Li Yun walked in, her voice cheerful yet tentative. "I'm sorry! I hope I'm not disturbing anything?"
Feng Mian blinked, trying to process the sight of her husband's lawyer standing there, with smile on her face. A dull ache settled in her chest, but it didn't make a ruckus instead, it felt as if the weight of everything had dulled her emotions. Almost like it didn't matter anymore.
Li Yun approached them, and stood beside Han Chen, who remained resolutely turned away from her. His silence spoke volumes, an unspoken barrier between them. She asked Feng Mian how she was feeling, her tone dripping with concern. "It's really unfortunate, what happened."
Feng Mian managed a small smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you. I'm doing fine." But even as the words left her lips, she could feel the fracture within her.
Li Yun continued, "Han Chen and I were here in the hospital when you were brought in…"
This time, Feng Mian's heart gave a tremor, as if it took its final breath. The revelation hung in the air like a heavy fog. She didn't need to look at Han Chen to know the implications of his presence with Li Yun. In that moment, everything felt surreal—like she was a mere spectator in her own life, watching the painful truth unfold before her.
The afternoon sun spilled across the ward, filtering through the pale white curtains and casting a soft, muted glow over the sterile white room. Feng Mian lay there in silence as the nurse took her vitals, her expression blank, her gaze distant. She was informed that she had been unconscious for twelve hours, exhaustion hung over her like a shroud.
Earlier, Lin Jia had stopped by briefly, offering words of comfort that she barely registered. Even Han Chen's secretary had appeared, offering some awkward pleasantries, though she hadn't expected to see him at all. But the one conversation that lingered was with Han Chen—a conversation that had been abruptly cut short when Li Yun entered, followed by a call from his secretary.
Now, as the nurse finished checking her vitals and left the room, the only sound left was the soft, steady beeping of the heart monitor. But the silence didn't last long.
Han Chen walked in, his presence filling the room instantly. His gaze found her as he approached, his footsteps measured and controlled, betraying none of the turmoil that had flickered across his face earlier. He took a seat on the small stool beside her bed, the quiet tension settling between them like a heavy fog.
He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "You didn't finish…" His voice was calm, but there was a strain beneath it. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Feng Mian stared passively at the window, her expression unreadable as she watched the sunlight filter through the glass. She let a few seconds pass, the silence stretching, before she finally spoke.
"Shouldn't you be happy now?" Her voice was soft but steady, each word laced with a subtle bitterness.
He frowned, confusion flashing across his face. "What does that mean?"
She turned to look at him, meeting his gaze for the first time, her eyes cool and detached. "It got taken care of without bothering you." Her tone was hollow, empty of emotion, as if she were speaking of something trival.
Han Chen's jaw clenched, his expression tightening as he stared at her, silent. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the anger or frustration simmering beneath the surface, but he didn't say a word.
She let her gaze drift away, closing her eyes as she spoke in a quiet, final tone. "I'd like to rest now."
For a moment, he remained there, unmoving, as if he wanted to say something, as if he wanted to reach out. But in the end, he said nothing. And slowly, he stood up, leaving her alone with the silence once again.
On the third day, the doctor finally gave his approval for her discharge. Feng Mian listened passively as he listed out post-hospital care instructions, her mind only half-present. Han Chen was nearby, taking care of the paperwork and speaking with the doctor in his usual calm, efficient manner. She caught snippets of the conversation, hearing words like "rest," "medication," and "follow-up appointment," but none of it truly registered.
By the time everything was prepared, Han Chen returned, giving her a brief nod, silently signaling that it was time to leave. She slid out of the hospital bed, her movements slow and careful, her body still sore and weary. He reached out a hand, perhaps to help her, but she ignored it, steadying herself as she walked toward the exit.
The drive home was shrouded in silence. Han Chen focused on the road, his face an impassive mask, but every now and then, she caught him glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She stared out the window, watching the world blur past, her mind numb. The city streets, the passing buildings, the grey sky—they all felt like they belonged to another world, one she was merely passing through.
When they finally arrived, Han Chen parked the car and turned off the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, without a word or a glance, she opened the door and stepped out, closing it quietly behind her. She walked ahead, her steps steady, leaving him behind in the car, not waiting for him to follow.
Her hand trembled slightly as she reached the front door and pushed it open, the familiar, cold silence of their home greeting her. She stepped inside, feeling the weight of the place settle around her like a heavy blanket. She didn't look back, didn't listen for his footsteps.