Three years.
Lian Yue traced her fingertip along the edge of the porcelain plate, feeling the faint warmth of the food she had prepared hours ago. The dining hall lights cast a soft golden glow, making the crystal glassware shimmer like stars. Anyone looking in from outside might think this home was filled with warmth and love — the perfect life of the perfect couple.
She laughed quietly.A soft, breathless sound that held no real amusement.
Perfect.Yes, everything in her life looked perfect.
Except the marriage.
Tonight was their third wedding anniversary. The special day that most couples spent wrapped in affection — remembering vows, laughing over memories, promising more years of love.
Lian Yue sat alone at a long table, food untouched, hands folded neatly in her lap.
The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second stretching longer than the last. Outside, the evening sky transitioned to deep velvet, stars beginning to glitter. The city lights flickered, while inside this grand house, silence ruled like an emperor.
Twelve minutes late.
She wasn't surprised.Shen Tinglan never came home early on this day.
The first year, she had cooked everything from scratch, trembling with excitement. She had worn her favorite dress, done her makeup thrice because she wanted to look perfect for him. She had waited until midnight, smiling every time footsteps echoed in the hallway — only to realize they were her own illusions.
That night, she cried quietly against the dining table, forcing herself to whisper, "It's okay, maybe next year."
The second year, she tried again. Fewer dishes, but the same hope. And when midnight came again with nothing but silence, it hurt worse — because she had already known the outcome, yet still hoped.
That night, she cried again — but not loudly. Tears had become more disciplined.
This year, the third year, her eyes were dry even before the dinner began.
She hadn't cooked much today — just a meal symbolizing tradition. There were no romantic desserts, no attempt at candlelight atmosphere, no anxious excitement. Her hair was tied loosely in a soft ponytail, and she wore a simple cream sweater and long skirt. Comfortable. Plain.
Tonight, the anniversary felt like a formality rather than a celebration.
Her heart had grown quieter.
Not empty — just tired.
The front door made a soft clicking sound. Lian Yue's back straightened instinctively, though her heartbeat remained calm.
Shen Tinglan entered.
Tall, refined, wrapped in a charcoal suit that emphasized his cold elegance. His presence always filled a room — strong, cool, distant. His expression was composed as always, the frost in his eyes never melting.
He glanced at the table. His gaze paused for barely a second on the dinner she had prepared, then moved away as if it meant nothing — as if she meant nothing.
"You didn't need to wait."
Three years, and he had never forgotten to say those five words. Habitual. Dismissive. Polite enough to not be cruel, distant enough to not be kind.
Lian Yue smiled gently, the same practiced smile she used whenever her heart tightened."It's okay. I wasn't waiting long."
A lie, spoken so gracefully it almost sounded like truth.
Shen Tinglan loosened his tie, expression indifferent. "I've already eaten."
Of course he had. He always did — anniversary included.
"I see."
He paused. For a moment, his eyes flicked back to her — as if he sensed something different tonight. But it was only a moment, fleeting and insubstantial. He walked past her, steps steady, going upstairs as if she were part of the furniture.
The room fell silent again.
Lian Yue slowly picked up her spoon and ate a single bite of the now-cool soup. The warmth had faded, but she barely tasted anything anyway. After finishing a few spoonfuls, she put the spoon down.
She didn't have the strength to pretend she was hungry.
Her gaze lifted toward the staircase where her husband had disappeared. The man she had loved for almost five years. Married to for three. Shared a roof with — yet never a life.
She admired him once with bright eyes full of dreams. She thought love could melt ice, soften walls, create miracles. She thought patience could build a bridge between hearts.
But patience, she learned, had limits.
She rose slowly, gathering plates and walking toward the kitchen. Her movements were calm, unhurried. The clink of glass against porcelain echoed softly as she washed the dishes.
Suddenly, her vision blurred.
Not tears. Not this time.
Just a wave of exhaustion so heavy she had to grip the counter to steady herself.
Her heart didn't ache like it used to. Pain required energy, and she had poured so much of herself into loving him, waiting for him, hoping — that she didn't know what she had left now.
Without realizing, she whispered into the empty kitchen,
"Loving you feels like holding my breath underwater… I can't do it forever."
The refrigerator hummed softly, the sink dripped once. The quiet night offered no comfort, only truth.
She wasn't giving up on the marriage.
She was giving up on chasing.
When the dishes were done, she dried her hands and walked upstairs. Outside the study door, she hesitated. She had always waited here before entering, always afraid to disturb him, always hoping maybe tonight he would call her in first.
She waited today too — out of sheer habit. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Silence.
She smiled faintly.Habits took time to break.
She walked to another room — not their bedroom, just hers. Because in this grand home, even intimacy was divided.
She sat at her desk, staring at the blank white notebook she had kept for three years. It was supposed to be a journal of their shared life.
It remained mostly empty.
Except for one sentence written on the first page long ago:
I married him because I love him, and someday he will love me too.
Tonight, she turned to a fresh page.
Her pen trembled slightly, but her heart felt strangely steady.
She began to write:
Tonight, I realized something...
I don't want to chase love anymore.
If love wants me, it will come.
When she finished, she closed the notebook, exhaled softly, and looked at her hands — delicate, steady, no longer clinging.
For the first time in three years, she didn't feel anxious about his coldness. She felt free.
Not happy.Not relieved.Just free — like someone who finally stopped swimming against the tide and allowed themselves to float.
Perhaps tomorrow would hurt again.But tonight, she chose peace.
Somewhere in the house, a door opened. Footsteps approached her room — silent but purposeful. Then they paused just outside her door.
He had never stopped at her door before.
But tonight, Shen Tinglan hesitated.
He didn't knock. Didn't speak. Just stood there for a second — or maybe it was longer — before walking away.
Lian Yue didn't hear him leave, but she felt the shift in the air, the subtle disturbance outside. She didn't move toward the door. She didn't chase.
Because tonight was different.
Tonight, love took its first breath of independence.
And though neither of them knew it yet…
This was the moment everything quietly began to change.