Chapter 2 He Is a Good Man

I was once the heiress of the prestigious Gray family. Although my parents had their own lovers and never really cared for me, I had a fiancé who truly loved me. Six months ago, however, terrible news came from the frontline. Maverick had been ambushed during a secret mission, and they couldn't recover his body. My family, desperate to protect their interests, forced their pregnant daughter onto another general, who was a pervert well into his 60s. I refused and ran, carrying my baby and starving in the middle of a bitter winter, until Noah found me. He looked at me, a heavily pregnant nuisance, and took me into his home, as if he were a scrap collector. "Do you even know who I am? Do you know whose child I'm carrying?" I had questioned him fiercely, anchoring a knife over his neck. Noah was making scrambled eggs and toast at the time. Evaporation blurred his nerdy glasses. As he wiped them clean, he patiently said, "I know. But it's cold outside. You should eat something to regain your energy if you want to keep holding that knife." At that moment, the knife in my hand clattered to the floor. Later, to register the baby's birth and avoid my family's pursuit, I married Noah, a mundane, boring, and somewhat timid man. Our life was as plain as a white wall, with a bitter coating of poverty. Every morning, he would get up at 6:00 am, ride his battered old bike to the supermarket, buy groceries, cook breakfast, and wake me up. Before leaving for work, he would squeeze the toothpaste, pour warm water, and put a soft cloth on the toilet seat so I wouldn't feel the cold first thing in the morning. His library job was easy, but he would bring home old newspapers and magazines every day. At first, I thought he was going to sell them as scrap. Later, I realized he was cutting out parenting columns. He carefully pasted them into a notebook, filling it with meticulous notes. Some of the topics were "How to Massage Leg Cramps for Pregnant Women", "Budget-Friendly Late-Pregnancy Recipes", and "100 Newborn Care Tips". That notebook was thicker than his pay stub. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, my legs would cramp painfully. Noah would wake instantly, without turning on the light, find my calf, and massage it with just the right pressure. His hands were rough, with thin calluses on the fingertips, but his palms radiated warmth, sending comfort through me. "Feeling better?" he asked softly in the dark, his voice hoarse and drowsy. "Yeah." "Does it still hurt?" "Not anymore." "Okay. Sleep tight. I'll continue a little while more," he said, continuing to massage my legs until I fell back asleep. At times, I would wake up groggy, bathed in the pale light of the moon, and see him leaning against the headboard. His head would nod off little by little, yet his hands would still methodically massage my legs. It was moments like that that thawed my frozen heart. I thought, maybe living like this for the rest of my life wouldn't be so bad. He might be poor, powerless, and ordinary, but he was a good man. At least in this cold, indifferent world, he was the only honest soul willing to give me warmth.