(PART 2) – After the divorce, my ex-husband came to me crying and wanted to remarry? | HO

The porridge was still warm the next morning. I stared at the empty bowl, then at the note taped to my door that hadn’t been there when I went to sleep.

You left your bag. — JBS

My bag. The one I’d dropped in the elevator during the blackout. He’d found it. Returned it. Left porridge.

I crumpled the note and threw it in the trash.

Then I fished it out, smoothed it flat, and tucked it into my coat pocket.

Some habits died harder than others.

—

The hospital was chaos.

“Dr. Jiang—” The nurse intercepted me in the corridor. “That boy, Lin Hanan, he’s asking for you again. He’s being discharged today.”

“How is he?”

“Recovering well. His father came by yesterday with a severance agreement. Made him sign it right there in the hospital bed.”

“The father signed away his rights?”

“The son signed. Said he was eighteen now, didn’t need anything from the man who let his stepmother try to kill him.” The nurse shook her head. “That boy has guts.”

“He has nothing.” I walked toward his room. “That’s different.”

Lin Hanan was sitting up in bed, a textbook open on his lap. When he saw me, he closed it quickly, like he’d been caught doing something shameful.

“Sis.” He smiled—a real smile, the kind that didn’t come easy to him. “You came.”

“I said I would.” I pulled up a chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. The doctors said I can go home today.”

“Where is home?”

The smile flickered. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Figure something out? That means you don’t have a plan yet. You can’t just end up on the streets.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

I believed him. That was the worst part.

“I have an empty place,” I said. “You can move in there first. After you get into college, you can move out.”

His eyes widened. “Sis—”

“Don’t ‘sis’ me. It’s done. Tian Xiaoxiao already bought you clothes—too many, probably—and I’ve arranged for your tuition. The only thing you have to do is study. Can you do that?”

He nodded, his throat working.

“Good.” I stood up. “Then get dressed. I’ll drive you there myself.”

“Sis.” He caught my hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now hurry up. I have surgery at noon.”

—

The empty place was my old apartment across town—the one I’d moved out of when I’d decided to live across the hall from Joe Baek Shin. Fate had a terrible sense of humor.

Lin Hanan looked around the small space like it was a palace. “This is for me?”

“Temporarily. The lease is paid through the end of the year. After that, you’re on your own.”

“I’ll pay you back. Every dollar.”

“I know you will.” I set the keys on the counter. “Now rest. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

“Sis—” He hesitated. “That man at the hospital. Joe Baek Shin. He’s your ex-husband, isn’t he?”

The question landed like a slap.

“What makes you say that?”

“The way he looks at you. Like he’s trying to solve a math problem that keeps changing.” Lin Hanan shrugged. “My stepmother looked at me the same way before she figured out how to spend my inheritance.”

“Your inheritance?”

“My mom left me money. My stepmother married my dad for it.” He smiled—bitter, old beyond his years. “Adults are predictable that way.”

“Not all adults.”

“Enough of them.” He picked up his textbook. “But you’re different, sis. That’s why I’m going to make you proud.”

I left before he could see my eyes water.

—

The parking lot was empty except for one black sedan.

Joe Baek Shin leaned against my car door, arms crossed, sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“You have three minutes,” I said. “Then I’m calling security.”

“Your name is Jiang Wan.” He pushed off from the car. “You grew up in Peach Blossom Village. Top of your class, skipped grades, doctorate at twenty-two. Studied abroad for two years. Then you disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear. I got married.”

“To me.”

The words hung in the air between us.

“To a man who never looked at me.” I unlocked my car. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? Assistant Wu finally did his job?”

“I didn’t know.” He stepped closer. “I didn’t know it was you. The woman in the elevator. The doctor who saved Yaya. The girl Grandpa picked out for me two years ago.”

“Two years, Joe Baek Shin. Two years of marriage, and you never once came home. You never once looked at the woman you married. You sent your assistant to handle everything—the wedding, the divorce, even the compensation.”

“The compensation—”

“You offered me a card. Said Grandpa wanted me to have it. I didn’t take it.” I opened my door. “Because I didn’t marry you for money. I married you because Grandpa asked me to. Because my family owed yours. Because I was young and stupid and thought maybe, just maybe, if I was patient enough, you’d eventually notice me.”

“I’m noticing you now.”

“Now is too late.”

I got into the car and drove away.

In the rearview mirror, I watched him stand there, alone in the parking lot, his sunglasses hiding whatever expression he was wearing.

Good.

Let him feel it.

Let him feel what it was like to be invisible.

—

The text came at 3 AM.

Unknown Number: It’s Baek Shin. We need to talk.

I deleted it.

Unknown Number: Please. I’m outside your apartment.

I looked through the peephole. He was sitting on the floor across the hall, his back against his own door, his tie loose around his neck.

Me: Go home, Joe.

Baek Shin: This is my home.

Me: Then stay there. Leave me alone.

Baek Shin: I can’t.

I put down my phone and went back to bed.

Twenty minutes later, I looked again.

He was still there.

At 6 AM, when I left for the hospital, he was gone.

But a paper bag sat outside my door.

Porridge. Still warm.

And a note: I’m not giving up.

—

Part 3

The next week was a masterclass in avoidance. I took the stairs instead of the elevator. Left early, came back late. Scheduled back-to-back surgeries until my hands cramped and my eyes burned.

But Joe Baek Shin was everywhere.

Flowers at the nurse’s station. Coffee for the entire department. A new MRI machine that arrived with a card that simply said: For Dr. Jiang.

“The man is persistent.” Tian Xiaoxiao appeared in my office, holding a bouquet large enough to fill a coffin. “Another one. Should I throw it away or sell it on eBay?”

“Sell it. Use the money to buy Lin Hanan more textbooks.”

“Already done.” She set the flowers on my desk. “But seriously, Jiang Wan. What are you going to do about him?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing to do. We’re divorced.”

“He knows who you are now.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything.” She sat on my desk. “For two years, he ignored you because you were just some country girl Grandpa picked out. But now you’re Dr. Jiang—world-famous neurosurgeon, old Mr. Thompson’s protégé, the woman who saved Yaya’s life. You’re not invisible anymore.”

“I was never invisible. He just never bothered to look.”

“And now he’s looking.” She tilted her head. “The question is—what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” I said again. “I told you. We’re done.”

My phone buzzed.

Baek Shin: The house in the west end. I’m transferring it to your name. Take it or I’ll donate it to charity.

I stared at the screen.

Me: Donate it.

Baek Shin: I’m serious.

Me: So am I.

Baek Shin: Why won’t you take anything from me?

Me: Because I don’t want anything from you.

His reply came three minutes later.

Baek Shin: Then what do you want?

I put down my phone and didn’t answer.

—

The knock came at midnight.

I ignored it.

Another knock. Harder.

“Jiang Wan.” His voice through the door. “I know you’re in there. I can see the light.”

“Go away, Joe.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

“Then you’ll be there all night.”

“I know.”

I opened the door.

He looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, his shirt wrinkled, his jaw shadowed with stubble. The great Joe Baek Shin, undone.

“What do you want?”

“To understand.” He stepped forward, and I let him. “Two years. You lived across the hall from me for two years, and I never knew. You were my wife, and I never even looked at you.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? That night in the elevator, when the power went out—why didn’t you say something?”

I laughed—a short, bitter sound. “And what would you have done, Joe? Apologized? Promised to do better? You didn’t want me then. You don’t want me now. You want the idea of me—the doctor, the disciple, the woman who dared to say no to you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” I crossed my arms. “Then tell me—what changed? What made you look at me for the first time in two years?”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“You saved Yaya,” he said finally. “You stood up to her in the boutique. You donated a painting worth millions and didn’t even flinch. You—” He stopped. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Neither are you.” I opened the door wider. “Come in.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Come in. Before I change my mind.”

—

The apartment was small—smaller than his penthouse, smaller than the house in the west end he’d tried to give me. But it was mine. Everything in it, I’d chosen myself.

Baek Shin looked around like he was entering a foreign country.

“You live here?”

“I live here.” I gestured to the couch. “Sit. You want to talk? Let’s talk.”

He sat. I sat across from him in the armchair.

“The marriage,” I said. “Grandpa arranged it. My adoptive family owed yours a debt—something about a business deal gone wrong. I was twenty-two, just back from abroad, and Grandpa asked me to help. He said you were a good man. That you just needed time.”

“And you believed him?”

“I believed him because he was the first person in my life who treated me like family.” I pulled my knees up. “My adoptive parents are good people, but they’re not—they didn’t choose me. Grandpa did. He saw me at an orphanage fundraiser and decided right then that I was going to marry his grandson.”

“Grandpa has always been impulsive.”

“So I’ve learned.” I smiled—real this time. “The wedding was lovely. Flowers, music, three hundred guests. You weren’t there.”

“I was in Singapore.”

“On business. I know. Your assistant told me. He told me a lot of things. Where you were, what you were doing, who you were with.” I paused. “He never told me about Yaya.”

“Yaya is Jiang Cheng’s sister. Jiang Cheng died saving my life. I owe him—”

“You owe him everything. I know.” I leaned back. “But you don’t owe her your future. You don’t owe her your heart just because you couldn’t save her brother.”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then:

“Jiang Cheng was my best friend. We grew up together. He was smarter than me, kinder than me, better than me in every way. And he died because of a stupid mistake I made—a business deal gone wrong, a rival company, a car bomb meant for me.”

“The car bomb—”

“He pushed me out of the way. Took the blast himself.” Baek Shin’s voice was barely a whisper. “He was in the hospital for three weeks. I visited every day. The last thing he said to me was ‘Take care of Yaya.'”

“So you did.”

“So I did.” He met my eyes. “But that’s not why I married you. I married you because Grandpa asked me to. Because after Jiang Cheng died, I didn’t care about anything else. It didn’t matter who I married. It didn’t matter if I showed up. Nothing mattered.”

“And now?”

“Now—” He stood up. “Now I’m standing in my ex-wife’s apartment at midnight, trying to explain something I don’t fully understand myself.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

He walked to the door. Paused.

“The porridge,” he said. “Do you like it?”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll bring more tomorrow.”

“Joe—”

“Goodnight, Jiang Wan.”

The door closed behind him.

I sat in the dark for a long time, staring at the space where he’d been.

—

Part 4

The porridge came every morning for two weeks.

Sometimes with a note. Sometimes without. Always warm, always in the same white paper bag.

I ate it on the way to work and didn’t tell anyone.

Tian Xiaoxiao knew anyway.

“You’re softening,” she said, watching me sip from a takeout cup. “I can see it in your face.”

“I’m not softening. It’s just breakfast.”

“It’s breakfast from your ex-husband who ignored you for two years and is now trying to win you back with carbohydrates.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t even try.” She held up her hand. “I’ve known you since we were fifteen. You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The look you had when you first saw him at the wedding. The one you thought I didn’t notice.”

I set down the cup. “That was two years ago.”

“He’s still the same man.”

“No.” I shook my head. “He’s not. That’s the problem.”

—

The problem arrived at the hospital that afternoon.

Yaya.

She walked into my office like she owned it, her heels clicking on the linoleum, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.

“Dr. Jiang.” She closed the door behind her. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About Baek Shin.” She sat in the chair across from my desk. “I know who you are. His ex-wife. The country girl Grandpa picked out.”

“Then you also know we’re divorced.”

“Divorced doesn’t mean gone.” She leaned forward. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? The porridge, the late-night conversations, the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching?”

“The way I look at him? Miss Jiang, I’m his ex-wife. I’m entitled to look at him any way I want.”

“You’re entitled to nothing.” Her voice dropped. “I’ve been in love with Baek Shin since I was sixteen. I’ve waited for him, taken care of him, stood by him while he mourned my brother. And now you think you can just waltz back into his life and take him away?”

“I don’t want to take him away. I want him to leave me alone.”

“Then why haven’t you moved? Why do you still live across the hall? Why do you still eat his porridge every morning?”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

Yaya smiled—thin, victorious. “That’s what I thought.”

She stood up.

“Stay away from Baek Shin, Dr. Jiang. Or I’ll make you regret it.”

“I’ve already regretted marrying him.” I met her gaze. “What’s one more regret?”

She left.

I sat in my office for a long time, staring at the door she’d walked through.

Then I picked up my phone.

Me: We need to talk. Tonight. My apartment. 8 PM.

Baek Shin: I’ll be there.

—

He was early.

I opened the door at 7:45, and he was already there, leaning against the wall, a paper bag in his hand.

“Dinner,” he said. “Not porridge.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat. You’ve been skipping meals. The nurses told me.”

“The nurses shouldn’t be talking to you about my eating habits.”

“They shouldn’t. But they like the coffee I bring.” He walked past me into the apartment. “Sit. I’ll warm this up.”

“Joe—”

“Sit.”

I sat.

He moved around my kitchen like he belonged there—opening cabinets, finding plates, heating food. The domesticity of it was almost unbearable.

“Yaya came to see me today,” I said.

His hands stilled. “What did she want?”

“To warn me away from you.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said I didn’t want you.”

He set the plates down. “Did you mean it?”

I looked at him—really looked at him. The man I’d married. The man who’d ignored me for two years. The man who brought me porridge every morning because he didn’t know how else to say he was sorry.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I honestly don’t know.”

He sat across from me.

“Then let me make it easy.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card—the same card Grandpa had tried to give me two months ago. “The compensation. I want you to take it.”

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me. But this isn’t compensation. Not anymore.” He set the card on the table between us. “This is a down payment. On something new.”

“A down payment on what?”

“On us.” He leaned forward. “Give me one month. One month to prove that I’m not the man who ignored you. That I can be better. That we can be something worth fighting for.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I’ll leave you alone. No porridge, no flowers, no midnight conversations. I’ll transfer to a different hospital for Yaya’s follow-ups. You’ll never see me again.”

One month.

Thirty days.

“Three conditions,” I said.

“Name them.”

“One—no more Yaya. She’s your patient’s sister, not your wife. Stop letting her run your life.”

“Done.”

“Two—you tell me the truth. About everything. No more secrets, no more assistants handling your personal life.”

“Done.”

“Three—” I picked up the card. “I’m not taking this. But I’m also not saying no. Hold onto it. If, at the end of the month, I decide to give you a real chance—then we’ll talk about it.”

He stared at me. “You’re serious?”

“I’m always serious, Joe Baek Shin. That’s the problem.”

He laughed—a real laugh, the first I’d ever heard from him.

“One month,” he said. “Starting tomorrow.”

“Starting now.” I pointed to the food. “Eat. You look terrible.”

“So do you.”

“I’m aware.”

We ate in silence.

It was the best meal I’d had in two years.

—

Part 5

The first week was strange.

Baek Shin showed up at the hospital every day—not to see Yaya, but to see me. He sat in the waiting room during my surgeries, read reports on his tablet, and waited. When I finished, he’d walk me to my car. No flowers, no coffee, no grand gestures. Just presence.

“People are talking,” Tian Xiaoxiao whispered. “They think you’re dating again.”

“I’m not dating. I’m… evaluating.”

“Evaluating what? Whether he’s worth the therapy bills?”

Something like that.

—

The second week, he asked me to dinner.

Not takeout in my apartment. A real dinner. Reservations, a dress, the kind of restaurant where the waiters knew your name.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I’ve never taken you to dinner. Because I should have. Because I want to.”

That was the thing about Joe Baek Shin—he’d learned to say what he meant. No more walls, no more distance. Just the truth, however uncomfortable.

“Okay,” I said. “But I’m driving.”

“I have a driver.”

“I don’t trust your driver. Too many secrets.”

He smiled. “Fair enough.”

—

The restaurant was called “Remembrance”—all dark wood and soft light, tucked away on a side street I’d never noticed. Baek Shin had reserved the private room in the back.

“This is where I used to come with Jiang Cheng,” he said, pulling out my chair. “Before he died. We’d sit here for hours, drinking whiskey and pretending we knew what we were doing.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m sitting here with you.” He sat across from me. “Trying to figure out what I’m doing.”

The waiter brought wine. Baek Shin waved him away.

“Water’s fine,” I said.

“Water’s fine,” he echoed.

We ordered. Ate. Talked about nothing—the hospital, the weather, the traffic. Small talk, the kind of conversation that building a relationship required.

Then he said: “Tell me about the orphanage.”

The question landed like a stone in still water.

“Why?”

“Because it’s part of you. Because I want to know all the parts.” He set down his fork. “Because you told me Grandpa found you there, and I realized I never asked what that was like. Living there. Waiting for someone to choose you.”

I stared at my plate.

“It was cold,” I said finally. “In the winter, the heaters never worked. We’d huddle together in the big room, all the kids, trying to stay warm. The older ones would tell stories—fairy tales, mostly. Stories about princes and princesses and happy endings.”

“Did you believe them?”

“I believed that someone would come. That’s what they told us—that our parents would come back, or new parents would come, or someone would come and take us away.” I looked up. “Grandpa came. He didn’t adopt me—the Jiang family did. But he was the one who picked me out of the crowd. He said I looked smart.”

“You are smart.”

“I’m lucky.” I took a sip of water. “The other kids—they’re still there. Or they’re on the streets. Or worse.”

“Is that why you sponsor Lin Hanan?”

“Lin Hanan is different. He had a mother who loved him, a father who sold him out. He’s not an orphan—he’s abandoned. That’s worse in some ways.”

“Because he knows what he lost.”

“Yes.”

Baek Shin was quiet for a long moment.

“My mother died when I was twelve,” he said. “Cancer. My father remarried within a year—a woman who couldn’t stand me. I spent most of my teenage years at boarding schools, coming home only for holidays. Grandpa was the only one who made me feel like I belonged.”

“And now?”

“Now I have Grandpa. And Yaya—she’s family, even if she doesn’t understand boundaries. And you.”

“You don’t have me.”

“Not yet.” He reached across the table. “But I’m working on it.”

I didn’t pull away.

—

Part 6

The third week, Yaya made her move.

I got a call from the police at 2 AM.

“Dr. Jiang? This is Officer Chen. We have a Miss Jiang Yaya in custody. She’s making some serious allegations against you. Claims you assaulted her.”

“What?”

“She came to the station with bruises on her arms. Said you attacked her at the hospital.”

“Send me the address. I’m on my way.”

—

The station was fluorescent and noisy, full of people who’d made bad decisions. Yaya sat in a plastic chair, a blanket over her shoulders, her face pale.

“Dr. Jiang.” Officer Chen gestured to a room. “In here, please.”

“I didn’t touch her.”

“The bruises are real.”

“I’m a neurosurgeon. I know how to leave marks that don’t show up on cameras.” I sat down. “But I didn’t. She did this to herself.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because I’m her competition. Because Joe Baek Shin, the man she’s been in love with since she was sixteen, is currently trying to win me back.” I leaned forward. “Check the hospital’s security footage. I haven’t been in the same room as her for over a week.”

Officer Chen nodded. “We’ll look into it.”

The door opened.

Baek Shin walked in.

“Yaya—” He stopped when he saw me. “Jiang Wan. What happened?”

“Your girlfriend tried to frame me for assault.”

“She’s not my—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Where is she?”

“In the other room. Making up stories.”

He turned to Officer Chen. “I want to talk to her. Alone.”

“That’s not procedure—”

“I’m Joe Baek Shin. My lawyers will be here in ten minutes. You can either let me talk to her now, or you can talk to them later.”

Officer Chen sighed. “Five minutes.”

—

I watched through the two-way mirror.

Baek Shin sat across from Yaya. She started crying immediately—big, theatrical sobs that echoed through the room.

“Baek Shin, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. She’s taking you away from me.”

“Yaya—” His voice was tired. “No one is taking me away from anyone. I was never yours to lose.”

“But you love me.”

“I care about you. Because your brother asked me to. Because I made a promise to a dying man.” He leaned forward. “But I don’t love you. Not the way you want me to. Not the way I’m starting to love her.”

Yaya’s tears stopped.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” He stood up. “I’m going to call your mother. She’ll come pick you up. And then you’re going to take that flight to London—the one I arranged last month—and you’re going to stay there. For good.”

“You can’t—”

“I can. And I will.” He walked to the door. “This is the last time I clean up your mess, Yaya. The next time you try to hurt someone I care about, I’ll let the police handle it.”

The door closed behind him.

Yaya sat alone in the room, her face blank.

Then she smiled.

—

Part 7

“I’m sending her to London,” Baek Shin said. We were standing in the parking lot, the streetlights casting long shadows. “She’ll be gone by the end of the week.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“This time I mean it.”

“You’ve meant it before, too.”

He turned to face me. “Jiang Wan—”

“She’s in love with you. Deeply, pathologically in love with you. She’s not going to stop just because you send her to another country. She’s going to come back, and she’s going to try again, and every time she does, I’m going to be the one she blames.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stop protecting her.” I stepped closer. “She tried to have me kidnapped, Joe. She paid men to drug me and destroy me. And you sent her to London with a plane ticket and a school placement.”

“She’s Jiang Cheng’s sister—”

“Jiang Cheng is dead.” The words came out harder than I intended. “And you’re not doing his memory any favors by letting her destroy herself—and everyone around her—because you feel guilty.”

He was quiet for a long time.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “I’ve been protecting her for so long, I forgot what she was capable of. I forgot that protecting her meant enabling her.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to call Officer Chen. I’m going to tell him everything—the kidnapping, the assault allegations, all of it.” He pulled out his phone. “And then I’m going to let the law handle it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” He looked at me. “Because I’m done losing people I care about to guilt and obligation. I want to choose. And I choose you.”

The phone rang.

I watched him report everything—the dates, the names, the evidence. His voice was steady, unflinching.

When he hung up, he said: “They’re issuing a warrant. She’ll be arrested at the airport.”

“And then?”

“And then she’ll face the consequences. Whatever they are.” He tucked his phone away. “One month—remember? I said I’d tell you the truth. That’s the truth. I’m done protecting her at your expense.”

I didn’t know what to say.

So I kissed him.

—

Part 8

The last week of the month was quiet.

Yaya was arrested at the airport, her mother crying, her father nowhere to be found. The news spread through Jean City like wildfire—Joe Baek Shin’s mistress, arrested for conspiracy to commit kidnapping. The tabloids had a field day.

Baek Shin ignored them.

He showed up at the hospital every day, walked me to my car, made me dinner at his apartment across the hall. We talked about everything—his childhood, my work, the future. The walls between us, built over two years of silence, came down brick by brick.

“You’re different,” Tian Xiaoxiao observed. “Softer.”

“I’m not softer. I’m… open.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not.”

But maybe it was.

—

The last night of the month, we sat on my couch, watching a movie neither of us was paying attention to.

“One month,” Baek Shin said.

“One month.”

“You promised me an answer.”

“I promised you a conversation.” I muted the TV. “So let’s talk.”

He turned to face me.

“I’m not the same person I was two years ago,” I said. “I’m not the girl who married you because Grandpa asked. I’m not the woman who waited in an empty penthouse, hoping you’d come home. I’m Dr. Jiang. I’m old Mr. Thompson’s protégé. I’m the woman who saved your Yaya’s life and then watched her try to destroy mine.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because I need you to understand—if we do this, if we try again—it’s not going to be easy. I’m not easy. I have a career, a hospital, a boy I’m putting through school. I have secrets and scars and a temper that doesn’t quit.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“And I have conditions.”

He nodded. “Name them.”

“One—no more secrets. If something happens, you tell me. Good or bad.”

“Done.”

“Two—Yaya is gone. I know she’s in custody, but when she gets out—if she gets out—she’s not your responsibility anymore. You cut her off. Completely.”

“She’s already cut off. I’ve transferred her care to another doctor. I’ve blocked her number. The only contact I have is through her lawyer.”

“Three—” I took a breath. “Three, you have to stop trying to buy me. No more houses, no more earrings, no more MRI machines. If you want to give me something, give me your time. Your attention. Your honesty.”

“Done.” He reached into his pocket. “But there is one thing I want to give you. Not to buy you—because I promised. But because it was yours to begin with.”

The card.

The same card Grandpa had tried to give me two months ago.

“This isn’t compensation,” he said. “It’s not a down payment. It’s a gift—no strings attached. You can donate it, spend it, burn it. I don’t care. But it’s yours.”

I took the card.

“What’s on it?”

“Seven million dollars.” He smiled. “I added a little interest. For the two years you waited.”

“Two years, seven million dollars.” I turned the card over in my hands. “That’s about nine thousand, five hundred dollars a day.”

“Is that how you measure things? Dollars per day?”

“No.” I set the card on the table. “I measure things in missed chances. In the time it takes to perform a surgery. In the moments between when someone could have said something and when they actually did.”

“And what about now? What moment is this?”

I leaned forward.

“This—” I kissed him. “Is the moment I say yes.”

—

Epilogue

The wedding was small—Grandpa, my brothers, Tian Xiaoxiao, Lin Hanan, a handful of nurses from the hospital. No cameras, no flowers the size of cars, no three hundred guests who didn’t know my name.

Just us.

“You look beautiful,” Baek Shin said, when I walked down the aisle.

“I look the same as I did two years ago.”

“I know.” He took my hands. “I just wasn’t looking then.”

Grandpa cried during the vows.

Tian Xiaoxiao caught the bouquet.

Lin Hanan gave a speech that made everyone tear up—something about second chances and the people who see you when everyone else looks away.

And when the ceremony was over, Baek Shin pulled me aside.

“I kept something,” he said. “From the first wedding.”

“What?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. Inside—the imperial green jade earrings. Sixty million dollars, wrapped in velvet.

“I know I said no more gifts—”

“Joe—”

“Just wear them. Tonight. For me.”

I looked at the earrings. Then at him.

“Put them on for me.”

His hands were steady as he fastened them to my ears. The jade was cool against my skin, heavy with the weight of everything we’d survived.

“Sixty million dollars,” I said. “That’s a lot of porridge.”

“I’ll make you porridge every morning for the rest of my life.” He kissed my forehead. “Consider it interest.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I know you will.”

We walked back to the reception together, his hand in mine, the earrings catching the light.

Behind us, on a table in the corner, an empty white paper bag sat next to a stack of wedding gifts.

Inside the bag, a note.

The porridge is from Grandpa’s recipe. He wanted you to have it. — JBS

P.S. I love you. I should have said it two years ago. But I’m saying it now.

P.P.S. Don’t delete this one.

I didn’t.

—

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of porridge.

Joe Baek Shin stood in my kitchen—our kitchen, now—stirring a pot, his hair messy, his shirt unbuttoned, looking nothing like the CEO who’d once been too busy to look at his wife.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“You’re making porridge.”

“I promised.”

I walked over and leaned against his back, my arms around his waist.

“Seven million dollars,” I murmured. “Sixty million dollars in earrings. A house in the west end. An MRI machine.”

“Worth every penny.”

“I’m not a penny. I’m a person.”

“I know.” He turned in my arms. “You’re my person.”

The porridge burned.

We ate it anyway.

—

The End