Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 53

Zhan's Pov.

The weight of the necklace between us felt heavier than gold. It was a memory. It was grief. It was love wrapped in the ache of everything we couldn't go back to.

Wang looked down at it, then back at me. His eyes shimmered—not with tears, but something deeper. Regret, maybe. Or longing. Or both.

"I kept every drawing you ever gave me," he whispered. "Even the stupid one you made... the one where I had three ears and no nose."

I chuckled, startled. "You said it looked like me."

"I lied." He smiled a little. "It looked better."

Silence.

Then the wind shifted around us, no, not the wind, people. The crowd. The flashing lights. Reality.

Behind him, his mother stared, jaw clenched, arms folded like she could fold time and undo the scene playing out. Lusi was still with his brother, pretending not to watch us while watching every second. Her fake smile was like a crack in porcelain.

I stepped back, the air cooling instantly between us. "You should go."

He didn't move.

"Wang..." I said, more firmly this time.

"I still love you."

My heart stopped.

He said it so quietly, it might have been a thought. But I heard it. Clear. Steady. A confession not meant for public ears, but meant for me.

"I shouldn't," he added, eyes flickering toward the crowd. "But I do."

I stared at him for a moment, then down at the necklace—my gift. A cruel irony.

"You're married."

"I know."

"You said 'I do.'"

"I didn't say forever."

His voice cracked on that last word, and it broke something open in me. The kind of pain you only feel when your dreams are still breathing but buried under rubble.

"I can't be your secret any more," I said, quietly.

He nodded. "Then don't be. Be everything."

But I couldn't answer that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

The cameras behind us started clicking again. Reporters creeping closer. The world was watching.

I stepped back again, this time fully.

"Take care of yourself, Wang."

He looked like he wanted to say more. Like he was begging time to pause, to give him one last shot. But time's a bitch. It never listens.

I turned away. And this time, he didn't call me back.

I walked.

Not fast. Not slow. Just... enough to feel like I was moving through something heavy.

The crowd didn't matter. The cameras didn't matter. The people yelling my name, asking if I had anything to say, trying to get a quote for tomorrow's headlines—it was all noise behind glass.

I didn't look back.

I couldn't.

Because if I did, I knew I'd see him standing there. Still wearing the necklace. Still watching me like he didn't know how to let go, even after he already had.