Chapter 8 Unspoken regrets

Xue Er turned to Lin Er, her expression unreadable but firm. "Go wait outside," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Lin Er hesitated for a moment, glancing between her and Ye Fen, sensing the tension that hung thick in the air. But Xue Er's eyes were resolute, and Lin Er knew better than to argue. With a quiet nod, she stepped out, leaving them alone in the dimly lit room.

Xue Er slowly turned back to Ye Fen, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. She wanted to say it calmly, wanted to sound indifferent, but the emotions she had spent so long suppressing were breaking free like a flood.

"I'm sorry," Ye Fen said softly, his voice heavy with regret.

Xue Er froze. The words hit her harder than she expected, but they weren't enough. She clenched her fists, her eyes burning. "Why are you apologizing?" she asked, her voice cracking as tears welled up in her eyes. "Aren't you supposed to say that this has nothing to do with you? Aren't you supposed to act as if my feelings don't matter?" Her chest rose and fell heavily as she tried to catch her breath. "Do you really not like me at all? Is that it?"

Ye Fen took a step forward, his gaze filled with guilt. Seeing her cry like this, because of him, made his heart ache. He reached out to wipe her tears, but before his fingers could brush her cheek, she slapped his hand away. The sound echoed in the quiet room, sharp and full of hurt.

"Don't," she choked out. "Don't act like you care now."

Ye Fen's hand hovered in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it. He deserved that. He deserved every ounce of her anger. He had made mistakes—mistakes that had hurt her deeply.

Xue Er took a step back, as if putting more distance between them could shield her from the pain. "You left," she whispered against her will. "You left me with no explanation. You married someone else, and you never told me."

Ye Fen clenched his fists. "I know," he murmured. "I was a fool."

Xue Er let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as tears continued to fall. "You chose someone else," she said bitterly, her voice trembling. "You loved her."

Ye Fen's jaw tightened. "I did," he admitted. "I loved Roxue. But after she asked for a divorce, I saw who she really was. And I realized—I had been blind."

Xue Er's breath caught in her throat. The pain in his eyes was real, but it didn't erase the hurt she had endured all these years. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gripped the fabric of her sleeve tightly. "In three years, you didn't call me. Not even once," she choked out. "Who am I to you? Please tell me."

Her words shattered him. Ye Fen looked at her, at the woman who had always been there, who had waited for him without even knowing why. He reached out again, hesitated, then let his arms drop.

Xue Er turned away, her body trembling. She took a step toward the door, but before she could leave, Ye Fen moved without thinking—he pulled her into his arms.

Xue Er gasped, her body stiff against his. His embrace was strong, desperate, as if he was terrified of letting her go. "I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair. "I should have called. I should have fought for you. I should have never let you go."

Xue Er trembled in his arms, torn between the warmth of his hold and the pain of the past. "Do you think this changes anything?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Do you think a hug will erase everything?"

"No," Ye Fen admitted, tightening his grip. "But I'll do whatever it takes to make it right."

Xue Er shut her eyes, feeling the weight of his words. A part of her wanted to stay in his arms forever. But another part, the one still wounded, wasn't ready to forgive.

She took a deep breath, pushing lightly against his chest. He hesitated, then let her go.

"I need time," she said, stepping back. "I don't know if I can do this, Ye Fen."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'll wait," he promised. "For as long as it takes."

Xue Er took another shaky breath before turning toward the door. This time, Ye Fen didn't stop her. But as she stepped outside, she knew this wasn't the end. It was only the beginning of something new—something uncertain, but maybe, just maybe, something worth fighting.