No More Yielding Chapter 08
Three years later.
Winter arrived in Toronto with heavy, swirling snow.
Arthur’s temples were gray, his back hunched, and his hands as rough as sandpaper.
Not a trace of his former high-spirited self remained.
His daily routine consisted of organizing the logistics warehouse, followed by drinking himself into a stupor after work.
On this day, he was taking shelter from the snow at a street-side newsstand.
He casually picked up the most authoritative magazine in the international architectural world.
Flipping through the pages, Arthur was struck as if by lightning.
Across a two-page spread was an incredibly dazzling photograph.
Twenty-one-year-old Isabella stood on the award podium at Harvard University.
In her hands, she held the trophy for the “Pritzker Rising Star Award,” the highest honor for young architects worldwide.
Wearing a tailored white dress, her smile was confident, radiating brilliance.
She was no longer that gloomy girl trembling in the corner.
At the edge of the photo stood an elegant and poised woman.
It was me.
I was wearing an haute couture trench coat, my makeup flawless, and the look in my eyes as I watched Isabella was full of pride.
Beside it was the headline:
“The Architectural Prodigy and Her Guiding Light.”
Arthur stared fixedly at the photo.
Tears smashed onto the page, blurring Isabella’s smiling face.
“Found them, finally found them.”
He laughed and cried like a madman.
He sold his only property in Toronto at a low price in exchange for a one-way ticket to Boston.
He wanted to atone for his sins.
Even if it was just to say sorry.
Even if it was just to look at them from afar.
It was also snowing heavily in Boston.
Wearing a thin, worn-out overcoat, Arthur followed the address in the magazine and found the art center where Isabella was holding her solo exhibition.
The exhibition hall was brilliantly lit and filled with elites.
The melodious sound of a cello drifted out through the glass doors.
Arthur looked like a beggar, shivering in the cold wind outside the door.
Through the glass, he saw Isabella.
Wearing a black evening gown, Isabella was conversing with top master architects.
Her eyes were bright and open, every gesture filled with dazzling confidence.
Arthur looked greedily at his daughter, his heart pounding violently.
Right at that moment, he saw me.
I was holding a glass of champagne, standing next to a tall, straight-backed, and refined man.
He considerately tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
The look in my eyes as I watched him was gentle and relaxed.
It was an expression Arthur had never seen on my face during our eighteen years of marriage.
At that moment, Arthur went mad with jealousy, his insides burning.
Regardless of everything, he pushed open the glass doors of the exhibition hall and rushed in.
Cold wind mixed with snowflakes swirled into the hall.
Everyone looked over.
Arthur, with red-rimmed eyes, walked tremblingly toward us.
His voice was terribly hoarse.
“Adhara, Isabella.”