He Put My Ring On Her Finger At 3 AM Chapter 10

He Put My Ring On Her Finger At 3 AM Chapter 10

After returning home, Julian announced he was suspending all work. When that post went out, the entire internet exploded. [Due to personal reasons, all acting work is suspended.]

Some people called him a lovesick fool. Some ached for how wrecked he looked. Others began digging deep into that livestream.

Very quickly, everything I’d done for him back then-writing his clarifications, covering his penalty fees, selling my heirlooms to pay for his classes-was unearthed, piece by piece.

Iris’s secret account was exposed, too. Late one night, she’d once posted: As long as he always feels he owes me, he’ll never truly belong to anyone else.

The comment section completely flipped.

Julian’s agent called me. He said, “Nora, Julian’s been in a terrible state these past few days. He’s locked himself in that old rental you two used to live in-won’t eat, won’t sleep. No one can talk any sense into him.”

I said, “Then take him to the hospital.”

The agent was silent for a long time. “Are you really not coming back to see him?”

I looked at the snow outside the window. “No.”

After I hung up, I received a video. I don’t know who sent it.

In the video, Julian was sitting on the floor of that shabby little rental. The room was tiny. The walls

were peeling, the windows leaked wind. It was the place we’d lived in when we were first married.

He was holding an old cardboard box, full of things I’d left behind. Half a bottle of frostbite cream.

An anniversary card he’d forgotten to sign. And an empty ring box.

Julian buried his face in his palms, his voice wrecked beyond recognition. “She was in so much pain back then-why didn’t she ever tell me?”

His agent said, “She did tell you.”

Julian lifted his head. His agent’s eyes were red. “She said the ring couldn’t be given to Iris. You said it was just for two days. She said the shawl was her mother’s keepsake. You said it was just borrowing. She said she wasn’t doing this anymore. You said she was playing pushandpull. Julian— she told you, every single time.”

The video ended there.

I sat at the edge of the bed and watched it for a very long time. Only when tears splashed onto the screen did I realize I could still cry. Not because I couldn’t bear to let go. I was crying for that Nora of the past-the one who had once loved someone so desperately, so recklessly, that she’d even lost

herself.

Half a month later, the divorce proceedings formally opened in court. Julian didn’t hire a lawyer. He sat alone in the defendant’s seat, thin to a painful degree.

Meeting again, his eyes when he looked at me were much quieter. No more certainty. No more control. Like a man who finally knew he’d committed a capital crime, so much so that even begging

for mercy felt like an offense.

The judge asked him whether he agreed to the divorce. He was silent for a very long time. So long that everyone thought he would refuse.

In the end, he looked at me, his eyes terribly red. “I don’t agree.”

I lowered my eyes.

Then, the next second, he spoke again. “But I won’t hold her back.”