Chapter 2
The people around them burst into laughter and teasing.
"Mr. Foster, your girlfriend's gorgeous! Why haven't you introduced her to us before?"
"Yeah, you said she was shy, but she looks pretty outgoing to me!"
"I guess our boss just doesn't want us staring too long at his future wife!"
The crowd roared with good-natured laughter. Lance didn't correct them; he simply smiled and held Summer's hand with gentle affection.
In that moment, Nina felt herself plunging into an ice-cold abyss.
Three years. Fourteen thousand kilometers. And this was what waited for her.
Her suitcase bumped against a chair, making a small noise. Lance turned, saw her face—and froze.
No joy. No relief. Just shock.
After several long seconds, he pushed Summer aside almost awkwardly and strode toward Nina.
"Nina… why are you back?"
Not Nina, you're finally back. But Nina, why are you back?
In that moment, Nina understood—maybe he hadn't wanted her to return.
That was why the daily calls had dwindled to silence. Why the I miss yous had stopped.
She had already prepared herself to let him go, to let him and Summer have their chance.
But Lance had insisted there was nothing between them—that he still loved her.
Later, Nina learned that he'd told the truth, at least then. There really hadn't been anything between him and Summer… not yet.
After she left, Summer stayed by his side, patient and devoted. He remained distant, until one day she stepped in front of a car for him and nearly died. That was when his heart began to change.
Just as they were about to become something more, Nina—the woman he'd once called his light—returned without warning.
He proposed almost immediately, desperate to keep her by his side, to stop her from leaving again. She never heard the name Summer again.
So she forced herself to ignore whatever history existed between him and Summer. Little by little, the lie she told herself became real—she truly forgot.
Until that name resurfaced.
On their wedding day.
And with a single word— cancer —Summer dealt the most devastating blow to both her and Lance.
Watching Lance in pain now, Nina felt an ache deeper than his.
She had never seen him like this—his anguish raw and unguarded.
The next morning, before the sun was up, Lance—who had never once stepped into a kitchen—did something rare. He cooked a pot of porridge and headed straight to the hospital to see Summer.
Nina stood at the doorway, watching his hurried departure, feeling as though a chunk of her heart had been hollowed out.
Almost without thinking, she changed her clothes and slipped out of the house.
By the time she reached the hospital, Lance was sitting at Summer's bedside, gently blowing on a spoonful of porridge before bringing it to her lips. His movements were patient, tender.
Nina remained outside the door, silent, watching until Summer finished eating. She said something—Nina couldn't hear—and then tears began to spill down her cheeks.
Lance pulled her into his arms, his voice low, bitter, aching.
"Summer, we'll find a way to treat this."
"I'm here. I'll always be here…"