YOU SWAN , HE FROG !

8

The next day, James received the ring I mailed back to him. 
—The engagement ring he had given me. 

A month ago, we had dinner together at a restaurant. Midway through the meal, the man across from me suddenly stood up, without warning, and pulled out a ring, dropping to one knee. 

He was dressed in a crisp suit, looking handsome and refined, as if he had taken great care to prepare, though his knuckles were turning white from nervousness. The crowd around us began to cheer, and with a slight smile on his lips, he looked at me intensely. "Annie, marry me." 

I was already crying, my hands trembling as I reached out, letting him slip the ring onto my finger. 

That night, I was unusually passionate, holding his head against me, watching the flickering, broken light above us sway all night long. 

I'm an orphan. After my adoptive parents took me in, they had a son the next year. A few years later, they came up with some excuse to send me back to the orphanage. 

The excuse? Something about me being a thief—if you consider taking your brother's leftover drumstick because you're starving to be theft. 

Maybe that's why, back in school, when class funds went missing and someone suspected me, James stood up for me. From that moment, he lodged himself deep in my heart. 

After that, I was adopted by a not-so-wealthy couple. They treated me well, but I still remained cautious, never daring to overstep. Even in the prime of my growing years, I'd only take half a bowl of food at meals. 

When I finally opened my heart to them, they died in a car crash—on their way to attend my parent-teacher meeting. 

I was sent back to the orphanage. 

No one ever wanted to adopt me again. 

My name's Annie, but I've never had a true sense of stability. 

I always wanted a real family. 

When James proposed to me, I thought, maybe I'd finally have one. 

But then Emma came back. 

She wasn't doing well, and the first person she thought of wasn't her parents—it was James. And my boyfriend—my fiancé—dutifully helped her, even suggesting she move in so he could take care of her. 

After our disastrous fight, I applied for a work trip and went to Hangzhou. I thought about it for a week before I mailed the engagement ring back to him. 

—It was my way of breaking up with him. 

Today, James received that ring. 

When he saw it, his face darkened, like storm clouds about to pour, his eyes filled with a coldness that wouldn't melt. 

He kept messaging me, calling me, demanding to know what I meant by this. 

As he smoked, his features grew sharper, and the tension in his brow almost overflowed. But his phone kept ringing with the same message—"unable to connect." 

After who knows how many cigarettes, when the pack was finally empty, he lowered his eyelids, his voice barely a whisper, "Annie, are you really leaving me?" 

Yes. 

I had already left. Completely. 

Now, you can finally be with Emma. 

I murmured the words softly, even though he couldn't hear me. 

Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind. 

I've always been decisive. The moment I sent that ring back, I had already made up my mind to end things. So why did I rush back to celebrate his birthday? 

I tried to remember, but something important felt forgotten, slipping through my grasp. 

James started to space out more and more. 

At night, when he worked in the study, Emma brought him coffee, but without looking up, James said, "Annie, it's late. Go rest." 

Emma froze, staring at him. 

James, too, was stunned, mumbling a quick "sorry" as he rubbed his temples, trying to hide whatever had slipped out. 

After that, he seemed lost in thought, staring at the same page of his work without turning it, oblivious to Emma's growing frustration. 

The next day, Emma went to clean James' bedroom. 

Whether out of curiosity or on purpose, she began subtly packing away my belongings and even "accidentally" knocked over the LEGO set James and I had built together. 

When James saw it, for the first time, he snapped at her. "...Don't touch these." 

He pushed her hand away and quietly, methodically, began piecing together the scattered bricks. 

Emma watched in silence the entire time. 

James started drifting off more often. 

Seeing the sunflowers I had planted on the balcony, he would zone out. Seeing the clothes I bought him in the wardrobe, he would stop. The goldfish I raised? He would stand there, staring. 

Even when talking to Emma, if she unknowingly said the syllable "An," he would freeze, lost in thought. 

I floated above them, calmly watching as Emma's face grew paler and paler. 

Not just Emma—I began to realize something too. 

James seemed to be slowly understanding his own feelings. 

I narrowed my eyes, staring at the man I had loved all my life, sitting on the couch. He looked a bit drunk, his brows furrowed, and his usually cool face flushed with a tinge of red. 

He was on the phone with his friend Jack. 

"Who do you want, Annie or Emma?" Jack asked. 

James was silent for a moment. "Annie broke up with me." 

"So, it's Emma?" 

James unconsciously frowned. 

Jack must've guessed what was going on. "James, the heart is small. You can only love one person. Go find Annie." 

James didn't respond. He looked down, gently stroking the engagement ring. 

After a long pause, he finally said, "Okay." 

I watched him in silence. 

If this had happened before, maybe I would've been happy to see this. 

But now, I was dead. 

I was dead. 

Restlessness, like ants, crawled deep into my heart, burrowing deeper and deeper, filling me with frustration. An inexplicable emotion churned in my mind, suffocating me.