Marriage Named Hatred Chapter 23
After Bastian returned to his home country, he poured all his energy into philanthropy.
The Ryland Charitable Foundation was run by him personally.
He sponsored music education in impoverished mountain regions, helped mothers who had lost their children, and gave those who, like him, had done wrong but had been too late to make amends, a chance to start over.
No one knew why.
Every year on Annelise’s birthday, he went to the cemetery alone.
The headstone was small and had no name, only a single line carved into it: “I’m sorry, I was too late to love you.”
The headstone was small and had no name, only a single line carved into it: “I’m sorry, I was too late to love you.”
It was their child, and he had never told anyone.
He only brought a bouquet on that day each year and sat there from sunset until the sky went dark.
He did not disturb her again, but he still flew to Paris once every year in secret.
He bought a ticket for the last row, sat in a corner, and watched her perform.
She stood at the center of the stage, and the spotlight fell on her.
Theodore sat at the piano; the two exchanged a glance, and then the music began.
He watched those scenes—the tacit understanding between her and someone else, the way she glowed onstage.
Then the performance ended, applause rose, and he stood up and slipped away.
No one noticed him.
Just as, in her life, he had completely become part of the background.
***
One day, Annelise received an international courier package, and inside was a divorce agreement already signed.
There was no name and no message—only, on the last page, Bastian’s name signed in neat handwriting.
That same day, she received another document as well.
It was a fund established in her name to sponsor impoverished students with musical dreams.
In the initiator field, it read: “Anonymous.”
She placed the two documents together and sat at her desk for a while.
Outside the window, Paris looked leaden and overcast, but it did not rain.
Theodore came over from behind, handed her a cup of hot tea, glanced at the documents on the table, and asked nothing.
She took it, sipped once, and then put the documents away in a drawer.
“Let’s go,” she said, standing up and picking up her violin. “We’ll be late for rehearsal.”
The door closed, and those past years were left in the drawer.
And she kept moving forward.
One day many years later, on a street in Paris, Annelise and Theodore had just come out of the concert hall.
She wore a beige trench coat, he wore a black overcoat, and they walked side by side, exchanging a few words now and then.
As they passed a café, the television in the display window was playing the news.
On the screen was a familiar figure.
His hair had already gone a bit gray; dressed in a dark gray suit, he was speaking at a donation ceremony at an elementary school in some mountain region.
Children clustered around him; someone draped a sash over him, and he bent down to let the children tie it properly.
The caption read: “Founder of The Ryland Group Charitable Foundation.”
Annelise stopped and looked for two seconds.
Theodore stopped too, standing beside her without speaking.
On the screen, after he finished speaking, he bent down and said something to a little girl holding a violin.
The little girl smiled and lifted the instrument in her hands to show him.
He smiled too.
Annelise withdrew her gaze, her tone casual: “The weather was really nice today.”
Theodore glanced at the gray, overcast sky and tapped her on the head. “Yeah.”
He reached out and gently took her hand.
He reached out and gently took her hand.
They kept walking forward, passed the street corner, and disappeared into the crowd.
The news on the television continued, but no one was watching anymore.
That same evening, outside the concert hall in Paris, Bastian stood there alone.
He knew she had a performance tonight.
He did not buy a ticket; he only stood outside, listening to the faint, drifting sound of her violin.
Night was falling; the concert hall lights came on, and warm yellow light spilled through the windows.
He heard that familiar piece, and he stood there and listened to it all the way through.
When the violin fell silent, applause came from inside.
He lifted his head and looked at that lit window for a long time.
Then he turned and walked into the night.
In the distance, the concert hall lights still glowed, warm and far away.
Just like Annelise’s life.
It no longer had anything to do with him.
He lifted his head and looked at that lit window for a long time.
Then he turned and walked into the night.
In the distance, the concert hall lights still glowed, warm and far away.
Just like Annelise’s life.
It no longer had anything to do with him.
But he knew she was doing well, and that was enough.
As the night deepened, the streetlights in Paris came on.
Some took their bows amid applause; some turned away into the night.
Each of them was well.
That was the best ending.