“William, you go back first. I’ll be working overtime at the hospital later.”
My words caught in my throat.
Finally, I managed only a strained, “Mm, okay.”
That night, Veronica closed her eyes and straddled me willingly.
After it ended, she murmured in her sleep, “Yohan.”
My body stiffened and I wrenched myself free from her embrace. I looked at the woman whose beauty hadn’t faded in ten years.
I recalled how she stood up for me when I was bullied, her forehead stitched with thirty-three stitches. I remembered how she risked half her life to save me on the snowy mountain.
I remembered how, at my single mention of feeling unwell, she abandoned an international conference, flew halfway across the globe and cooked me nourishing soup.
Veronica’s kindness was etched vividly in my memory. Yet now, she herself remained unaware that her heart no longer belonged to me.
I stared at the ceiling until dawn. Then I sent a message to the president of the National Academy of Sciences.
[Ms. Barkworth, I accept your invitation. I will join the Sky Dome Project team in one month.]
After that day, Veronica and I shared an unspoken understanding. Our daily interactions gradually decreased.