Chapter 4

Half a year later, Charlotte got an invitation to a college friend's wedding.

She hadn't planned on going. Weddings still felt a bit awkward for her. But the bride was her best roommate back in college, and she called Charlotte herself. "Charlotte, you have to come. It won't feel complete without you."

She had no choice but to say yes.

On the day of the wedding, Charlotte wore a pale green dress she'd chosen herself. The shade reminded her of newly sprouted willow leaves, crisp and gentle.

Her hair was gathered in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, pinned with a dried flower hairpin from her shop, simple yet elegant.

In her hands was a small bouquet she'd wrapped herself, freesias paired with eucalyptus, finished off with a white ribbon.

When Maggie walked her out, she gave Charlotte a once-over. "You look way too good today. What if Ethan shows up?"

"He won't be there. He didn't go to our school," Charlotte said.

"What if he does?" Maggie pressed.

"That's not happening," Charlotte said, slipping on her shoes. "I'm off. I'll bring you some sweets tonight."

The wedding was held in the garden of a five-star hotel, with flowers and white veils everywhere. As Charlotte stood at the sign-in table, she heard someone call her name from behind. "Charlotte?"

She turned around.

A guy was standing behind her, dressed in a light blue shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows, his forearms tanned a warm brown.

He was taller and slimmer than he'd been in college, but when he smiled, his eyes curved into crescents like back then.

"Andrew?" Charlotte froze for a second, then blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"The bride is my cousin," Andrew said, stepping up beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world. "What about you?"

"The bride is my college roommate," Charlotte replied.

"What a coincidence," Andrew said with a smile. "Long time no see."

"Long time no see," Charlotte echoed.

They stood by the sign-in table and chatted for a bit. Andrew said he'd spent eight years studying abroad and only came back last year. Now he was a cardiothoracic surgeon.

Charlotte told him she'd opened a little flower shop on the north side of town, and business was going pretty well.

Andrew never brought up her marital status, and Charlotte kept quiet about her divorce.

It was like they'd made a silent agreement to steer clear of anything awkward. They talked about their college professors, the BBQ pork in the cafeteria, and that window seat on the third floor of the library.

Those memories were like they'd been sealed in amber. Eight years had passed, but they hadn't changed at all.

After the ceremony began, Charlotte went to the restroom to fix her makeup. On her way back, she accidentally stepped on her dress and stumbled forward. Andrew reached out and caught her arm, steadying her.

"Careful," Andrew said.

His hand was steady, knuckles well-defined, fingertips cool, probably from years of wielding a scalpel.

After making sure she was steady, he didn't let go right away. Instead, he smoothed a wind-blown lock of hair at her temple.

The gesture was light and quick, like a breeze.

Charlotte paused for a moment, then smiled, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Andrew replied.

They walked side by side into the ballroom, looked for their seats, and sat down. Andrew pulled out her chair, placed her bag on the seat next to hers, and poured her a glass of warm water.

"Not drinking tonight?" Charlotte asked.

"I drove here," Andrew said, pausing for a moment. "What about you?"

"I'm not much of a drinker," Charlotte replied.

"Then water it is," Andrew said, his tone casual and caring.

He said it so naturally, like it was what you do. Charlotte looked down at the glass, and it struck her. She hadn't been cared for so effortlessly in ages.

What Charlotte didn't realize was that someone in the corner locked their eyes onto her, quietly taking in every moment.

Ethan was all the way in the back row of the ballroom, clutching his champagne glass so hard his knuckles were bone-white.

Ethan was the groom's old college roommate, dragged into being a groomsman. He hadn't wanted to come. He hated weddings, hated all those perfect, happy occasions.

But last night, after tossing and turning, unable to sleep, he'd somehow found himself agreeing.

Now, sitting there, Ethan watched as Andrew's hand brushed Charlotte's hair, saw her look up at him, smiling, and watched her offer Andrew a flower from her bouquet.

His fingers tightened, and the champagne glass in his palm split with a sudden crack.

Clark, sitting beside him, heard the faint crack and glanced down. Ethan's palm had been sliced by a shard of glass, blood beading up and dripping down between his fingers.

"Mr. Carter, your hand," Clark said.

Ethan stared at the blood in his palm. He didn't move.

Back in their first year of marriage, he remembered how she used to stand under the streetlight, waiting for him to come home late at night.

He'd drive past, seeing her wrapped in her coat, holding a cup of coffee. He never stopped. Work always came first.

Now, when he finally pulled over, she wasn't alone anymore; someone else was at her side.

Ethan set the cracked glass down on the table and wiped his bleeding hand with a tissue. The tissue soaked up the blood in seconds. He glanced at it, crumpled it up, and shoved it into his pocket.

"Let's go," Ethan got to his feet.

"But the wedding's not over," Clark protested.

"I said go," Ethan interrupted.

Ethan strode out of the ballroom, but his steps faltered as he passed Charlotte's table. She didn't notice him. She was talking to Andrew, her eyes crescent-shaped as she smiled, bright as the moon.

Ethan tore his gaze away and pushed the door open.

The autumn wind swept over him, cold enough to make him shiver. He stood at the hotel entrance, hands shaking as he lit a cigarette. It took two tries before the lighter finally caught.

Clark followed him out, standing quietly behind, looking like he had something to say but couldn't bring himself to speak.

Ethan took a drag, the smoke whisked away by the wind. Like all those chance encounters and hesitant tries he'd made in the past six months, before anything could begin, it vanished without a trace.

He remembered the last thing she said to him. "Ethan, do you still remember what I look like?"

Back then, he'd thought she was being unreasonable. Now, he stood at the hotel entrance, straining to recall her face.

But he realized what he remembered wasn't her looks, but the way she waited for him under the streetlight, the way she was crouched in the kitchen making soup, the way she curled up on the couch.

He remembered every time he kept going instead of stopping for her.

By the time he finally stopped, it was already too late.

Ethan stubbed out his cigarette and tossed it into the trash, then pulled open the car door and slid into the driver's seat. Clark asked cautiously, "Mr. Carter, are we heading back to the office?"

"Yeah," Ethan replied.

The car pulled out of the hotel parking lot and merged into traffic. Ethan glanced in the rearview mirror at the hotel; warm yellow lights glowed in the garden, and he could make out white drapes fluttering in the wind.

She was in there, smiling, but not at him.

Ethan tore his gaze away and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The wound on his palm was still bleeding, speckling the wheel with drops of red. He glanced at it, but left it as it was.

Did it hurt? But what stung more was finally facing the truth.

He was the one who drove away the only person who ever truly loved him.

He didn't deserve to say he regretted it. Regret only mattered if one ever cherished someone, and he never did.

The car rolled past streetlight after streetlight, shadows flickering across his face. He stayed silent, and Clark didn't dare say a word. The silence in the car was so heavy, it felt like a grave.

Ethan suddenly broke the silence. "Clark."

"Yes, sir?" Clark answered.

"If a man loses the thing that matters most to him, is there any way to get it back?" Ethan asked.

Clark paused for a few seconds. "What do you mean, Mr. Carter?"

Ethan said nothing.

He watched the city blur past outside the window, and deep down, Ethan already knew the answer.

It wasn't something. It was someone.

And she didn't want to be found by him anymore.