Envy

Feng Mian sat on the couch, unmoving, as sunlight spilled across the apartment, filling the space with warmth. The curtains of the floor-to-ceiling windows were pulled back, letting the afternoon light flood in, casting long rays across the floor. She stared at the sunlit patterns on the floor, unfazed, her gaze distant and empty, as if the light didn't quite reach her.

Aunt Xu approached her quietly, holding a small tray. She paused by the couch, studying Feng Mian's blank expression, and then spoke softly. "Lunch is ready, Mrs. Han" she said gently, setting the tray on the table. "I made your favorite dish today."

Feng Mian blinked, as if awakening from a trance, and looked up at Aunt Xu. Slowly, a faint spark of awareness returned to her eyes, the smallest hint of life. She offered a weak smile, nodding. "Thank you, Aunt Xu. I'll be there."

Aunt Xu nodded, giving her a soft, sympathetic look before retreating to the kitchen. The older woman had been kind and patient since Feng Mian's return, moving through the house with a quiet presence that was somehow comforting. Feng Mian knew she was being taken care of, yet everything felt muted, as though she were drifting through the days without purpose.

It had been a week since the accident, but for Feng Mian, time seemed to have stopped there. She'd find herself dazing out, staring at random objects—the floor, the sunlight, the walls—her mind blank, her emotions still numb. It was as if she were caught in a loop, reliving the same silence and emptiness, unable to escape.

Han Chen hadn't asked her anything further about the pregnancy or the accident. He seemed different, though. Less busy. She noticed he no longer left early before the dawn broke, but once the sun was already high in the sky. And each evening, he returned as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, settling into his study for the night.

He had arranged for Aunt Xu to come by each day, preparing meals for them, checking on her needs. And every so often, he would ask if she was taking her medication, his voice carefully neutral, his gaze lingering on her just a little longer than before. She would answer him with a detached "yes," her tone devoid of the warmth she'd once reserved for him.

She supposed it should have meant something, this shift in his routine, the way he seemed to hover just a little closer. But to her, it felt like a hollow gesture, an echo of the care she had once yearned for but no longer expected.

The day of their wedding anniversary had come and gone during her stay in the hospital, passing without a single acknowledgment. The date she had once anticipated, the milestone she had hoped would be a turning point, had slipped by unnoticed, swallowed up in the haze of her recovery.

She stared at the patterns of sunlight on the floor, her heart heavy but still, as if she had finally let go of everything that once mattered.

As evening descended, a strange restlessness took hold of Feng Mian. She slipped on a light sweater, and for the first time since returning from the hospital, she left the apartment, feeling a need to be outside. The sun was beginning to set, casting a soft orange glow over the city as she made her way to the small park near their building.

She wandered through the paths, the crunch of gravel under her feet grounding her as she moved without purpose, her thoughts as hazy as the fading light. After a while, she found an empty bench and sat down, leaning back as she watched the sun dip lower, painting the surroundings in warm, muted shades of amber and gold.

Laughter echoed around her, families gathering to enjoy the last moments of daylight. Children chasing each other through the grass, their high-pitched giggles filling the air, while parents called after them with gentle warnings. Her gaze drifted, catching sight of a man striding forward with a woman in his arms, his face lit up with joy as a little girl chased after them, her laughter mingling with theirs.

Feng Mian felt something twist deep within her, an ache that was both hollow and sharp. She didn't envy them—she couldn't. She had never envisioned a family like that for herself, not even in her most hopeful moments. What she had wanted had been much simpler.

She had once dreamed of seeing Han Chen smile at her, of him complimenting her cooking, sparing her a glance when she walked into a room. The things she had craved from him were the barest gestures of care, moments so small and fleeting that they should have come easily, but they never had. She would have been content with so little—just the smallest signs that he saw her, that she mattered to him.

But he was never really there. And now, somehow, it didn't even bother her anymore.

She sat there, her gaze lingering on the family as they moved out of sight, her mind drifting into the emptiness that had become so familiar. She didn't know how much time had passed until a guard called out to her, his voice startling her from her daze.

"Ma'am? It's getting late."

She blinked, suddenly aware of her surroundings. The sky was dark, the last traces of sunlight long gone. The laughter and warmth she had been watching had disappeared, leaving only an empty playground, its swings creaking in the chilly evening breeze. The crickets had begun their night song, filling the silence with a constant, gentle hum.

A shiver ran down her spine as the cold air came in contact with her skin. She stood up, wrapping her arms around herself as she made her way back home, the solitude pressing down on her shoulders as she walked.

Just as she reached the entrance to their building, a hand suddenly grabbed her from behind, spinning her around roughly.