I dedicated two years to caring for Julian, who was paralyzed. Everyone believed the first thing he’d do after standing again was marry me. Only I, on the night his surgery succeeded, asked, “Do you still want to marry me?” He hesitated. That simple answer, he never quite said it. I let out a soft laugh. “I get it.” I took off the ring and, that very night, left the place I’d called home for two years without a second thought. **1** “Do you still want to marry me?” Julian froze slightly at my words, staring at his legs for a long moment before speaking. The commotion from outside drifted in through the slightly ajar door. “The doctor said Julian’s surgery was a huge success. He’ll be back to normal in less than half a month.” “I seriously never thought he’d recover. Two years ago, he’d practically given up on himself.” “Thanks to Elara, sticking by him through thick and thin. They’re definitely getting married, right? We should start preparing wedding gifts.” … Julian heard these teasing congratulations, but he still didn’t say anything. An awkward silence hung in the air. Finally, I stood up, kneading his knees and calves like I always did. I gently offered him an out, “Is this pressure okay?” That broke the uncomfortable quiet. His tense body gradually relaxed. I softly asked again, just like I had for two years, “Are you uncomfortable?” He shook his head, then earnestly replied, “No, you’re better than any physical therapist.” I stared at my hands, massaging his legs. Honestly, when I started, I had no idea what I was doing. He couldn’t stand being touched by professional physical therapists. Whenever one arrived, he’d throw a fit and send them away. But massage was crucial for his legs, so I spent three months learning from a local wellness center owner. From experimenting with different lotions and techniques on myself, sometimes to the point of soreness, I finally cautiously began massaging his legs. The first time, I only dared to massage him when he was asleep. But he was a light sleeper, and he still caught me. He erupted, “Get out!” I didn’t leave. I followed the pressure points the wellness center owner had taught me, massaging him again. His legs couldn’t move, so he threw his pillow at my head. I didn’t flinch. He just started throwing anything he could grab within reach. Finally, a photo frame flew towards me. Inside was a picture from his college days: one hand holding a trophy, the other clenched in a fist, full of youthful vigor. When warm blood trickled down my forehead, he stared at me, struggling to get to my side, but his restricted legs made him helpless. Finally, he covered his face and suddenly sobbed. “Go. Just go. Don’t stay with me. “It’s useless. I can’t feel anything. No matter how much you massage, it’s no use.” **2** Back then, he’d completely given up on himself. I’d come over every day, rain or shine, to massage him. Until his mother found him after he’d taken sleeping pills and rushed him to the hospital. His mother was at her wit’s end with him. I knelt in front of him and said, “Look at me.” He quietly looked up. I told him, “Everything’s going to be okay. Trust me.” At that moment, I had no idea where I found that confidence. From that day on, I moved into his house. Mrs. Davies cried, thanking me over and over, saying how lucky they were to have me. She seemed to hesitate, and I knew what she wanted to ask. So I said, “As long as Julian doesn’t tell me to leave, I’ll stay by his side.” But the truth was, even if he *had* told me to leave, I still wouldn’t have gone. Another time, when the massage seemed to have no effect, he exploded. “Get out! All of you, get out!” By then, he was in a wheelchair. His entire bedroom was smashed to pieces. But at least, he finally avoided throwing things at me. After he’d finished venting, I knelt beside him. I said it again, “Julian, trust me.” That simple phrase, I said it for two whole years. Gradually, he began to feel the pressure in his legs, and then slowly, he could do some simple movements. Until yesterday’s surgery, even the doctors were amazed, saying it was a great success. If all went well, he’d be able to stand again. **3** When Mrs. Davies heard the news, she slipped a bank card into my hand. I stared at the card, feeling dazed. These past two years, I wasn’t doing it for a bank card. Julian’s friends all called me ‘sister-in-law,’ but only I knew the truth. I wasn’t a ‘sister-in-law’ at all. We never even talked about being together, let alone made things official. But at least I had Julian’s promise: “Elara, once my legs are better, we’ll get married right away.” That was during his first treatment session. The doctor had regretfully implied a bleak outlook, and I was pushing him home. He completely broke down the moment he entered the house. The golden boy, who once had it all, suddenly found his world shattered. No one could accept that. I hugged him tightly. He bit down on my shoulder. He bit so hard and deep, the marks are still on my shoulder even now. When he saw the blood, he snapped back to reality, panicked, and said, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” After he apologized, I massaged his calves like always, and that’s when he said it. No, he also asked, “Elara, do you have a crush on me?” I didn’t just nod. I looked at him and said, “Yes.” He looked at me for a long time before saying he’d marry me. But everything I did wasn’t for an equal exchange. I just wanted him to feel the same way I did, praying that one day he might love me too. At that moment, I stood up like I always did, poured the massage oil into my palms, warmed it up, and then touched his calves. I knew he was watching me. After a long silence, his voice came from above my head. “Elara, you don’t have to do these things anymore.” My hands paused, but I continued with the massage. I looked up, asking again, still holding onto a sliver of hope, “Julian, do you still want to marry me?” He looked like he wanted to speak, but he kept his mouth shut. I could only laugh at myself for being so foolishly hopeful. But the ring on my ring finger, he had put it there himself. I’d had a crush on him for so many years; how could I not be foolishly hopeful? **4** I stood up and washed the massage oil off my hands. The ring on my ring finger felt like it was digging into my heart. He spoke from outside the door, “Elara, you’re like a sister to me.” Tears splashed into the water, and I quickly wiped them away. Don’t say that. Those words were too cruel to me. When I pushed open the bathroom door and stepped out, the living room was still noisy. I looked down at Julian’s eyes, and with effort, I slipped the ring off. The fit was off, it was a size too small. I didn’t know if he was careless or if it wasn’t meant for me in the first place. But I knew I’d forced it on, even though it pinched my finger. Before, I could still lie to myself that rings were supposed to be like that. When I finally took it off, my finger felt a sense of relief. I almost regretted why I hadn’t taken it off sooner. Julian’s gaze flickered away. I held the ring out to him. “Here, take it back.” The red mark on my finger was still clear. I added, “It was a size too small.” He tried to say something, but I waved him off. Then I pushed his wheelchair towards the door.
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