Chapter 2

Lysander closed the door behind him as he left. I heard Olivia's whispered, pitiful words outside: "Lysander, Isadora seems really upset. Maybe I shouldn't have come." Then came Lysander's softened voice: "It's not your fault. She's the one throwing a tantrum." The room finally fell quiet. I stared at the swaying shadow of the IV bag on the ceiling, suddenly feeling my eyes sting. My phone was still in my hand, the screen bright. In that photo, we were smiling so genuinely, but now, thinking back, many cracks had already formed unnoticed. Like last year on my birthday, I prepared a careful dinner, waited for him until past midnight, and he came back smelling of alcohol, wearing a scarf Olivia gave him, saying, "Olivia knitted this. It's quite warm." Like the reason our cold war started: I simply saw Olivia holding his phone, deleting a message I'd sent, and he defended her, saying, "Olivia just pressed the wrong button by accident." My fingertip traced my smiling face on the screen, and I abruptly pressed the power button, darkening it. Some memories, no matter how sweet, become thorns. I don't know how much time passed before the hospital door was pushed open softly. No footsteps, just a familiar scent of cedar drifting in. It was Ethan. "Why didn't you tell me?" He walked to the bedside, holding a thermal lunchbox, his voice very soft. "The doctor said your stomach is sensitive. I made some millet porridge." Seeing the red veins in his eyes, I knew he must have come as soon as he heard the news. Ethan was always like this; he was always there when I needed him. "How did you know I was here?" I asked, my voice hoarse. "If I want to know something, I'll find out." He opened the lunchbox, scooped a spoonful of porridge, blew on it to cool it, and brought it to my lips. "Eat something first. You need strength to be angry." I didn't refuse. The porridge was just the right temperature, sliding down my throat, warming me to the point my eyes felt moist. Ethan fed me carefully, mindful of the IV in my hand. His fingertips occasionally brushed the corner of my mouth, light as a feather, restrained and gentle. "About the steering wheel," he suddenly said, his tone calm, "I asked a friend to look into it. From a preliminary glance, it doesn't look like an accident." My hand holding the spoon stilled for a moment. I had my suspicions too. I'd driven that car for three years without any issues, yet it malfunctioned precisely on that day. "Don't think about that for now." Ethan took the spoon from my hand. "Focus on recovering. Leave the rest to me." Lysander came the next afternoon, holding a paper bag. His expression was slightly better than the previous day, but he still carried a residue of anger. "The doctor said you can have some soft foods. I asked my assistant to buy some of the strawberry cake you like." He placed the cake on the bedside table. His gaze swept over the thermal lunchbox Ethan had left behind, and his brow instantly furrowed. "Has Ethan been here?" "Yes." I leaned against the headboard, scrolling through news on my phone, not looking up. "He's more concerned about whether I live or die than you are." Lysander's face darkened further. He reached out to touch my hair, but I turned my head away. His hand hung in the air, fingers trembling slightly as if burned. "Isadora, I know I was harsh yesterday, but can you please stop being angry?" "Angry?" I put down my phone, looked at him, and suddenly laughed. "Lysander, I don't even have the energy to be angry right now." I pointed at the cake on the bedside table. "Do you remember I'm allergic to strawberries? Three years ago, on our first date, I took one bite of strawberry cake and almost ended up in the emergency room." His pupils contracted sharply, as if he had just remembered. Right, his mind hadn't been on me for a long time. Why would he remember such a small thing? "Olivia loves strawberries, doesn't she?" I continued. "The cakes you buy for her are always from this brand." Lysander opened his mouth, wanting to explain, but no words came out. The air in the room suddenly felt stifling. The rain outside was still falling, tapping against the windowpane, crying for me.