The evening sun cast a warm, amber hue across the quiet Huo estate. In the kitchen, steam billowed from bubbling pots, the soft clatter of porcelain and the sizzle of oil the only sounds breaking the silence. Lin Jiaxuan stood by the stove, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair tied back in a loose bun. Her fingers trembled slightly as she added a dash of soy sauce to the sweet and sour fish—his favorite. Her heart trembled more.
She hadn't cooked in years, not even for herself. When she had first entered the Huo family as Mrs. Huo, she had turned her nose up at these domestic tasks. Back then, she'd viewed marriage as a shackle, a deal forced on her—keeping her from the man she loved. A cage with velvet bars. She hadn't tried to understand her husband. Or their son.
But now... the scent of ginger, garlic, and guilt simmered in the air.
She had died once. In cold blood. Betrayed by the very man she thought she loved. In those final seconds, as her body bled out on marble floors, it wasn't Chen Yuze's face that appeared in her fading mind.
It was Huo Shenzhi, holding their crying son, voice breaking as he screamed her name.
And then—darkness.
Only to wake up again, back here. Months before the divorce. Before everything had collapsed. The heavens had given her another chance.
She wasn't going to waste it.
The food was ready by six. She set the table with trembling hands. Every dish perfectly aligned, every bowl clean and warm. Yichen toddled in, rubbing his sleepy eyes, and blinked at the spread.
"Mama cook?" he asked in his still-clumsy speech.
She crouched down, gently brushing his bangs aside. "Yes, sweetheart. For you and Papa."
He blinked, unsure. "Mama no cook before…"
"I'm learning now," she whispered. "I want to learn. For you."
He stared at her a moment longer, then waddled to the table with curiosity. She helped him into his seat, unable to stop herself from brushing a kiss against his soft hair. He didn't pull away this time.
Her heart warmed a little.
Then, the door unlocked.
She turned toward the sound just as Huo Shenzhi stepped in. Tall, sharp-featured, dressed in his crisp evening suit, his presence pulled the air out of the room. He looked the same. But she knew he wasn't. Not anymore. This was the man who had cradled her corpse, tears streaking his face in the past life—grieving a woman who never loved him until it was too late.
"Welcome home," she said softly.
He paused, looking from her to the table.
"What is this?"
"Dinner."
He set down his briefcase slowly, warily. "You ordered in?"
"No. I made it."
His brow lifted. Disbelief flickered in his eyes. "You?"
She nodded.
He looked away. "You hated cooking. Hated everything about this house."
"I'm sorry," she said, stepping forward slightly. "I didn't understand… not then."
Huo Yichen, oblivious to the tension, called out from the table, "Papa! Come eat! Mama made fish!"
Shenzhi's gaze flicked to his son, then back to her. His lips pressed into a hard line. "You don't get to play house now, Lin Jiaxuan."
"I'm not playing." Her voice cracked, but she steadied herself. "I know I hurt you. I know I left you and our son for someone who didn't deserve it. But I'm here now. And I want to make it right."
He said nothing.
Just walked to the table, scooping Yichen into his arms. The boy giggled, throwing his arms around his father's neck.
She watched them—the natural bond between father and son. It stung. Because that should have been her, too. She had missed his first steps, his first words, his first cold.
Because she had chosen someone else.
"I made sweet and sour fish," she said gently. "You used to like it."
"You don't remember what I like," he replied coldly. "You never cared enough to ask."
"I care now."
"Now," he repeated bitterly. "Now that everything you ran to burned down."
She flinched. "You're right to hate me. I hate myself too. But I want to be better. I want to be a mother to Yichen. I want to… be your wife. Again."
He laughed. Not a cruel one—but tired, bitter. "You think one meal can fix three years of cold shoulders and betrayal?"
"No," she whispered. "But maybe it's a start."
He looked down at their son, who had taken a rib with his small hand and was now gnawing on it happily. "Yummy," Yichen mumbled, cheeks puffed.
Shenzhi's expression softened at the sight.
"Is it good, baby?" she asked softly.
Yichen nodded. "Mama cook good. Like!"
Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She turned away quickly, pretending to tidy the table.
When she turned back, Shenzhi had set Yichen down in his high chair.
She served them both silently, not expecting him to touch a bite. But to her surprise, he lifted his chopsticks. Took one piece of fish.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
He said nothing—but he didn't stop eating.
Hope bloomed quietly in her chest. Not forgiveness. Not warmth. But something. A crack in the walls he'd built.
After dinner, she offered to bathe Yichen, but he gently refused.
"I'll do it," he said shortly. "He's more used to me."
She nodded, stepping back. "Alright."
She watched them disappear into the hall, father and son bathed in warm hallway light. Her hands fell to her sides, empty.
But her heart whispered: Don't give up. Not yet.
....-_....-_....
The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows on the walls, painting the room in hues of gold and sorrow. Lin Jiaxuan sat at the edge of the bed, wrapped in a delicate silk robe she once wouldn't have chosen. It was soft, light lavender modest, but elegant. The kind of thing she hoped he might like. Her hair was still damp from the shower, her skin perfumed lightly with the fragrance he used to compliment long ago, in the rare times he had tried to draw near.
She had waited all evening.
The clock on the nightstand ticked mercilessly. 9:52 p.m.
The door finally opened with a quiet click. Huo Shenzhi stepped in, hair tousled from drying, his shirt half unbuttoned and sleeves rolled to the elbows. He didn't spare her a glance as he walked toward the dresser, pulling out a folded T-shirt.
"Shenzhi," she called gently.
He didn't respond. Just kept moving with that cold efficiency he'd perfected over the years.
She stood and approached slowly, heart racing. "Can we talk?"
He gave a small exhale. "It's late."
"I want to talk about us."
"There is no us, Lin Jiaxuan," he replied coolly, walking toward the wardrobe.
She reached out, gently placing her hand on his arm.
"I know I don't deserve it. But I want to try," she whispered. "You're my husband. I want to be your wife. In every way."
Finally, he turned. His dark eyes met hers, unreadable.
Her breath caught. Before she could second-guess herself, she stepped closer and reached up fingers brushing his chest, sliding slowly over the line of his collarbone, her lips trembling with hesitation.
He didn't move.
She rose on her toes, closing the gap, leaning toward him—
Until his hand came up. Not harsh. Not forceful. But firm.
He pushed her back, gently, like one might push away something fragile.
"Don't," he said, voice low.
Her hand dropped. "Why not?"
"You hated my touch," he said. "You recoiled from it. Do you think I forgot? The way you flinched every time I held you?"
"I was stupid," she breathed. "Blind. I didn't understand what I had until—"
"Until he discarded you?" His voice sharpened, bitter and cold.
She flinched.
He took a step back. "You said it once, remember? That sleeping with me felt like a punishment. That even my breath made your skin crawl."
Her mouth opened. No words came.
He laughed bitterly. "You think I could forget that, Jiaxuan?"
Tears stung her eyes. "I didn't mean it."
"You did." He looked away. "You just didn't think I'd remember."
"I've changed," she said brokenly. "I died, Shenzhi. I—"
He turned back to her sharply. "What?"
She froze. The truth was always on the edge of her lips, but she could never say it aloud. Who would believe her?
"I… mean it feels like I died," she whispered, correcting herself. "When I lost you. When I lost Yichen. That day… I realized I had nothing left."
For a moment, his expression flickered. Then the mask fell back into place.
"You made your choice," he said. "Don't come crawling back just because he didn't want you anymore."
She stepped forward again, tears streaming silently now. "But I want you."
He looked at her, long and hard.
Then turned away.
"I'll sleep in the guest room."
Her knees gave out as the door closed behind him.
And in the quiet of their shared bedroom, Lin Jiaxuan finally wept,not just for what she had lost, but for what she had thrown away...
The door hadn't even fully closed before Lin Jiaxuan stumbled forward, barefoot, tears streaking down her face.
"Shenzhi—Shenzhi, wait!"
Her voice cracked like glass under pressure.
Huo Shenzhi had barely reached the hallway when she caught up to him, hands shaking as she gripped the back of his shirt. Her robe slipped slightly down her shoulder, exposing the fragility of her frame beneath. The soft patter of her bare feet against the floor echoed against the cold silence between them.
He stopped.
But he didn't turn around.
Her fingers clutched his shirt tighter, trembling with the weight of all the things she had never said before.
"I'm sorry," she cried softly. "I'm so sorry. Please… don't leave me like this tonight."
His body stiffened.
"You've already lost the right to ask me that," he said flatly.
"But I need you," she whispered, burying her face into his back. "You don't have to forgive me right now, just don't walk away. Not tonight."
He turned slowly.
And her arms wrapped around his waist before he could take a step back.
She pressed her cheek to his chest, the way she used to do when she was nineteen and still foolish enough to believe life would wait for her to grow up. His scent was still the same clean, cold, steady. She hated how much she remembered it, how much she had missed it.
"I didn't know," she whispered. "I didn't understand anything back then. Not what it meant to love, not what it meant to lose."
He didn't hug her back.
He didn't say a word.
"Back then, I thought I was in love with someone else. I was stupid, blinded by promises that meant nothing. And when I finally realized where my heart belonged… it was too late."
"You're right," he said, voice low, like thunder in the distance. "It is too late."
She choked on a sob, holding him tighter.
"I know you hate me. I know I broke something in you. But I....I want to put it back together. Let me try. For our son. For us."
"You're not doing this for him," he said, gaze sharp and unyielding. "You're doing it because he threw you away."
"No!" She looked up at him desperately. "It's not about him. It hasn't been for a long time. I've changed. Can't you see that?"
"What I see," he said, eyes locked with hers, "is a woman crying in the hallway for something she shattered with her own hands."
Her arms dropped slowly.
And the emptiness between them grew.
"You can't erase the past, Jiaxuan. Not with tears. Not with touches. Not even with regret."
"Then what do you want me to do?" she whispered. "What will it take for you to believe me?"
"I don't know," he said, stepping away. "But crying in my arms won't undo what you did."
Her hands fell to her sides, fingers curling helplessly.
"I would give anything," she said softly, "to go back to that day. To make a different choice."
"You already made your choice," he replied. "You just never thought you'd have to live with it."
And with that, Huo Shenzhi turned his back again, walking down the hall toward the guest room, leaving Lin Jiaxuan standing under the dim hallway light, trembling in silence.
The weight of her past bore down on her shoulders like a storm cloud, and though she had finally opened her heart, she realized—
It might already be too late.
The hallway lights were dim, casting long shadows along the walls. Lin Jiaxuan stood there, trembling, watching the man she had once vowed to love disappear down the corridor—again. But something inside her snapped.
No, not again.
She wouldn't let him walk away this time. Not without hearing her. Not without feeling how shattered she truly was.
With trembling steps, she chased after him.
"Shenzhi… please, don't do this. Not again. Don't walk away from me," she cried, her voice raw, soaked in desperation.
Huo Shenzhi had reached the door to the guest room. His hand was on the doorknob, but he didn't turn it.
"I said everything I needed to say, Jiaxuan."
"No," she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, "you didn't."
She buried her face in his back, her tears soaking into his shirt. "You didn't tell me how you used to look at me when I wasn't watching. Or how you used to carry our son to sleep alone because I wasn't there. Or how you waited and waited for me to come home."
Her voice cracked. "You didn't tell me how much I broke you."
That was when he turned.
And something in his expression finally shattered.
Huo Shenzhi looked at her, his chest heaving, eyes dark with a storm that had been building for far too long. "You want to know how much you broke me?" His voice shook—dangerously low, yet trembling with fury and grief. "You really want to know?"
She stepped back, startled by the fire in his eyes.
"I used to check my phone every five minutes, waiting for a message. A call. Anything. And when it finally came—it was you telling me you were staying with him. That you chose him."
His voice cracked. He stepped closer.
"I didn't sleep for nights, Jiaxuan. Do you know what it's like to hold your crying child in your arms and not be able to say anything? Because the one person who was supposed to be there chose someone else?"
She shook her head, sobbing.
"I told myself it was temporary. That you'd come back. But you didn't. You missed our son's first steps. His first words. You missed it all."
Tears welled in his eyes.
"You missed me."
He let out a bitter laugh, wiping a hand roughly over his face. "And now you come back, all teary-eyed, trying to make up for everything with apologies and late-night seduction? You think that undoes the years of silence? The loneliness?"
She stepped forward, reaching for him again, but he stepped back.
"Do you know how many nights I laid next to that crib, staring at his face, wondering what I did wrong? Wondering why I wasn't enough for you?"
His voice trembled harder now. His next words were barely a whisper. "I used to pray, Jiaxuan. Pray that you'd just come home. And when you finally did—I was too broken to even recognize the woman standing in front of me."
He looked away, tears sliding silently down his cheeks.
"I'm tired," he said, his voice a breath. "I'm tired of being the only one who hurts."
She covered her mouth, tears falling freely now.
"I'm here now," she whispered. "I came back for you—for our son. I want to fix it. Please, just… let me try."
He looked at her, eyes rimmed red. "And what if I don't have anything left to give you?"
Her heart splintered.
"I'll take your silence. Your distance. I'll take the hate if that's all you have. Just don't shut me out again, Shenzhi."
She reached for him again—and this time, he didn't move.
Her arms circled him tightly, her body shaking against his. And though he didn't embrace her back, he let her hold him. Let her cry. Let her break against him.
And in the silence that followed, both of them stood there in the hallway—two broken people, too hurt to heal, too in love to let go. The silence stretched too long. Lin Jiaxuan clung to him, praying he would hold her back, whisper something—anything—that hinted at forgiveness. But Huo Shenzhi stood there stiffly, the storm in his chest settling into bitter cold.
Then, without a word, he peeled her arms away from his body.
"Enough."
"Shenzhi—" her voice cracked, still pleading.
"I said, enough!" he snapped, turning away. He reached for the door and opened it sharply, gesturing toward the hall. "I need to sleep. Alone."
"But—"
"Leave."
His voice was low, hoarse, final. A single word laced with fatigue and heartbreak.
When she didn't move, his jaw tightened. Without looking her in the eye, he pushed her gently but firmly out of the room. "Stop making this harder than it already is."
The door slammed shut.
Click.
The lock turned.
Just like that, she was on the other side. Alone.
For a few seconds, Lin Jiaxuan stood there in shock, her hands trembling at her sides. Her bare feet touched the cold floor, the ache in her chest heavier than her bones could carry.
She leaned her forehead against the door, her voice barely audible through the thick wood. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to ruin us."
No answer.
"I'm not her anymore," she whispered. "Not the woman who left. Not the woman who made you raise our son alone. I've changed, Shenzhi…"
Still, silence.
She slowly slid down to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. Her nightgown clung to her damp skin, her hair messy from crying, her eyes swollen.
The hallway was cold—much colder than the room she once shared with him. But even colder was the space between their hearts.
All night, she stayed there, curled up by the door. Listening.
Hoping.
Waiting for him to open it.
But the door never moved. The man she loved never came.
And inside, Huo Shenzhi lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling with tears silently soaking into his pillow. He had pushed her away. But the truth was cruel: her presence broke him, and her absence destroyed him.
He just didn't know which pain he could survive.
......
The room was dark, the only light coming from the moon spilling across the edge of the bed. Huo Shenzhi lay still, his eyes wide open, staring into the quiet. Every breath he took felt like inhaling fire, and every second was a war between pride and the aching pull of his heart.
He could hear her.
Outside the door.
Sitting.
Crying.
Calling out to him in whispers, soft enough to be missed, but never loud enough to ignore.
And still… he couldn't open the door.
He clenched his fists in the blankets, jaw tight. The woman he once loved. the woman he still loved,had betrayed him. She hadn't just walked out of their marriage… she had left him, left their son, and tried to build a future with another man.
And yet…
He couldn't hate her.
He wanted to.
He should.
But how could he?
He still remembered the way she used to smile before everything fell apart. The way her eyes lit up the first time they held their son together, the way she'd once clung to him during thunderstorms, terrified of the dark.
He still remembered the soft weight of her head on his chest, how she used to fall asleep there as if the world was finally quiet.
Even now, when she looked at him, there was a kind of desperation in her gaze. A regret he couldn't deny. A sadness that mirrored his own.
He buried his face into the pillow, trying to drown out the sound of her muffled cries behind the door.
How could she say she loved him now?
After everything?
After tearing apart the very foundation of their home?
But…
But then why was his heart aching like this?
If he no longer loved her, then why did it hurt so much to hear her cry?
Why did his arms feel so empty?
Why did he wake every night reaching for a woman who once chose someone else over him?
And worst of all… why did his heart still hope?
Damn it, he cursed beneath his breath.
Even after everything… he still wanted to believe her. He still wanted to believe she had changed. That this woman, the one sitting outside his door like she used to wait for him years ago, was truly back.
He sat up abruptly, running a hand through his hair, angry at himself for how much he still loved her.
He had hated her absence.
He hated her betrayal.
But nothing compared to how much he hated the way his heart still beat for her.
How much he wanted to reach for her.
Hold her.
Forgive her.
Even if it killed him.
Because love like this,it didn't fade.
It festered.
And it stayed.