No matter how passionate the heart is, it will eventually grow cold after enough pain. When disappointment piles up enough, it turns around and walks away.
Rudy lifted a corner of my pajamas, his fingers brushing against the skin of my waist. His intentions couldn’t have been clearer.
I pressed his hand down and said quietly, “I’m tired.”
Rudy studied me with a complicated look. He knew I was making an excuse, but he still pulled his hand away from my waist and murmured, “Go to sleep.”
I tried to pull away from his embrace, but Rudy seemed to sense my movement and tightened his hold. Reluctantly, I lay still in his arms.
There was a time when I thought the warmest thing in the world was Rudy’s embrace. But now, as he held me, all I felt was coldness, not a trace of warmth.
I kept my eyes shut, pretending to sleep, until his breathing grew steady and deep. Once I was sure he was asleep, I carefully slid his arm off me and moved to the edge of the bed.
The space between Rudy and me was so wide that another person could have fit between us, just like the distance that had grown between our hearts—one that could never be bridged.
When I woke up the next morning, breakfast was already laid out on the table.
“Sit down, I made your favorite seafood porridge,” Rudy said, greeting me with his usual attentiveness.
This wasn’t the first time Rudy had made breakfast for me. Seafood porridge had always been my favorite, so Rudy had learned how to make it just for me.
But over time, Rudy became busier, and the porridge became rarer, only appearing when he needed to apologize for something he’d done wrong.
In the past, eating the seafood porridge Rudy had made with his own hands felt like the sweetest thing in the world, from my mouth to my heart.
Now, the porridge in front of me looked the same as it always did, but when I tasted it, it felt empty and tasteless.
“It’s your birthday in three days. Is there any place you want to go or any gift you want?” Rudy asked, his voice full of thoughtfulness.
I shook my head.
Seeing my lack of enthusiasm, Rudy assumed I was still upset about the wedding. After a brief pause, he suggested, “You’ve always wanted to go skiing. I’ll take you skiing that day.”
“Yeah,” I replied, my voice lacking any emotion.
“Alright, I’ll have someone arrange it later,” Rudy said, already dialing his assistant.
When I heard Rudy cancel an important work commitment for me that day, I felt nothing—not a flicker of gratitude or anticipation for my upcoming birthday.
Because by then, I would be gone for good.
After dinner, Rudy prepared to head to work. As usual, he pulled me into his arms and kissed my lips before leaving.
I slightly turned my head, and Rudy's kiss landed on my cheek instead.
He paused for a moment but didn’t think much of it. With a smile, he ruffled my hair. “I’m leaving.”
“Yeah,” I replied, smiling and nodding. But I didn’t tell him to be careful on the road, as I had always done before.
Once Rudy’s figure had completely disappeared from view, the smile faded from my face, and my eyes turned cold.
I grabbed a tissue and wiped away the spot where Rudy had kissed me.
In my mind, I repeated to myself: There are still three days.
