INICIAR SESIÓNEver since I can remember, every person who crosses my path has a floating number above their head. It shows the exact number of times we will ever see each other again in this lifetime. When that number hits "1", it means this meeting is our final goodbye. At ten years old, my grandmother's number dropped to "1". That afternoon, she brushed my hair one last time before passing away peacefully in her sleep. When I graduated from college, my mentor’s number stood at "2". After our second meeting, he moved his family abroad and never returned. At twenty-five, I married Lucas Bolton, a star defense attorney. He was an absolute powerhouse in the courtroom, yet he gave all his tenderness to me. Throughout our seven years of marriage, he made it a point to come home on time every single day. He willingly handed over all his income, and no matter how busy he was on business trips, he always called me on video before going to bed. Most importantly, from the very first day I met Lucas, the number above his head wasn't a few hundred or a few thousand. It was an endless infinity sign. I truly believed it meant we were destined to spend the rest of our lives together. That didn't change until the eve of our seventh wedding anniversary, when Lucas suddenly started working late all the time. Even though he never usually wore cologne, his collared shirts began carrying the unfamiliar scent of gardenias. When I confronted him about it, he paused for a second before leaning down to kiss my forehead. "A recent client is going through a tough divorce with her kid. She's been dropping by the office pretty often, so it probably rubbed off by accident." I looked at the unchanged infinity symbol floating above his head and told myself I was just being paranoid. After all, the numbers never lie. That was until another night when Lucas came home late again. Suddenly, the symbol that had never changed began to flicker. Its golden light faded away, and in its place, a bright, blood-red number "3" appeared. That was the moment I knew Lucas and I had no future left.
Ver másA year later, I used my royalties from the picture book to buy an art studio.It wasn't huge, but it featured a floor-to-ceiling window facing south.The afternoon sunlight spilled across my easel, gently illuminating the repaired silver comb sitting by the windowsill. The fracture line down the middle was still clearly visible, but I never searched for a replacement again.On the day my new picture book was published, the publishing house sent out complimentary copies to several partner charitable organizations.Included on that list was the minor legal aid center where Lucas worked.He didn't use it as an excuse to contact me or ask anyone to deliver anything on his behalf, and he never showed up at a book signing.The new picture book was titled "Every Single Meeting". It told the story of a girl who, after suffering immense loss, was still willing to open her heart and rediscover the world.It wasn't about waiting, nor was it about broken relationships suddenly mending. On t
After the Art Gala ended, Lucas left South City for good.He no longer saved any of my public itineraries, nor did he ask his assistant to book tickets to the next city. After returning home, he officially resigned from his law firm and joined a minor legal aid center.His income dropped to less than half of what he used to make, and his office was reduced to a cramped cubicle. For his very first case, he helped a young girl, who had been long controlled by her abusive father, apply for a personal protection order.Hearing the mother repeat, "He's only doing it for the child's own good," Lucas fell silent.He, too, had once used that same excuse to decide for Emma—when she should be kind, when she should yield, and when she should forgive.In the past, he was accustomed to being the savior in everyone else's eyes. Now, he provided legal assistance strictly within his professional duties, no longer taking anyone's emotional dependency as proof of his own worth.With their matrimon
On the day of the Art Gala, Lucas arrived near the venue in the middle of the night.He stayed just two blocks away, foregoing planes, high-speed trains, or any elevators that could potentially malfunction.At 6 a.m., he walked along the street toward the entrance, with four hours left before the event began.He sat by the curb with water and a loaf of bread, his eyes never straying from the main entrance even for a second. Throughout the wait, he didn't call the organizers or ask anyone to slip his name backstage.This time, he had no intention of using his status or network to force a response from me. He simply wanted to look at me from afar in a public setting, like an ordinary spectator, and then quietly walk away.At 9.40 a.m., guest vehicles began entering the premises. My car was scheduled to arrive before ten.Lucas stood up, his palms slick with cold sweat from sheer nervousness. This was his most meticulously prepared attempt yet.No delayed traffic, no last-minute
Even after the divorce officially took effect, Lucas still couldn't completely let go of that elusive final meeting.He stopped tracking down my private whereabouts, but he kept a close eye on the public tour dates released for my picture book project.The first stop was in Lanford.He arrived a day early, even walking the route from his hotel to the venue by following his GPS. That night, however, a main pipe burst, forcing the organizers to switch venues at the last minute.Staff members posted a notice right below the old announcement board, but the gushing water quickly soaked the paper, smudging the handwriting beyond recognition.By the time the online information was updated, the sharing session had already wrapped up. When he finally rushed to the new location, he caught sight only of the staff dismantling the backdrop bearing my name.The second stop was Alicante.He bought a front-row ticket, double-checking in advance that I would definitely be attending the book sign


















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