David, surprised but not hesitating, scooped
Ashley into his arms, her limp body enveloped in
his coat. Ethan caught only a glimpse of her
before looking away, his gaze landing on her
hand dangling from the coat. He saw the old
scar on her ring finger, and the fresh, angry
marks surrounding it. One of her fingernails was
broken and bleeding. He couldn’t look any
longer.
The silence in the house was suffocating. Ethan
stumbled down the stairs, his mother’s voice
calling his name, unheard. He walked out into
the snow–covered garden, feeling numb. He
stood there, the snow piling on him, until his
knees buckled, and he sank to the ground. He
had despised her, looked down on her, but it
was him, and his entire family, who were truly
despicable. He was grateful now that the world
<
hadn’t known about them. He was disgusted by
his own bloodline.
- 21.
I woke up in the hospital, David by my side. His
bloodshot eyes lit up when he saw me stir. “Ashley, you’re awake!”
I nodded weakly, my throat raw and scratchy.
“Water?” he asked, already pouring me a glass
of warm honey water. He helped me sit up,
holding me close as I drank. “I’ll get you some
broth later.” He touched my forehead, kissing
me softly. I looked at him questioningly. He
seemed to know what I wanted to ask. “Nothing
happened. Don’t worry.” He paused. “We should
thank Ethan, actually. If he hadn’t been there…”
I leaned against him, turning to look out the
window. “Is it still snowing?”
く
“It stopped. Tomorrow will be sunny.”
“Ashley,” he whispered, “every day will be sunny
from now on.”
- 22.
After everything was settled, everyone
punished, the weight finally lifted from my
shoulders. David went with me to visit my
mother’s grave. It had been in a neglected
corner of the cemetery, a reflection of her
tragic life and death. Mrs. Miller had bought the
plot. I had been grateful then, but now, it just
felt…sad.
We moved her remains to a new place, a
peaceful spot with rolling hills, a clear stream,
and wildflowers. I knelt there for a long time,
confessing my youthful resentment, my childish
anger. David knelt beside me, his presence a silent comfort. I cried, then I laughed, my hand
resting on the cool stone.
Г
“Mom, this is David. He loves me. He’s good to
- me. You can rest easy now.”
David took my hand, his voice serious. “Helen,
it’s more than like. I love her.”
The wind rustled the new grass.
I told him I’d made a wish at my mother’s grave.
He pulled me close. “What did you wish for?”
I smiled. “Old dreams fulfilled, new ones to
make. I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”
He hugged me tighter, his eyes and lips curving
into a soft, tender smile. He must have
remembered that night in Miami, our blurry
reflection in the glass, his Facebook post. My
words echoed his own.
(Ethan’s Perspective)
I turned thirty the year David and Ashley got
married. Thirty, they say, is when a man finds
his footing. But for me, thirty was the beginning
of the end.
I was the last Miller standing. Ironically, the
family business thrived under my leadership. I
sent a lavish wedding gift, which they returned.
I tried to transfer some of my shares to Ashley,
a meager attempt at making amends for what
my family had done. She refused. “My husband
takes care of me. I don’t need your money, Mr.
Miller. If you really have too much, donate it to
charity.”
I did as she said, pouring most of my fortune
into philanthropic causes, earning awards and
accolades that meant nothing to me. What I
wanted was simple, something I’d once taken.
for granted: sharing a cup of tea with Ashley in
her garden on a sunny day, joining her and
David for hot pot… But those days were gone
forever She’d said we were just friends but
<
forever. She’d said we were just friends, but
now, even that was an impossible dream. They talk about self–fulfilling prophecies. Why
couldn’t that one have come true?
She had a daughter. I’d heard the Carters were an old–fashioned family. I’d wondered if they’d be disappointed it wasn’t a son. I’d wondered if they wouldn’t treat Ashley and her daughter well…But how could they not? And why was I hoping for their unhappiness?
I heard that David scheduled a minor surgery right after their daughter was born. Ashley had cried. She’d never been a crier. Not when I was
sick or injured, not even when she’d cut her hand so badly, losing a chunk of flesh. Speaking of that scar…she’d taken that for me, shielding
me from a broken bottle. She had loved me
once. I’d thrown it all away.
I thought of the rings David gave her. One was 11.8 carats. But she rarely wore it. She wore her
987
plain Bulgari wedding band, the scar on her finger exposed, a constant reminder of me.
After all these years, that ugly scar was the only thing I’d truly given her.
When their daughter turned three, I set up a
trust fund for her, a large sum to be released
on her eighteenth birthday. I donated everything else.
My thirty–sixth year was my benmingnian, a supposedly unlucky year in the Chinese zodiac. They say it brings a trial, a tribulation. If you don’t survive it, you’re doomed. I didn’t survive mine. I didn’t want to.
On a snowy day in DC, I closed the garage door, lit the charcoal grill, and sat in my car. In my final moments, I dreamt of Ashley and
David, sharing a sweet potato like they had as
teenagers. I was watching them from the
shadows, envious of their happiness, resentful.
But this time, I didn’t stay hidden. I ran towards
them, grabbing Ashley’s hand. “Come on,
Ashley, we have to go! Your mother’s dying…” I
pulled her along, running, running, finally
changing their fate. She ended up with David,
just like she was supposed to. They dated
secretly, then told their families in college,
receiving their blessings. They got married, had
a daughter, lived happily ever after. And I? I was
just a friend. Just a friend.
(The End)
