He Counted Seconds With Me and Seasons With Her Chapter 01

He Counted Seconds With Me and Seasons With Her Chapter 01

Three years into our marriage, Nathan Hale had a timer.

He timed everything—sleep to the minute, kisses to the second.

Even when I was in labor—that huge moment—he kept his stopwatch running. When the clock hit thirty minutes, he turned and walked out.

I told myself it was fine.

Nathan was busy. Building his career. Making money. Giving our child and me a stable home.

Until one day, while I was cleaning his study, I stumbled upon a photo album.

I opened it. Inside, page after page, were travel photos of him and my best friend, Scarlett Vance.

Spring in Aspen, bright and beautiful. Summer in Santorini, hot and passionate.

In autumn, they kissed among the falling leaves of Salzburg.

On the last page of the album, in Nathan’s handwriting:

[If we stand in the snow together, we’ll have grown old together in this life.]

[Scarlett—this winter, I’ll take another month off. I’ll take you to see the snow in the Rockies.]

***

The album slipped from my hands. I dialed Nathan’s number directly.

“We’re getting divorced.”

This time, Nathan came home faster than he ever had before.

“Can you not throw a tantrum right now?”

“I’m busy. I’m very busy. I still have three meetings at the office. You want me to buy you a gift again?”

“There’s five hundred thousand on this card. Spend it however you want.”

Nathan pushed the door open, breathless, his handsome brow slightly furrowed.

With one hand he handed over the bank card, and with the other he pressed the timer.

Three minutes. That was the time limit he always gave me for our conversations.

I stared at the ticking timer on the table and suddenly laughed.

“Nathan, I’m serious this time.”

Nathan’s frown deepened. “It seems it’s not enough.”

As he spoke, he pulled a checkbook from the inner pocket of his suit. With those long, deft fingers, he wrote down a string of digits too long to count.

“Take it. If there’s anything else, we’ll talk after my next vacation.”

Looking at that check, a wave of bitterness surged in my chest.

Three years of marriage. He had never once let me go without material things.

But the one thing he never gave me was his heart.

I wiped away my tears. I didn’t take the large check as I used to.

Instead, I spoke. “Nathan, this winter, can you take me to see the snow in the Rockies?”

Nathan, who had turned to leave, stopped in his tracks.

Year one of our marriage, I said I wanted to go to the Grand Canyon. Nathan refused me, saying he was busy with the startup in its first year.

Year two, I said I wanted to see the flowers in Napa Valley. Nathan refused me, saying the company was about to go public.

Year three, I settled for less. I just begged him to have one meal with me at a seaside restaurant in our own city, to watch one sunset over the ocean.

The tone I used to beg him was so humble it was buried in the dust.

As if I wasn’t his lawfully wedded wife, but merely a child begging for candy.

But just like the times before, he refused me without a shred of mercy.

This time, it was the last time I would ever ask.

Nathan slowly turned his head. For the first time, that stern face, rigid for years, showed a crack.

“Did you… see something?”

I shook my head.

But behind my back, my fingertips were digging deep into my own flesh.

Only then did Nathan let out a long breath. He walked over to me—a rare occurrence—and gently stroked my hair.

“Be good. I’m just far too busy with work.”

“How about this? Next year. Next winter, if I’m free, I’ll definitely take you. Okay?”

Why not this year? Was it because someone had already taken that spot this year?

I screamed it inside my head. But what came out of my mouth was:

“One last question. Did you ever love me?”

The moment the words left my lips, the timer on the table went off at the same time.

It drowned out my voice.

Nathan, like a wound-up machine, the instant he heard the timer—

turned around, pushed the door open, and left.

His steps were hurried, leaving me only with the view of his back.

That question—”Did you ever love me?”—was like a single snowflake falling in the Rockies. Like all the emotions I had ignored countless times before, water dissolving into water.

The door slammed shut. The room was filled with desolation.

I took a deep breath. With trembling hands, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in ages.

“Dad, I’ve thought it through.”

“In three days, I’m coming home with you… I’m never coming back to New York.”