"She seems to still have feelings for you. The way things are for you now, it would be good to have someone by your side to take care of you."

I smiled faintly and murmured, "There's no particular reason. She just cheated on me with my best friend."

It had been twenty years since I met Yvonne Grant.

Twenty years have passed. This small town remained the same, but we've become strangers to each other.

I remember that year, I had just moved to the city with my parents. As I stepped out of the car, I brushed shoulders with Yvonne, who was passing by.

We were so young back then. The moment our shoulders touched, the spark of our romance began to bloom.

The town was small and we started dating soon after. We spent the most carefree and romantic years of our lives together.

Later, misfortune struck her family and they could no longer afford her schooling.

She suddenly handed me an oil painting she had made, saying she was going south to work.

I was silent for a moment, then turned and ran home. I told my parents I didn't want to be separated from her.

My father lit a cigarette. After thinking for a long time, he only asked me one question, "Nicholas, have you thought this through? Are you sure you want to choose Yvonne for the rest of your life?"

I nodded.

Even from a long, long time ago—from the very first moment I saw Yvonne, I had decided that no matter what happened in this lifetime, she would be the only one I would ever love.

My father said nothing more, but spent the whole night in thought.

At dawn, he sold ten cows, took a thick wad of cash and went to find Yvonne. My father patted her shoulder and said, "Don't worry about the tuition. Study hard and grow up to be a successful person."

Yvonne was stunned for a long time, then suddenly knelt and bowed several times to my father. She said that after she graduated, she would repay this kindness a thousandfold.

My father helped Yvonne up and said meaningfully, "I don't need you to repay me. If you two are destined to be together, then treat Nicholas well."

Yvonne nodded in agreement. She swore a solemn oath to the majestic snow-capped mountains, vowing she would never let me down.

From that day on, we officially started our relationship.

Yvonne lived up to my father's expectations. She was successfully admitted to the Academy of Fine Arts, became famous overnight with one of her paintings and stayed on as a teacher after graduation.

In no time, she became the most talked-about beauty professor.

She also did not betray my love for her.

On our wedding night, she tattooed a doodle I had drawn onto her chest. She grabbed my hand and pressed it there, letting me feel her heartbeat.

"Nic, remember this feeling. My heart will only ever beat for you," she whispered.

That year, our love reached its peak. We were inseparable. Even when she travelled for work, we would talk endlessly on the phone.

I remembered once when I had a fever, I fell asleep mid-call after taking medicine.

When I woke up, my phone was flooded with hundreds of messages. I hurriedly video-called Yvonne to let her know I was safe.

The moment the screen lit up, I saw her crying in the driver's seat.

"Nic, why aren't you answering me? I called your name, but you didn't respond. I sent a delivery guy to knock on your door, but no one answered."

"I'm so worried something might have happened to you. What would I do if anything were to happen to you ... "

She said she was scared. She said she was worried. She said she knew she might be overthinking, but she didn't dare take the chance.

Across over a thousand kilometers, with the temperature dropping far below freezing, she seemed to have lost all rationality.

She canceled her work and recklessly drove straight back to me.

By the time I ran downstairs, it was already the middle of the night.

At three in the morning, on a street swallowed by swirling snow, Yvonne stood there with her face still streaked with snow-covered tears.

Back then, we held each other and cried. A snowflake on her eyelashes melted into a crystalline tear, falling straight into the depths of my heart.

In that moment, I was convinced that nothing in this world could ever pull us apart. That our love could cross a thousand kilometers and overcome all the hardships of the world.

We would certainly, absolutely, live together happily forever.

Yet the painful irony was that I discovered Yvonne was cheating on me that very same night.

Seeing the questioning look in the taxi driver's eyes, I smiled and said calmly, with a touch of helplessness, "She'd been driving for too long that day. She collapsed and fell asleep as soon as she made sure that I was okay."

"But she forgot to turn off her phone and didn't switch her account in time. Surprisingly, the first pinned message on her bubble chat was a nude photo from my best friend."

The driver sighed. He kindly handed me a couple of tissues, but I had no tears left to cry.

All I remembered from that moment was the feeling of my blood running cold. It was like a massive rock crashing into a still lake, shattering every beautiful illusion into pieces.

As I continued to scroll, I saw their continuous chat throughout numerous years.

The very first message was from the day Harvey returned to the country after his divorce.

At the welcome dinner I had prepared for him, while I was drunk, Yvonne had confessed her feelings to Harvey. She said to him, "What I feel for Nic isn't love. It's a sense of responsibility. You are the one I yearned for but couldn't reach in my youth—my first love."

Meanwhile, the last message was from last night.

Harvey had texted her. [You took all your clothes off and then you said you had to leave. Yvonne, what exactly am I to you?]

[If you're so reluctant to leave him, then let's end this. Nicholas is my best friend. If he hadn't helped me find a place to live and a job when I came back, I'd be homeless. I don't want to hurt him.]

Yvonne was already asleep by then and hadn't replied. She hadn't had time to make her choice and I saw the messages before she could.

That snowflake turned into tears, then into an icicle, piercing my heart.

All those little details I had ignored, all those small things I had forgotten, suddenly connected in that moment.

So, that faint, subtle scent was not my imagination. It was the proof of Yvonne's betrayal.

So, that strange feeling I had wasn't me being paranoid. It was a subconscious premonition.

In an instant, my world collapsed.

I frantically dragged Yvonne out of bed, crying and demanding to know why.

Why did she stay with me if she didn't like me?

Why did she confess her love to me in the snow if you didn't like me?

Why … why did she get together with my best friend when I loved her the most?

Seeing my painful tears, Yvonne turned her head away in a panic.

Then she looked at me helplessly and said, "Nic, it's not that I don't like you. I just … I don't like you that much anymore."

After ten years, our youth was gone and the passion had faded.

The once overwhelming love had turned into a debt that could never be repaid.

I couldn't accept it. I refused to believe it.

We were together for ten years, a full decade. Three thousand, six hundred and fifty days and nights. More than a thousand kilometres apart.

Could such a relationship really just have been about repaying a debt?

Was I merely a thief standing between her and Harvey, stealing their happiness?

At that time, I was in agony, falling apart, going insane.

Unwilling to accept any of this, I hysterically smashed everything in the house.

I even slapped Yvonne across the face, but she remained utterly still, letting me vent my fury.

However, before my anger could subside, Yvonne's phone buzzed with a new message.

It was a photo of a five a.m. flight ticket alongside a pregnancy test report. And after that, Harvey's sorrowful voice message kept replaying in the dead-silent night.

"Yvonne, I don't want to pressure you, but I can't hold on anymore. I'm right next door. I need you to choose between us."

"I'm not like Nicholas Sparks. I have nothing. If you don't come and give me an answer, I'll kill myself before dawn."

That woman, who was usually so composed, instantly panicked.

Yvonne Grant, who hadn't even flinched when I questioned her and hadn't been swayed by my tears, desperately wanted to find Harvey at that moment.

I was exhausted. Leaning against the wall, I spoke almost in despair. "Yvonne, if you walk out that door today, there will be no turning back for us, ever."

Yvonne paused, but she still walked out without looking back.

Hearing this, the taxi driver lit a cigarette, his face full of concern. Then, remembering my situation, he silently put it out.

"People's hearts are unpredictable," he sighed.

Yes, people's hearts were unpredictable and fate was capricious.

If the story had ended there, it would just have been a tragedy in our relationship.

After a period of heartbreak and tears, I might have eventually moved on. But that night, fate played another cruel joke on me.

I called my father and told him that Yvonne had betrayed me, that we couldn't go on anymore.

I said I wanted to go home. Back to my hometown, back to their side.

My father panicked and drove all night to pick me up and take me home.

Sadly, the snowstorm that day was too fierce.

Due to the rugged mountain road, my father got into a car accident on his way. His car was wrecked and he died on the spot.

God was so unfair.

He allowed a heartless, unfaithful bitch like Yvonne to live, but he took away the father who loved me the most.

By the time I got the call and rushed over, all that remained was a white sheet about to be pushed into the crematorium.

They told me my father's state was too horrible and they didn't want me to see him. They even urged me to control my grief.

Still, that was my father. The man who loved me, cherished me and protected me since I was little.

How could I be afraid of him?

I rushed forward desperately and lifted that white cloth. What I saw was a face that was a blur of blood and flesh. There were no features, no face; even my father's skull was shattered into countless pieces.

I could not describe the feeling of that moment. My consciousness seemed to fly away, soaring to a completely unfamiliar world.

A world without death, without pain, without tears and without betrayal.

Later, I saw a psychiatrist. The doctor told me it was dissociative consciousness, a very severe psychological illness and she urged me to be hospitalized for treatment immediately.

Unfortunately, my mother became ill before I did. My father's death had traumatized her, leaving her mentally unstable.

The once gentle and graceful mother now flew into a rage whenever she saw me.

She would hit me, curse me and spit in my face. Another time, she would look at me through her tears and say, "It was you, you killed your dad."