She gently placed the photo back under the pillow, finished folding the clothes, and left the room.
Later, when she and Eugene were alone, she couldn’t help but ask, “Grandma Winters’s condition is so serious. Has your grandfather ever come to visit?”
Eugene’s expression was distant. “No. And she wouldn’t see him even if he did. The day she left the Winters family, she told him they would never see each other again in this life. And when she dies, she won’t be buried with him.”
Sylvia sighed inwardly, wondering what kind of resolve and resentment could lead a woman to reject being laid to rest beside her husband even in death.
She remembered Grandma Winters’s advice to her: to choose the person who loves you.
Grandma Winters must have chosen the one she loved, not the one who loved her. But the man she loved had changed his mind, leaving her to spend the rest of her life in despair and solitude.
And yet, despite it all, she still kept their picture under her pillow, perhaps looking at it every single day.
To be unable to let go even after being so betrayed—was it love that ran deeper, or was it hate?
...
That Afternoon
After leaving Grandma Winters’s house, Eugene had an errand to run, so he dropped Sylvia off at home first. They promised to see each other the next day, and he left reluctantly.
Sylvia spent the afternoon working on a proposal. By the time she finished, dusk was settling in.
Lately, her interest in cooking had completely vanished. She didn’t feel like making dinner, so she ended up ordering takeout.
After eating, her phone rang. She paused when she saw the caller’s name, then swiped to answer.
“Vivian?”
“It’s me,” a gentle, warm voice laughed on the other end. “Are you in J City?”
“I am. Where are you?” Sylvia asked.

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