where he was going. Where could he go? All flights to West River were canceled. The roads had collapsed. He couldn't get to West River. He couldn't get to her. He couldn't go anywhere. In the end, Hayden went home. Back to the home he and Yvonne had shared for three years. He sat there, clutching his phone, refreshing it constantly, hoping for a message from Yvonne. But there was nothing. He waited five hours. Finally, he received two very short texts from Yvonne. "Hayden, I can't hold on any longer. Lucky for you, you had work to do—otherwise you'd be buried here with me and our child." "I'm so glad you're safe." His heart exploded.

8

A child. He and Yvonne had a child. He suddenly remembered a couple of days ago, when Yvonne had received a package full of baby clothes and toys. He'd thought it was strange at the time. He'd asked her why she bought them. She just smiled and said a friend of hers was pregnant, and she wanted to buy her a gift. Back then, he'd held her and asked, full of anticipation, "Yvonne, when will we have our own child?" And she had smiled shyly. She looked at him with utter seriousness and asked, "Hayden, if we had our own child, would you be a good husband and a good father?" "Of course I would. I'd take good care of you. I'd do better than anyone. I'd never let you be sad." The memories came flooding back. He frantically searched for those things, only to find that the house was filled with Yvonne's traces. On the refrigerator, there was a weekly meal plan she'd written on a small blackboard in her elegant handwriting. In the closet, all the clothes were neatly organized and folded. Even in his study, on his desk, there were little notes she'd written: *"You've been working for an hour—time for a break!"* *"Remember to drink water!"* … Why had he never noticed these things before? Why had he always taken them for granted?! He searched for a long time. Finally, in a drawer in the bedroom, he found those things. Besides the baby clothes and toys, he found an old, thick sketchbook. He knew Yvonne liked to draw. But he didn't know she had secretly drawn so many portraits of him. One after another, from their first meeting in high school to their acquaintance, their love, their marriage… She had captured every moment with her brush. The earliest drawing was already faded. It was of him in high school, sitting in the classroom reading. Beside it, she had written in her elegant hand: *"The person I liked at first sight."* The second drawing was the beginning of their acquaintance. It showed him quietly handing a pack of tissues to a girl crying in the garden. She wrote: *"He really is such a gentle person."* The third drawing. He stared at it for a long time but couldn't remember when it was from. It was only when he saw the caption that he guessed it must have been drawn during the first Chinese New Year she spent with him. She wrote: *"So he has no home to go back to, just like me. My heart aches for him so much."* *"I'll spend every Chinese New Year with him from now on. Even if he doesn't really need me, at least having someone around during the holidays makes it a little better, right?"* He kept flipping through. Finally, he came to a drawing from when they got together. There were no people in it—just the two ceramic figurines they had made. She wrote: *"Our token of love."* *"Even though he never said 'I like you,' we made each other's figurines, and he smiled when he looked at them. That must count as understanding each other's hearts, right?"* *"I'll keep these figurines safe."* *"When we get married and have kids, and when we're old and toothless, I'll take them out and show them to our grandchildren, and tell them the story of their grandparents."* When he read this, his breath caught. He instinctively went to the living room to find the figurines. But when he reached the display