Every time my dad brought me food, there was always a portion for him too.
Over time, we could talk about anything.
Then came my twentieth birthday. After dinner, we were walking along the lake on campus.
He stopped suddenly, turned to look at me, the tips of his ears bright red.
"Valerie."
His voice shook a little. He drew in a deep breath before he managed the rest, holding out his hand to me.
"Do you want to see all the years ahead with me?"
I stood there stunned for a while, then gripped his damp palm hard.
That one clasp lasted eight years.
From our student days to his first award.
To let him focus on his art, I quit my job and worked from home as an independent designer.
When Gavin found out, he held me with his eyes full of gratitude and guilt, and he made a promise.
"Valerie, I'll paint well, and I'll love you well."
With that promise, I was content to give everything.
For eight years, I changed the lightbulbs alone, fixed the pipes, unclogged the toilet, kept his art supplies and first-aid kit in order.
I remembered his parents' birthdays and bought their gifts for him; when his aunt had surgery, I sat by her bed until dawn.
When he was away, I handled every one of his relatives, kept all his social debts and courtesies smoothed over on his behalf.
Little by little, his work got better and better.
The trophies filled the cabinet in his study, and his name grew louder in the art world.
But the part about loving me well, that he never did.
He even thought that my being at home made me an idle person who did nothing.
I was about to reply to my lawyer when the phone rang.
It was Gavin calling.
I picked up, but I didn't ask, the way I always used to, what the weather was like where he was, or when he'd be heading into the wilderness.
After a few seconds of silence, his voice came through, an airport announcement in the background.
"I've landed. If all goes well, I'll be back next Thursday."
"They're known for their drinks and supplements out here. You haven't been sleeping well lately, right? Want me to bring you some saffron or something?"
I pried the little figure engraved with our two initials off the center console, opened the storage box, and dropped it inside.
"No need. I don't want anything."
The other end was quiet for a long time, then the call ended.
Maybe he thought I was being ungrateful, refusing the olive branch he'd held out.
Or maybe he just couldn't be bothered to waste more words on me.
I'd barely started the engine when Gloria's messages came rattling in one after another.
【Val, I just came across that woman's video feed, I'm so mad!】
Several screenshots in a row, from Naomi's account, updated just two minutes ago.
The caption read: "Fresh out of the oven, my Moon!"
The photo was a candid shot from the side, her leaning against a car window, head tilted, fast asleep.
Beside it was a quick portrait sketch.
Soft lines, nothing like Gavin's usual realist style.
I zoomed in on the image.
There was a reflection on the window glass, but I still recognized the person holding up the phone to take the shot. It was Gavin.
So it turned out he didn't just paint her. He'd also changed his own style for her.
I couldn't stop myself from opening the video app and typing in her account ID.
Under every one of her posts, there were comments.
Teasing from other coworkers on the team, envy and praise from fans.
And one user, with the nickname "S."
This account showed up under nearly every post Naomi made, and the time of the comment was only a few minutes after she uploaded each one.
"Beautiful. Your photography's improved again."
"Don't sneak around on your phone. Get to sleep early."
"……"
The tone was familiar, the kind of concern only someone very close would show.
