Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The day Zhou Yue gave his statement, Zhou’s Mother slapped him across the face at the entrance of the police station.

The sound rang out sharply.

I stood at the foot of the steps and watched his face snap to the side. The wound at his temple began to seep blood again.

Zhou’s Mother cursed him through her tears.

“You’re going to send your own brother to prison for an outsider?”

Zhou Yue raised a hand and wiped away the blood.

“Lin Zhi is my wife.”

“Not for much longer.”

I reminded him.

Zhou’s Mother whipped around to look at me, her eyes filled with enough hatred to tear me apart.

“This is all because you turned him against us!”

I smiled.

“Auntie, does this mean you finally don’t have to pretend to have a heart condition anymore?”

Her expression changed.

Zhou Yue glanced at me.

There was apology in that look, and also the faintest hint of a smile.

I looked away.

The police soon summoned Zhou Ming.

At first, he refused to admit anything. He claimed the supplements had been bought through a personal shopper and that he hadn’t known what was in them.

Until Attorney Qin submitted the chat records Zhou Yue had organized before the car accident.

Zhou Ming had once sent a message in the group chat.

If she gets pregnant, it’ll only be more trouble. Better to get rid of it early.

When I saw that sentence, my hands and feet went ice-cold.

Zhou Yue stood beside me, his fists clenched tight.

I thought he would comfort me.

He didn’t.

He only set a cup of warm water by my hand, then took one step back.

That distance, instead, gave me room to breathe.

That afternoon, while I was giving my statement, the police asked if I was willing to mediate.

I said, “No.”

Zhou’s Mother cried so hard in the hallway that she could barely stand.

Zhou Yue did not go over to help her.

He only leaned against the wall, gauze taped to his forehead, his face frighteningly pale.

When I walked out of the interview room, I saw him bend down to pick up a piece of paper from the floor.

It was a hospital payment receipt, half-stamped with someone’s footprint.

He smoothed it flat and tucked it into the file folder.

I asked, “Why are you keeping that?”

He said, “Evidence.”

“That counts too?”

“It counts.”

He paused.

“I used to think that as long as I handled the big issues in the end, the little grievances could be coaxed away later.”

“Only now do I know that when little grievances pile up, they can crush a person too.”

I looked at him.

After he said it, as if afraid he had made me uncomfortable, he added,

“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”

“I’m just making a note of it.”

That night, Zhou Yue sent me a photo.

It was a new page in his notebook.

Written on it was:

Today, Lin Zhi said she was unwilling to mediate.

That is her right.

Do not plead for leniency on her behalf. Do not be forgiving on her behalf. Do not let anyone say she is being unreasonable ever again.

I looked at it for a long time and saved the picture.

Then I replied with one word.

Mm.

That night, I had a very short dream.

In the dream, I was still sitting in the fitting room at the bridal shop.

The shop assistant was crouched on the floor, fixing the hem of my dress, and asked softly, “Is your husband stuck in traffic?”

I lowered my head to look at my phone.

The chat window was filled with messages I had sent.

Where are you?

Are you still coming?

Zhou Yue?

Not a single reply.

In the dream, I didn’t cry. I only took off the veil and placed it neatly back on the tray.

When I woke up, my pillow was dry.

I sat up and found a new message on my phone.

It was from Zhou Yue.

A voice message transcribed into text.

He said: I remembered something today.

He said: That night at the bridal shop, I did go back. After the shop closed, I sat outside the entrance until one in the morning.

He said: I didn’t dare go home, because I didn’t know how to tell you that I had made the wrong choice again.

The final line came only after a long pause.

He said: You did nothing wrong that day. What was wrong was that I didn’t dare admit my family had already rotted to the point where I could no longer drag it forward.

I looked at those words, my chest aching and swelling with bitterness.

But I didn’t reply.

Some truths come too late. They’re only fit for the record, not for reopening the case.