I chased after Skyler for 5 years before he finally agreed to marry me. Two months before our wedding, I got into a car accident. I called him three times, but he hung up on me each time. His junior, Vivian, had suggested he give me the cold shoulder for a while to make me less clingy. When I crawled out of the ravine, I was covered in injuries. My right hand had suffered a comminuted fracture. At that moment, I finally understood that some things can’t be forced. But then he started showing up at my door every day, red-eyed, begging me to give him 5 years too. When I was brought to the hospital, my clothes were in tatters and I was covered in injuries. The doctor looked at me and sighed, saying if I had come a few hours earlier, they might have been able to save my right hand. A few hours earlier. I stared numbly at the hospital ceiling, listening to the doctor’s verdict. Comminuted fracture of the right hand, slim chances of recovery. I probably wouldn’t be able to paint again. Tears rolled down my cheeks as despair spread through my body. Why could I never learn to let go? What was he doing right now, I wondered? Maybe he had opened a bottle of wine last night, celebrating that I hadn’t bothered him. Or perhaps he was practicing piano with Vivian, the two of them enjoying an intimate moment together. I smiled bitterly to myself. At least I wouldn’t be an obstacle between them anymore. My phone rang. It was Skyler. I slowly closed my eyes. This time I had to learn my lesson. Skyler burst into my hospital room. Not a wrinkle on his clothes, he frowned at me coldly, like a lofty god looking down on a mortal. He berated me: “What kind of stunt are you pulling now? Why aren’t you answering your phone?” “Getting yourself into this state just because I didn’t answer your call yesterday? I told you I was busy. Can’t you understand that?” His words stabbed into my still-bleeding wounds. For a moment, my dead heart cried out in pain again. He had sentenced me without even asking what happened. Even seeing me lying here covered in injuries didn’t stir the slightest ripple in his heart. After all, he was the man I had loved for five years – a single word from him could provoke all my emotions. I looked at him sadly, unable to speak. My eyes filled with tears, as if begging, as if mourning. The white walls reflected his coldness. The smell of disinfectant in the air seemed to mock my foolishness. He must not have seen me like this before. He looked uncomfortable: “Take care and get well. Remember to participate in the national art design competition next week. I have to get back to practice now.” He added: “This piano competition is very important to me. Don’t disturb me during this time.” With that, he left without looking back, never once asking about my injuries. I watched his hastily retreating figure, my whole body cold. I couldn’t say a word. This was the boy I had chased for five years. Tears fell uncontrollably. I had naively thought it was my sincerity and passion that had moved him, that had made him turn and look at me. The piano competition was important to him. Vivian was important to him. His friends were important to him. So what was I? I used to think everything would pay off in the end, just like how I persevered with my painting. But reality had given me a harsh wake-up call. Not everything turns out beautifully just because you persist. My sincerity meant nothing to him. So why did he agree to marry me? Why did he give me hope? The sun set. I curled up in bed, shivering as if I was back in that dark night, trapped in the car, unconscious for who knows how long, despairing and thinking I was going to die. Before I passed out, I had made one phone call. I thought of him first, but I lay unconscious all night without rescue coming. Perhaps I was wrong from the start. I had forced things after all, just like with my art career. It wasn’t meant to be. After five days of treatment, my body started to recover. Except for my hand. The doctor suggested I go abroad for treatment. I smiled bitterly. How could I afford that? I left the hospital and returned to my rented apartment. The small room was filled with paintings. Five years ago, at the graduation party, I had fallen for him at first sight. Since then, all my paintings had been of him. The whole room was filled with paintings related to him. It seemed I had been living in his world all these years, losing myself.
The excessive emotional suppression made me feel suffocated. Looking at the room full of paintings of him, I screamed out loud. My emotions burst forth at that moment. I frantically tore down papers and stomped on them, violently ripping apart paintings I had painstakingly created. The floor was a mess as I vented my emotions. I sat on the floor and wept loudly. Ruined. Everything was ruined. There was still one painting left. My favorite one, framed on the wall, which I had overlooked. It was the first painting I made when I saw Skyler. My hands trembled as I reached out to touch it, but I felt as if I had been electrocuted. Tears streaming down my face, I froze in place. I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was. Three days later, Skyler found me at an art exhibition. He angrily questioned me, his eyes seeming to shoot fire: “Why didn’t you participate in the competition? Don’t you know you had the best chance of winning? Do you know how important this competition was? Even if you want to throw a tantrum, you should know when and where.” A series of accusations hit my already numb heart. At that moment, I had so many things I wanted to ask him, but all I could say was: “Oh, congratulations on winning.” Skyler’s expression softened a bit: “So you watched the competition. How come I didn’t see you there? You left so early without waiting for me.” I hadn’t gone. I had guessed. With his skills, winning would have been easy. I pointed at the paintings around the room and asked softly: “Do you think these paintings are beautiful?” My eyes were full of pity. This exhibition was probably the last time I would display my past works. I quietly watched the crowd coming and going, occasionally stopping in front of a painting to admire the artist’s skill. One of my paintings was here too. Skyler rubbed his temples and took my hand. “Summer, I was a bit busy the past couple days and neglected you. But you know how important this competition was to me. Get dressed up and accompany me to tonight’s party.” “I don’t have time,” I said. I looked at him calmly: “Skyler, let’s break up.” He laughed, as if he had heard a joke: “Break up?” Then he said gently: “Summer, be good. After tonight is over, I’ll spend time with you.” I tilted my head and thought for a moment: “No. We’ve broken up.” He stepped forward, wanting to hold me in his arms and comfort me like he had countless times before. But the moment he touched me, I pushed him away and let out a piercing scream. The whole venue was drawn to the sound of my voice. The fragile balance I had been maintaining was unexpectedly torn apart. I crouched down holding my head, violent emotions assaulting my brain again. Resentment, unwillingness, pain, disappointment, despair. All my efforts and pursuits of the first half of my life had turned to bubbles in one night. But I could have been saved, couldn’t I? If only it had been a few hours earlier. If only he had answered the phone. If only he had patiently listened to me finish one sentence. He froze, standing there dumbfounded, not daring to take another step forward. “Summer, it’s me. It’s me. What’s wrong?” He looked helpless like a child, cautiously unsure of what had happened. It took great effort to control my emotions. I slowly walked out of the hall. Skyler chased after me. I turned my back to him and said: “I need some time alone.” Back home, I sat alone in my studio, sometimes wanting to laugh, sometimes wanting to cry. I thought I was calm, but seeing Skyler brought on an intense feeling of grievance that swept through my whole body. The room was brightly lit. I had been sleeping with the lights on lately. As soon as it got dark, I couldn’t help but think of that pitch-black night. Intense pain swept through my body as I tried to grasp at a lifeline that had sent my art career to its grave.
I resented Skyler in my heart, but reason told me he had no obligation to save me. I shouldn’t blame him. But I couldn’t control it. He was my boyfriend. We had agreed to get married. If only he had given me a few more seconds to say something, instead of hanging up after saying he was busy. Or if he had called to check on me that night when I didn’t come home, noticing something was wrong. I had never stayed out all night before. He knew where I had gone too. I had told him. I really had told him. The papers scattered on the floor seemed to mock my stupidity. My persistence felt like a joke. When I was young and learning to paint, no one supported me. So I forged ahead alone, and had made a name for myself by now. But it was as if heaven was playing a cruel joke on me, blatantly telling me that all this success and happiness was just temporarily lent to me, and now it was time to take it back. I threw all my art supplies into the trash and stuffed my paintings into bags, planning to throw them out tomorrow. At midnight, I received a message from a friend. Skyler had announced our engagement at the banquet. He probably still didn’t know about my situation. How could a painter who couldn’t hold a brush anymore participate in competitions? He was celebrating his success at the banquet, and casually announced his engagement, without naming the bride. Everyone congratulated him, their gazes subtly gathering on Vivian White beside him. The golden boy and jade girl, what a perfect match. I lay in my small rented room, surrounded by wreckage, papers full of folly. The next day, their names and video appeared in the trending topics. Piano prodigy Skyler announces engagement to Vivian White, daughter of his teacher. A flood of congratulations filled the comments. In the afternoon, Skyler showed up at my door. This should be his first time coming here. I had just been planning to clear things up with him anyway. I opened the door for him. He looked at the empty room in surprise: “Where are your paintings?” “I can’t paint anymore.” “What nonsense is this? What happened? Why did you block me?” Skyler stared at me dissatisfied, as if scolding a disobedient child: “Summer, stop fooling around. Our wedding is in a month.” “I know I’ve neglected you lately, but you can’t always be so unreasonable. Pack your things and come home with me.” His nonchalance made it seem like this whole drama was just my one-sided tantrum. I laughed, then started crying: “Home? What home? Where is home? Your home with Vivian? It’s all over social media that you’re marrying her. What am I supposed to do there?” He frowned, his gaze distant: “I announced our engagement last night. I wanted to surprise you, but you weren’t in good shape and didn’t show up. The media misunderstood. I didn’t handle it well. I’ve already had people take down the trending topic. This has nothing to do with Vivian. She’s a victim too.” Every word he said was defending Vivian, blaming me for not being there. Victim? Innocent? Then what was I, a joke? Tears rolled down my cheeks. For once, he didn’t show disgust. “Why didn’t you answer my call that night?” I asked. “I did answer, didn’t I? I was practicing piano. You know how important that competition was to me.” He sat down on the sofa, displeased. “Why did you hang up after answering?” I demanded. “Can you stop making a fuss? I told you I was practicing. You called three times in a row.” His voice rose, then he caught himself: “Alright, Summer, it’s my fault.” I looked at him tearfully: “It was Vivian who told you not to answer my calls, wasn’t it?”
He frowned, reaching out to wipe my tears but I dodged: “This has nothing to do with Vivian. Can you stop making a scene?” “Would I call you three times in a row for no reason? You deliberately didn’t answer because you felt embarrassed in front of her, right?” He started to get agitated: “Summer, stop it.” “Skyler, I saw the surveillance footage from that day.” That day he was practicing piano when my call came in. Vivian suggested he hang up and keep practicing. His friends teased him for being henpecked. Though he answered my call, he hung up without letting me speak. That night, I didn’t say goodnight to him as usual, and I didn’t come home. He didn’t notice anything unusual. Or maybe he did notice, but didn’t care. If only he had paid a little attention to me, things might have been different. He was taken aback: “You went to check the surveillance over such a small thing?” “A small thing? Yes, it’s a small thing. I just got in a car accident on my way back that night. I called you three times, and you hung up on me three times. I missed the best treatment window, and now I’ll never be able to paint with my right hand again. Yes, it’s just a small matter, no big deal.” I laughed maniacally, trying to push all the blame onto him. Why didn’t he answer that call? Why did he give me hope and then despair? Marriage – I once thought he was someone I could entrust my whole life to. I never imagined he would hang up on me three times because of someone else’s words. I broke down crying. From beginning to end, I was the outsider. His voice trembled slightly: “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I looked into his eyes: “Did you ever care? How many times did you come to the hospital? Once. What was the first thing you did when you saw me? When did you realize I had blocked you?” Panic flashed in his eyes. Things had spiraled out of his control. “This morning, right? You didn’t notice all week. You never asked about me once.” A painter who can’t hold a brush, a pianist who can’t play the piano – he knew how important our hands were to us. I had flown like a moth to his flame, not knowing it was an abyss that would destroy me. Silence spread between us. Bitter tears flowed into my heart. “I’ll take you to receive the best treatment. There must still be hope.” He paused, then grabbed my hand. “There’s no hope, Skyler. Let’s end this.” I couldn’t see any hope for the future. I didn’t know what life would be like from now on, but everything I had worked so hard for before was wasted. My dreams of painting, of Skyler – I had countless fantasies. In an instant, it all shattered. “End what?” he asked anxiously. “End everything.” I closed my eyes painfully. “No way. Our wedding is next month.” He flatly refused. “You can replace me with Vivian. We have similar builds. She’d be delighted.” I said self-mockingly. “It’s already trending online. Can’t disappoint the netizens.” His face turned ashen, as if I had committed some unforgivable crime. How laughable. Wasn’t he the one who shut me out from the beginning? “Skyler, I have one more question. Why did you agree to marry me? Don’t say it’s because you love me.” Bitterness filled my voice. He fell silent. I didn’t look up to see his expression.
I still went with him to his house. He said he could heal my hand. He took me to see many famous doctors, but they all just shook their heads. He started spending time with me frequently, talking about wedding details. Gradually, I stopped hoping. Vivian wore a custom wedding dress – the style Skyler had shown me a few days ago. Her exquisite makeup and red nails exuded vitality. She looked me up and down haughtily: “Summer, isn’t this wedding dress beautiful?” She confidently led me downstairs. She moved around the house as if she were the true mistress, while I was just a lowly outsider. The housekeeper poured us tea. “Miss White, you and our young master are finally getting married. This wedding dress is so beautiful. The young master personally chose it and put a lot of thought into it.” “Mrs. Zhang, you flatter me.” Vivian smiled and sent them away. “Miss Summer, I wanted to have a chat with you today.” She set down her cup and settled comfortably on the sofa. “Miss Summer, during that time when Skyler was busy with training, I was quietly by his side. He didn’t have time to look after you, and you were clinging to him so tightly. So I suggested he not answer your calls. After all, you didn’t have any urgent matters.” I smiled awkwardly, sitting stiffly on the sofa in my white clothes, like a guest. “You should know that my father is Skyler’s teacher. I can help boost Skyler’s career. But you’re just a burden to him now. Before, Skyler was a bit playful, and I didn’t say anything. But now that our families are going to be joined in marriage, it’s best if you leave. I don’t want to see you on that day.” She smiled, her manners elegant and speech refined. I turned pale, unable to refute her words. “Miss White needn’t worry. I will leave. Please take good care of Skyler and don’t let him keep chasing after me.” Vivian’s expression changed. She laughed lightly: “Leave this place and go live somewhere else. That car accident must have left a deep impression on you, Miss Summer. Skyler and I are childhood sweethearts. You shouldn’t have tried to steal him from me.” I looked at her in disbelief. “You did it?” She nodded slightly, looking at me with contempt: “What are you talking about, Miss Summer? I don’t understand.” I went crazy and pushed her to the ground, fighting her from inside the house to the doorway. She suddenly flung open the door. Outside, reporters captured my disheveled state on camera, while Vivian stood to the side in her wedding dress. Skyler’s friends berated me: “You shameless woman, how dare you still cling to Skyler.” At that moment, I broke down. I fled the scene like a madwoman. The trending topics had new entries: Third party interferes in Skyler and Vivian’s relationship. Third party jealously attacks Vivian at home. No one believed me. No one would defend me. Not even Skyler believed me. Everyone thought they were a match made in heaven.
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