Chapter 2

I met Elliot seven years ago. I was the one pursuing him, but at that time, he always seemed indifferent towards me. I was so lovesick that I couldn't eat or sleep. Then one day, he confessed his feelings to me. I was overjoyed, thinking my efforts had finally moved him. We quickly fell in love, and five years ago, we got married with my dad as a witness. With my dad's help, we also started a company.

After we got married, Elliot doted on me to no end, spoiling me rotten.

He knew I was left-handed, so every corner of our house was arranged to accommodate me. The shoe rack was on the left, the water cup was on the left, even the towel and toothbrush were placed on the left.

He knew I didn't like peeling fruit, so he would always peel it for me and feed it to me.

He would remember my period and make me brown sugar water.

But later, he started coming home late and leaving early more often. We wouldn't see each other for days. His clothes began to smell of unfamiliar perfume.

I thought he was just busy with work, but it turned out he was only busy spending time with Summer.

Even on the day my dad passed away, I waited alone outside the hospital room until dawn, but Elliot never showed up. He said Summer was drunk and he had to rush over to take care of her. When he came back, his collar was covered in lipstick.Perhaps, from that moment on, everything had already changed. Later, Summer filled our lives completely.

While I was away on a business trip, Summer appeared at our house wearing my pajamas.

She would eat half of something, claim she was full, and pass it to Elliot. He would only grumble a bit before finishing it all.

Once, I even found Summer's lipstick and clothes in Elliot's car.

These instances were far too numerous. They were so close that they seemed more like a married couple than Elliot and I did.

I picked up a nearby photo of Elliot and me, one of our rare pictures together.

I used to always want to take photos with him, but he'd say he was a manly guy and that taking too many photos was embarrassing, like something a woman would do. So we didn't even have wedding photos.

Little did I know, he had hidden many photos of himself with Summer in a drawer. Those belonged to their youth - passionate and bold.

I wiped the dust off the frame. In the photo, Elliot was dressed in a suit, but that gray tie he was wearing?

I rubbed my eyes. This was the tie Summer had asked me to help her buy, saying it was for the most important person in her life!I smiled and put down the photo. So, even back then, Summer was already challenging me, and I was completely oblivious.

How pitiful that I was worried about her being heartbroken after her husband's death, trying to find ways to cheer her up.

Suddenly, I felt it all so meaningless. What did I truly gain from this marriage?

I took a deep breath.

I suddenly felt a bit relieved that losing the baby might be for the best.

As I was lost in reminiscence of the past, I heard a sound from outside the door. It was Elliot.

The moment he saw me, he held me tight in his arms.

I struggled a few times before pushing Elliot away.

"Elliot, what game are you playing?"

"Desmond, you just had the abortion. I made you some chicken soup. Drink it quickly, it's good for your health."

I laughed weakly. The gentle, caring Elliot from before had reappeared.

I stared into his eyes and said slowly, "Is this the soup Summer couldn't drink, so you brought it to me instead?"

Elliot's eyes flickered with a moment of evasion and embarrassment. "Desmond, what are you thinking? I made this especially for you. Don't you like chicken soup? I even drove fast to get back, afraid it would get cold."

"Why are you always so petty?"I stared at the defatted chicken soup in front of me, its aroma wafting through the air, and felt a deep sense of desolation in my heart.

I used to love drinking chicken soup but didn't know how to make it, always ordering takeout. But Elliot said the soups from outside had too many seasonings and wouldn't let me drink them. Later, I still snuck some, and he got furious about it.

After that, he even learned to cook chicken soup for me, despite being clumsy in the kitchen. He nearly cut his own hand in the process.

Whenever he made chicken soup, I would finish every last drop, happily praising it as the best I'd ever tasted. But now, this pot of chicken soup no longer has the same flavor as before.