Chapter3

The moment I pushed the door open, rain mixed with wind hit my face, cold and biting. I didn't look back, didn't glance at the chaos in the banquet hall behind me. My leather shoes splashed in the puddles with a "splat, splat" sound, each step like treading on shattered memories, driving the final nail into the coffin of this five-year relationship. When I got into the taxi with my small suitcase, the driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror several times. Probably because my face was still wet with rain, and the redness in my eyes was hard to hide. I used the little money I had to rent a small courtyard. I would spend my final days here. The courtyard wasn't big, with a few Lilac trees and a small vegetable patch growing greens and tomatoes. In the days that followed, I lived a very regular life. The cancer pain still struck occasionally. Each time it did, I would curl up in bed, gritting my teeth, and endure it. After a month like this, the rain in the small town finally stopped. The Lilac blossoms seemed to burst open overnight, their sweet scent drifting into the house, softening the very air. I was sitting in the wicker chair, basking in the sun, just closing my eyes, when I heard footsteps I'd known for five years, etched into my bones. My heart sank. My hands unconsciously clenched the hem of my clothes. I tried to push myself up from the chair to hide inside, but my legs felt like lead, giving way as soon as I lifted them. The courtyard gate creaked open. Peregrine stood at the entrance, dust from his journey still on his suit jacket, his hair disheveled by the wind, the red veins in his eyes more pronounced than when I first met him. The moment he saw me, he froze completely. His lips moved several times before he managed to squeeze out a hoarse "Evangeline," the tremor in his voice impossible to hide. "What are you doing here?" My voice was as cold as ice, even unfamiliar to my own ears. "Evangeline, I've been looking for you for so long." He took two steps forward, his footsteps on the stone path light, as if afraid to startle me. I turned to look at him sharply, the mockery in my eyes unconcealed. "Looking for me? Why? Wasn't your wedding lively enough? Where's your bride? You should be spending your happy life with her, not wasting time in my shabby courtyard." His face instantly paled. He stepped forward, wanting to grab my hand, but I retreated half a step, avoiding his touch. His hand hung in the air. His Adam's apple bobbed. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket – the medical report I'd left behind at the apartment. The edges were crumpled. The words "late-stage pancreatic cancer" were circled in red pen, the circles overlapping, evidence of him having looked at it repeatedly. "You're sick." His voice trembled as he held out the report, his fingertips shaking. "You kept this from me..." I glanced at the report and suddenly laughed, tears falling as I did. "Peregrine, what's the use of saying this now? You were the one who wanted to marry Cordelia. You were the one who said I was 'born rolling in the mud.' You were the one who changed the apartment passcode and told me not to make trouble. Now that I'm dying, you come here pretending to be the good guy? Don't you find that ridiculous?" "I divorced her." His voice suddenly rose, his eyes frighteningly red. "The boss agreed to let me go on the condition that I marry a 'clean' wife, someone with no gang background, to help me make a complete break. Cordelia's father is the boss's business partner. The boss said she was the best choice. I thought... I thought as long as I established myself quickly, I could come back for you. I thought you would wait for me." But I still shook my head, took another half-step back, freeing my hand from his. "Peregrine, it's too late." I looked at his instantly ashen face, my voice as light as a sigh. "My illness... I know how it is. I don't want to suffer in the hospital anymore, and I don't want to entangle with you anymore. Go away. Don't come looking for me again. Let's pretend we never met." The wind outside the courtyard blew in again, the sweet scent of Lilac carrying a chill, pricking my face like tiny needles. I saw Peregrine's lips move, wanting to say something, but in the end, he just clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. I stood there, watching the gate after he left, tears finally falling uncontrollably. Lilac blossoms fell on my shoulders, their scent as sweet as ever, but the last bit of warmth in my heart had long been frozen solid by five years of grievances and this illness.