I deliberately set the alarm for eight in the morning, hoping he would hear the confession he made while drunk.
But Xavier turned out to be an early riser than I expected. By the time I got up, he had already gone to work.
After breakfast, I started painting. I majored in fine arts in college. Occasionally, I take on commissions to earn some extra money, and I'm somewhat known on the platform.
As I painted, I couldn't help but think of Xavier. We hadn't taken wedding photos yet. The ones we took weren't good because Xavier had a grim expression.
Before I knew it, the paper in front of me had already outlined Xavier's features.
After some thought, I took a photo and sent it to Xavier: "How about a painting for you?"
The message "Typing..." stayed on for a long time, but nothing came through.
Even by evening, he hadn't replied to the message.
Avoiding me like this, he must still remember what happened last night.
So I immediately sent the recording to him.
......
Late at night, darkness magnifies all senses.
A faint sound of the door opening, the shower running, and footsteps approaching.
There's a slight dip in the bed.
A cool hand reaches out, gently touching my hair, as if confirming whether I'm asleep.
The familiar scent of shower gel gradually draws near.
I open my eyes just as a soft kiss lands on my lips.
Our eyes meet, and Xavier freezes.
As I watch his ears turn red, my mind swirls, and I close my eyes again, sincerely saying: "If you want to kiss me, you can pretend I'm asleep."
Silence fills the darkness.
Xavier remains motionless.
Just as I'm about to open my eyes, a cool hand covers them.
I thought he would at least argue with me, deny what happened last night. But nothing.
He leans down, burying his head weakly in my neck.
In a muffled and hoarse voice, he says, "I'm sorry."
My heart inexplicably softens, and I mumble softly, "Why apologize?"
He doesn't reply, just buries his head deeper.
I look at him, ponder for a moment, and lean down to kiss his hair.
"Okay, then I apologize too. Even though we broke up years ago, I've only dated you all these years, only kissed you. Despite many guys pursuing me, I ignored them all. Feeling any better?"
Xavier: "Who's he?"
"Who?"
"The one at the bar."
Without hesitation, I say, "Just a good dancer, a host. I rarely go there, it's Chelsea who dragged me. Next time, I'll refuse. I'm married now, won't go to those places with her again."
"Really?"
I nod, "Of course, and I have no interest in him at all."
I see a barely noticeable tug at the corner of Xavier's mouth.
Next moment, he says, "I'm sorry for these past few days…"
"I'm sorrier," I interrupt sincerely.
"Yvonne, you don't need to apologize," he can't help but smile, burying his head in my neck, fondly saying, "I've never blamed you."
"I just blame myself for not being good enough to keep you by my side."
I'm at a loss for words for a moment, can only dryly comfort, "No, you're great."
"How great?" he becomes childish.
"Extremely, extremely, extremely great," I reply earnestly.
His lips widen into a smile, spreading to the corners of his eyes and brows.
"Don't hide your love from me in the future." I stroke his hair.
He nuzzles my cheek affectionately, softly humming in agreement.
......
My pregnancy symptoms came late but fierce—I couldn't stand any oily smell.
I couldn't eat this or that, throwing up four or five times a day. Xavier went to learn pregnancy recipes online just for me. He pampered me excessively, agreeing to whatever I wanted and providing everything.
By the fourth month, my belly had noticeably bulged. Xavier was even more attentive, fearing I might bump into something. He even insisted on showering with me. The bathroom space was small, accidents were inevitable.
"Xavier, isn't this too much trouble?" I asked. With wet hair and a flushed face, he didn't answer. Just as he was about to turn away, I grabbed him, teasingly saying, "Forget it, Xavier, I know you're eager. How about we... do that?"
"The doctor said no."
"The doctor only said not during the first and last three months of pregnancy."
I shook his hand. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Still resolutely, he said, "No."
Me: "... "
