As the door to the hospital room slowly creaked open, the dim lights revealed Giselle lying pale and unconscious on the bed. Her right arm was wrapped in layers of bandages, and an IV drip was attached to her hand, a stark reminder of her recent ordeal with blood loss.
Lysander sat quietly beside her, lost in thought.
After what seemed like an eternity, Giselle’s eyelashes fluttered as she slowly regained consciousness. Her eyes, still clouded with confusion, met Lysander’s.
Lysander?
Yes, I’m here, he replied softly.
Giselle managed a faint smile, though her eyes were red-rimmed, her voice barely above a whisper. I thought you wouldn’t come.
I promised you, didn’t I?
Yes, you did, she replied, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Suddenly, she asked with a weak laugh, Lysander, how long have we known each other?
Lysander paused, thinking back. It must be twenty years now.
Twenty years and five months, Giselle corrected him with a surprising precision.
Lysander was momentarily taken aback. You remember so clearly.
Every day I’ve known you is etched in my memory, she said, her smile tinged with sadness.
Lysander remained silent.
Do you remember the first time we met? Giselle asked again.
It was summer, wasn’t it? Lysander replied, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.
Yes, it was summer. We were nine. I was a few months older than you, Giselle recalled, a small laugh escaping her lips.
My mom asked me to play with you. You loved carving wood back then. I was curious about your wooden sculptures, tried to pick one up, and you pushed me away. I broke a few of them, and we almost ended up fighting. It was your mom and mine who finally separated us, she recounted with a chuckle.
Giselle’s eyes lowered, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Just like when we were abroad, when I stayed with you, please, Lysander?
His fingers trembled.
He gently pulled his hand away but remained by her side, tenderly brushing away her tears. Okay.
…
The following morning, Lysander still hadn’t returned to the family estate.
Conrad, Lysander’s father, faced his wife’s accusatory glare over breakfast. He had no explanation to offer, so he mumbled something about their son being busy with work.
Mila sat nearby, sipping her tea with a serene smile, her expression unreadable.
Lysander had been working from home recently, so his sudden departure in the middle of the night could only mean one thing. But Mila, having already decided on divorce, felt nothing about where Lysander went or whom he was with. She had long ceased to expect anything more from him.