Chapter 3

Ethan sat motionless in the car, his body rigid like a statue.

I sat in the passenger seat, watching him.

The tide of memories surged, without warning.

Our first meeting was under that same old oak tree.

I was crouching on the ground, searching for a rare book I'd bought from a used book stall.

The wind was too strong, blowing the pages away.

He walked past and stepped on the book.

When he handed it to me, he adjusted his glasses, wearing a detached, academic air.

"History major? I have the original edition of this book. You can come get it if you want."

Only later did I learn.

For that casually delivered line, he had secretly borrowed the book from the university library three days in advance.

His way of pursuing me was also precisely in line with "criminal psychology."

He knew I went to the library every day at three in the afternoon.

So he would arrive at two fifty.

He knew I liked the window seat.

He would occupy the seat next to mine in advance.

I later asked him, "How long did you follow me to know me so well?"

He maintained a straight face and stubbornly said, "That's called target subject behavior pattern analysis."

I laughed, my eyes crinkling. "I love sunflowers because they always face the sun."

He didn't say anything then.

Two months later, a vast field of golden flowers had bloomed on the barren land behind the university.

He stood by the flower field, waiting for me, his face peeling from the sun.

When he saw me, he turned his head away, his words still just as stubborn.

"Just saw it passing by. Nothing to do with me."

The day he proposed.

He rented out the entire top-floor restaurant and memorized his lines for three days.

But the moment he stood before me, he forgot everything.

Stuttering, his face bright red, he finally managed to blurt out:

"Elara... let me... take care of you."

I smiled and said yes.

Blushing, he put the ring on my finger.

He put it on the wrong way.

Then, fumbling, he took it off and put it on again.

His hands trembled uncontrollably.

I thought of the clumsy, stubborn Ethan from my memories, the one who was clearly terrified but insisted on acting nonchalant.

A smile touched my lips, then slowly faded.

The Ethan in my memories was so wonderful.

So wonderful that I couldn't understand how he had changed later.

One day, in the second year of our marriage.

The doorbell rang.

Seraphina Hayes stood at the door, her hair in a ponytail, carrying a thick stack of research papers.

She shyly said, "Professor Vance, I'm your new graduate student, Seraphina Hayes."

Her gaze swept past Ethan's shoulder and landed on me.

I still remember that look.

It wasn't shyness, nor was it admiration.

It was an assessment. It was like she was examining something that belonged to someone else, calculating how to make it her own.

From that day on, my marriage began to crack, little by little.

And what I didn't know then was this:

The very night Seraphina first came to our house, she posted an update on her Ins.

The accompanying picture was a corner of Ethan's study.

She wrote: "New semester, new beginning."

Someone in the comments asked, "Where is this?"

She replied: "My future home."