Chapter 16

When I drove back to my house, I saw a familiar car parked at the gate from a distance, blocking the way. I didn’t need to think twice to know who it was. I honked the horn, but the car’s owner got out slowly—it was Brian Locke.

He walked over to my car window and tapped on the glass. I rolled it down, meeting his complicated gaze—a mix of shock, exhaustion, and a hint of confusion I couldn’t decipher. He clung to the edge of the window, staring at me intently. His lips moved, but no words came out—as if speaking would cause him pain all over.

“Could you move your car, please?” I broke the silence first, my tone as calm as if I were talking to a stranger.

He seemed not to hear me. After a long while, he finally spoke with difficulty, “Lily Bennett lied to me…”

I couldn’t help but laugh—a faint, self-deprecating laugh, “So what? You lied to me too. Do you expect me to comfort you or something?”

My words were like a sharp knife, hitting him right where it hurt. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. In the end, he just stood there silently, then slowly walked back to his car and moved it out of the way. I didn’t look at him again. I started the car and drove straight into the yard. Through the rear view mirror, I saw him standing there like an abandoned child—but what did that have to do with me?

Later, Justin Cole told me what had happened that night—Brian had gone to Lily Bennett’s house, heard her conversation with Dorothy Bennett, and learned the truth about the “life-saving favor.” It turned out that the person who had saved him in the small town all those years ago wasn’t Lily Bennett—it was me.

I remembered back many years ago, when I’d gone to the countryside with my father to inspect a project. I’d accidentally seen a group of people beating up a teenager. The boy had been stabbed and was lying on the ground, his eyes filled with despair. I’d been terrified, but I’d mustered up the courage to yell, “The police are coming!” which had scared the attackers away. I’d also called an ambulance to take him to the hospital. Later, I’d visited him once in the hospital. He’d been temporarily blind and couldn’t see my face. I’d just smiled and said to him, “Okay, I’ll wait for you to repay me someday,” then turned and left.

I’d never imagined that the teenager would be Brian Locke, and I’d never dreamed that Lily Bennett would take credit for saving him and lie to him for so many years. And because of this false “favor,” Brian had treated me coldly and hurt me for five years.

Justin Cole said that after Brian learned the truth, he’d taken back everything he’d given Lily Bennett and her mother, and had locked himself at home for a long time. He’d read through all the Messenger messages I’d sent him over our five years of marriage—those lonely messages that had gone unanswered. They’d started with me excitedly sharing my daily life, asking him, “What did you eat today?” and “Does this dress look good?” Later, they’d turned into complaints about him not replying, questioning why he was so cold, and then self-comfort: “He’s probably just too busy.” It had been a one-man show, repeating over and over.

When I heard this, I didn’t feel sad or angry—only a little ridiculous. The feelings I’d carefully nurtured over those years, the coldness I’d desperately tried to warm—they’d all been built on a lie. And Brian Locke—he’d only looked back after losing everything, only then realizing what he’d missed. But what was the point of that now?

He’d tried to find me countless times afterward, wanting to explain, apologize, and make amends. But every time, I’d just told him calmly, “Brian Locke, we’re already divorced. I don’t want to talk about the past anymore.”

He probably didn’t know that every time he’d left my messages “read but unanswered” on Messenger, every time he’d spoken harshly to me because of Lily Bennett’s lies, every time he’d smashed the jade bracelet my mother had left me—that little bit of affection I’d had for him had faded away, bit by bit.

Later, I ran into him once at a mall. When he saw me, his eyes lit up instantly, and he hurried over, as if he wanted to say something. But he stopped when he saw Justin Cole beside me. Justin naturally took my hand and smiled, asking me, “Which dessert place do you want to go to?” I smiled back at him, not glancing at Brian Locke even once.

As we passed each other, I heard him whisper softly, “I’m sorry.” His voice was so light, like a gust of wind. I didn’t look back or respond.

The words “I’m sorry” had come too late. Some hurts, once inflicted, could never be undone. Some pasts, once gone, could never be revisited.

My story with Brian Locke had ended the moment he’d chosen to believe lies and hurt me. And I’d already found my true happiness after leaving him. As for him—he would probably spend a long, long time repaying the debts he owed me, and the debts he owed himself.