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Chapter 12
Hook the milk, went to buy breakfast, and then returned.
He also followed along the way until I reached the gate of the courtyard.
“Sandra.”
He finally spoke and called my name. I didn’t stop and pushed open the courtyard door, turning
around to close it.
Emmett, however, took a step forward and held out his hand to stop him.
“Sandra, Jacey is getting married next spring…”
When I grew up, it seemed like I had never gotten angry at anyone.
There was never even a dispute with anyone.
But this time, I suddenly took action.
The warm milk was poured over his face.
His astonishingly expensive coat and the cashmere sweater inside were both dirtied.
He was somewhat startled and furrowed his brows, saying, “Sandra!”
“Emmett, if the person she is going to marry next spring is you, then I will still respect you as a
man.”
“But now it seems that you didn’t love her that much either.”
“After all, by renouncing his position as the heir of the Dudley family, he could marry her.”
“And you, couldn’t bear to let go.”
What Sandra said, in fact, was only half true. He indeed did not love Jacey that much.
But it is not because of reluctance to inherit the so–called heir’s identity.
He was just really, long ago, no longer liked her as he did when he was young.
After Sandra became pregnant, Emmett actually thought about it.
They, as a family of three, lived a good life.
Those filthy and despicable thoughts that he once had, he would bury them in his heart for the rest
of his life.
He had crossed that line with Jacey In the late night of a foreign country,
out of sympathy and pity.
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In another moment of impulse, Jacey made a promise about children and marriage.
But in fact, he had regretted it a long time ago.
Jacey told Sandra.
Then, without hesitation, she removed the child.
And at the moment when I found out that the child was gone.
Emmett had only one thought in his mind.
That’s it, he couldn’t keep Sandra anymore. Just like a rose, once it falls, it’s fallen.
But in their marital home, Sandra was everywhere.
The servants often blurted out how the mistress was, what the mistress liked, and if the mistress
knew…
And he himself.
I used to come home at six o’clock every time..
Knowing that the person had already left, she still hoped to come out and greet him.
He used to feel that Sandra was a bland, perpetually 45 degrees warm water.
An insignificant existence.
But how can one leave water?
He often thought of their last dinner.
She looked like she had drunk a little bit of fruit wine.
The color of the lipstick she applied that day was beautiful.
He often wondered if, later on during their walks, he had held her hand.
He hugged her from behind.
He softly called out, “Honey.” Would she soften her heart and give him another chance?
He would often think, if he hadn’t forgotten to pick her up in the heavy rain that day.
He appeared in front of her promptly.
Doesn’t the ending of the story completely rewrite?
gof
