When Lin Zhou returned to the room, Shen Che had fallen asleep. Perhaps it was the effect of the medication; he was sleeping soundly, but his brow was still tightly furrowed, as if he were having a nightmare.
Lin Zhou sat by the bed, watching him quietly.
She reached out, wanting to smooth his furrowed brow, but her hand stopped midway.
She realized she didn't know how to face him anymore.
The truth was out, the misunderstanding was cleared. Logically, she should forgive him, and then, as all love stories go, stay by his side through thick and thin.
But she couldn't.
Her heart ached, an unbearable pain. But mixed with the pain was a lingering resentment she couldn't let go of.
She wasn't angry that he was sick, that he had no money, that he might become a burden to her. She was angry at his lack of trust, at his self-righteous, condescending "sacrifice."
Love wasn't a one-way street of giving and fulfilling; it was a two-way journey of commitment and sharing. With one lie, he had single-handedly severed all connection between them, stripping her of her right as his lover to share in his joys and sorrows.
It was a spiritual betrayal, more hurtful than any physical infidelity.
When Shen Che woke up, the first thing he saw was Lin Zhou's complex eyes, glistening with tears yet tinged with a sense of distance.
"Zhou Zhou..." he began, his voice weak.
Lin Zhou took a deep breath and stood up.
"Shen Che, get some rest and recover," her voice was calm, terrifyingly calm. "Don't worry about the medical bills; I'll figure something out. We'll talk again after you're discharged."
With that, she turned and walked out of the room without another glance at him.
Shen Che watched her resolute back, his heart sinking bit by bit. He knew that the crack between them, created by his lie, hadn't healed with the revelation of the truth.
If anything, it had grown wider.