His Heart Spoke Too Late

It has been 99 times that Henry and I have filed the application for divorce and then withdrawn it.

Each time before finalizing the divorce, Henry always waits for me to humbly beg him to stay married.

I turned down the offer to be the chief composer at a famous studio in Vienna because Henry didn't want a long-distance relationship.

I deleted all my male friends because Henry didn't want me to be too friendly to them.

I stopped wearing red lipstick, composing, and traveling alone, because he said married women should stay at home instead of being impulsive.

Only after I finally manage to appease him will he allow me to withdraw the divorce application.

After my 100th divorce application, as I was leaving, the deputy clerk asked me curiously:

"So, when are you going to withdraw your application this time?"

I looked at Henry's cold back in front of me, forced to smile with tears, and told myself in my heart—

This time, there will be no withdrawal of the application.

After the 30-day cooling-off period, we'll be officially divorced.

But why did his love only find its voice when I had already walked away?

...

Outside the district court, the wind blew.

As soon as I walked out, I saw Henry get into that black Maybach without even looking back, not even giving me a glance.

I walked slowly along the sidewalk with the cold wind rushing in, my heart feeling like a gash that had been torn open.

"Screech…"

The piercing sound of brakes suddenly rang out behind me.

Before I could react, I was knocked to the ground by a car.

My knees burned with pain, and my palms were scraped raw.

I looked up and saw Henry's group of good buddies jumping out of the car.

It turned out to be Henry's car.

"Oh my gosh! We hit Henry's wife!"

After said that, the man was nudged by the person behind him:

"You can't call her Henry's wife anymore. They're already submitting the divorce application. Henry hasn't agreed to withdraw the application yet."

I supported myself on the ground, trying to stand up, but my knees couldn't hold my weight.

Through my messy hair, I saw the rear window of the Maybach roll down halfway, and Henry's stern profile appeared in my sight.

Seeing me knocked to the ground, someone ran to ask Henry for instructions.

"Henry, should we take Amelia to the hospital, or just go to the party?"

There was a short silence.

I stared intently at that car window, meeting Henry's icy eyes, and I saw the answer.

My heart pounded with pain.

"Go to the party."

Henry's voice came from behind the car, cold as if it had been quenched in ice.

The four light and airy words pierced my heart like a knife.

Henry's Maybach sped away, its exhaust fumes blasting in my face.

I gritted my teeth and slowly got up, limping towards home.

Every step sent shooting pain through my knee, but it was nothing compared to the immense pain in my heart.

As soon as I got back home, the first thing I did was pack my bags.

I dug out the proofs of my love for Henry over the years, including the jewelry Henry casually tossed to me, Henry's lighters I secretly collected, and a notebook filled with his preferences that I had painstakingly written down.

I threw them all into the trash can one by one.

Finally, I pulled out a Kraft paper bag from the deepest part of the drawer.

This wasn't the first time I'd seen this paper bag, but as I opened it again, my fingers were still trembling.

Because this entire bag was full of love letters.

Henry wrote these love letters to me secretly.

I never received it.

[On the way to class today, I saw you very early. I knew you were waiting for me, but you didn't know I had been waiting for you for a while already.]

[When we played basketball today, I only took the water you gave me. But why did you bring water for the whole team? I hope you can just bring water for me the next time.]

[This is the third year you’ve been chasing after me, and I almost couldn’t resist saying yes. But then I thought that I could wait a little longer and enjoy being chased by you a bit more.]

Every word, every sentence, stabbed painfully at my heart.

If I hadn't accidentally stumbled upon these love letters a few days ago, I wouldn't have believed that Henry, who has been so cold to me all these years, actually liked me!

The first time I saw Henry was at the university opening ceremony.

As the student representative giving the speech, he was as dazzling as the sun in the sky.

Just one look, and I fell in love with him.

Many people were chasing Henry at school, but I was the most persistent.

I bought him coffee before class, but he never knew it was from me.

I memorized his class schedule, not to stalk him, but to be there at his every speech and every competition, cheering him on.

Once, he sprained his ankle during a basketball game, and I skipped class and rode my bike all the way downtown to buy him the best kind of pain relief ointment that he had mentioned before.

Four years, 1460 days, of following him like a little tail, and I finally caught the sun in my heart.

Henry finally agreed to be with me.

Even after we were together, Henry remained cold to me, never responding.

Even our marriage was proposed by me.

But I was happy to endure these.

However, three years after our marriage, he proposed divorce ninety-nine times.

The first time was because the steak I made was too salty. Henry said, annoyed, "You can't even do such a small thing well!"

The second time was because I wore a dress he didn't like.

……

The 98th time was because Henry stipulated that I could only send him ten messages a day, and I accidentally sent one extra, a "Goodnight".

Each time, I would humbly beg him not to divorce me.

The 99th time, I knelt and kissed his shoe, and he barely agreed to withdraw the divorce application.

And that night, I unintentionally discovered a cowhide bag locked in a hidden compartment under the attic floor tiles—

Inside were Henry's love letters to me, starting from the first year I pursued him.

So, Henry had liked me all along.

So, Henry's repeated proposals of divorce were just to see me crying and begging him not to leave.

He enjoyed my love but treated my sincerity as a toy for his amusement.