Her collar had been washed until it faded, worn down into tiny loose threads.
Once, she ran a high fever and skipped lessons for three days. When I finally found her, she was sorting trash by the roadside.
I pushed five thousand yuan into her bag.
She chased after me across three streets to give it back, voice rough. “Kaegan, please let me keep some pride.”
After that, I only “by chance” brought an extra breakfast, and “along the way” lent her study notes.
On the night of the Winter Solstice, she carried two roasted sweet potatoes in her pocket.
In the minus-ten cold wind, she waited outside the dorm until the lights went out, and the first line she spoke when she saw me was:
“Keagan, can I ask you to wait for me?”
Many years later, she rose from nothing and brought her company to the market.
She held me close through the night, voice breaking. “Those years I slept only three hours a day, scared I couldn’t keep pace with you, scared you’d notice I had to save a whole week just to buy you a coffee.”
Until the day she met my family, when she saw my father in the living room, she understood that the Foster in Keagan Foster was that Foster.
Later, Rosalie told me that at that instant her head held only one thought. “So the finish line I chased my whole life, couldn’t even reach your starting line.”
After learning my family roots, Rosalie became known for pushing herself too hard.
She fought for deals and projects without rest, burned down her health, and forced her way into the highest circles of Nashville.
Then she laid out a rose manor with 99,999 gold roses and asked me to marry her.
What did she say at that time?
She said her purpose in living was to become someone good enough for me.
As the anesthesia slowly wore off, a light ache rose from my chest.
The love Rosalie gave me was vast and shining.
Pity, brief.
Promises shine brightest only when they are spoken.
The forever we promised did not last past seven years. “Young sir?”
I snapped my eyes open, fingertips brushing the cold wetness at the corners of my eyes.
The ache pressing on my chest would not ease.
The butler spoke quietly, “Miss Rosalie has come back.”
I dropped my eyes to my chest; the skin there had already been fully changed.
Fresh flesh, faintly pink, smooth and even, no mark left.
Rosalie walked in holding bags, warmth familiar on her face.
She set the jewelry-brand bags aside and reached out to touch my face.