He Counted Seconds With Me and Seasons With Her Chapter 10

He Counted Seconds With Me and Seasons With Her Chapter 10

“You? You still have the nerve to come find my daughter?”

My father closed the distance in three quick strides, placing himself in front of me and shielding me behind

him.

In my memory, my father rarely showed anger. But at this moment, the way he stared at Nathan was like

looking at something filthy.

“Do you have any idea how my daughter lived during those three years with you? Every time she called home, her voice was laughing. But I could hear that she was forcing herself to sound strong!”

“She never once spoke badly of you. She always made excuses for you. But how did you treat her!”

“Sir, I know I was wrong…”

“Don’t call me sir!”

My father waved his hand. His eyes were full of disgust.

“You broke my daughter’s heart to pieces. And now you come here saying you know you were wrong? Too

late!”

Nathan, rebuked to his face, went pale. He looked at me.

It was as if he was waiting for me to say a soft word, the way I always had before.

But I said nothing. I just lifted the bag of doughnuts in my hand.

“Nathan. Doughnuts need to be eaten while they’re hot to be crispy.”

“Love is the same. You let it go cold. Then you come back, wanting to heat it up again. It’s no longer the

same taste.”

“Go back. Here, with me-there is no longer a place for you.”

The wind blew through the street corner, scattering the white steam from the breakfast stall steamers in all

directions.

Nathan stood there, like a porcelain statue that had been shattered and barely pieced back together.

Utterly defeated.

My father took my hand and turned to leave.

Just then, Nathan’s hoarse voice came from behind.

“Clara… then what about our child…”

I stopped walking. I didn’t look back.

“The child is with me. You just send the child support every month.”

“As for the rest,” I paused for a moment. “Nathan, between us, this is the end.”

“From now on, each to our own corner of the world. We owe each other nothing.”

After that, I never saw Nathan again.

The days flowed by, like the sunshine in Denver.

My child learned to call for Grandma on the play mat. Every evening, my father brought home a baked sweet potato. My mother often went to the night market with me.

Our lives were full of the simple warmth of home. Full of lively noise and chatter.

Full of mornings and evenings where no one pressed a timer.

Later, I opened a small craft shop. Half-price for couples.

Couples who came to the shop would either shape a crooked piece of pottery together, or piece together a

colorful bean mosaic.

Even if the timer rang, even if they went over their time, I never rushed them.

Companionship-this is something that should be taken slowly.

Doing a little craft with your partner, doing things that seem childish-these are the most precious things in

the long river of time.

Until one day. The shop received a photo album and a handwritten apology letter.

Inside the album were densely packed photographs.

Spring in Aspen. Summer in Santorini. Autumn in Salzburg.

Next to each photo was a little travel doll. Chestnut hair. A light blue dress. It looked just like me.

I knew it was Nathan who had sent it.

All these years, carrying his guilt and that little doll that looked so much like me, he had traveled those

places all over again.

As if he wanted to make up for the scenery he owed me, one by one.

And that apology letter-it was from Scarlett.

In the letter, she wept bitterly, saying that after Nathan abandoned her, people pointed fingers at her

everywhere, mocking her as the other woman.

She said she had realized her mistake. She said she wanted to renew our sisterhood.

I didn’t write back. I felt no emotion at all.

I just quietly threw that photo album, and that letter, into the trash.

Just then, the blue wind chime at the shop door rang.

Against the setting sun, a couple walked in.

The girl skipped along, reading the sign. The boy trailed behind her, carrying her bag.

I put down the clay piece in my hands. I wiped the slip from my apron. Smiling, I rose to greet them.

“Welcome. Half-price for couples.”

“Here, with the one you love, spend the long, slow years.”