The Wife He Forgot To Love Chapter 10
He squatted down and touched that pink grout with his finger.
It could not be washed away.
He thought about how long Daniela had lain here.
Several hours.
The water flowed from warm to ice-cold, and the blood drained from her body, flowing into the drain.
She was all alone. No one was with her.
He was at work at that time.
He was revising proposals, replying to emails, and saying, “This is so annoying.”
He stood up and walked into the bedroom.
In the second compartment on the left side of the wardrobe, that stack of thermal underwear was still there.
He pulled one out, a pink bunny one, with a slightly loose collar.
He shook it, and a piece of paper fluttered out.
He picked it up — “Mom loves you.”
He pulled out another one, and there was another piece of paper.
He pulled out all the pieces of paper one by one and spread them out on the bed.
Every single one had the same words written on it.
She wrote it many times.
She pressed hard every time, and in some places, the paper was pierced by the pen tip.
She wrote it so many times, afraid that Pauline might miss one, afraid that she would not see it.
She stuffed all her love into these pieces of paper because she knew she would have no chance to say it in person.
He folded those pieces of paper one by one and put them back in their original places.
Then he opened the bottom drawer and took out that diary.
He opened it and read it page by page.
Actually, he had already read it many times. Turning to the middle, he saw a page he had not noticed before.
It read: “Jonathan said the pork ribs were delicious today. I will put more sugar next time; he likes it sweet.”
On the next page: “He picked me up from work today. He waited downstairs for an hour and did not rush me. He used to be like this too.”
Further down: “He said his stomach was uncomfortable. I will make oatmeal for him tomorrow morning.”
Further down: “He said I lost weight recently. It is actually because I cannot eat. I did not tell him.”
He continued to flip through.
The handwriting at the back became increasingly scribbled; sometimes there was only a date and no content.
One page was crumpled, as if water had dripped on it and dried, and the handwriting was crooked: “I saw the message on his phone. A woman said, ‘Thank you for keeping me company today.’ I dare not ask him; he will say I am too sensitive.”
Then, a few lines down, she added: “Maybe it really is because I am too sensitive.”
Jonathan broke down and clutched his head. He did not really do anything with that female intern; he just felt she looked a lot like Daniela in college, like a wildly growing tree.
So full of vitality, so dazzling.
Daniela was getting older, but he was also getting older.
He was the one who first betrayed his vows to Daniela.
On the last page, it was written: “Jonathan, I do not hate you. You pulled me out of the mud and gave me the best years. You were the one who let me know that I was also worthy of being loved. But you do not know how to love anymore. I do not know since when, but the way you look at me became different. You used to have light in your eyes when you looked at me, but later it was gone. That is not my fault. Nor is it yours. It is just that we have reached this point and cannot go any further.”
“I do not hate you. But I also do not want to see you again. In the next life, do not come looking for me.”
He read this page three times.
Then he closed the diary, hugged it in his arms, and sat on the edge of the bed.
He did not cry.
His tears had run dry.
On the fifth night, he had a dream.
He dreamed of that debate hall from their college days.
She stood on the stage, wearing a white shirt, her back perfectly straight, and fire in her eyes.
The opposing debater questioned her, and she stood up unhurriedly; her voice was not loud, but every word was crystal clear.
When she finished speaking, the entire hall fell silent for two seconds, and then applause broke out.
He stood offstage, looking at her.
She turned her head and saw him.