The Moon Shines on My Return

The doctor sighed beside my ear. "Ms. Tanner, your last miscarriage already damaged your uterus. And now, with this new injury here... I'm afraid you won't be able to have children again."

I stared up at the ceiling, my voice sounding like it came from far away. "Mm. That's fine."

After the doctor left, I heard the system sigh as well. "Mission failed. You are scheduled for erasure. Would you like to restart the mission—to keep trying to save him?"

I shook my head. "Erase me."

"Understood. Erasure program activated. You have 72 hours left."

…

I closed my eyes. The silence around me was almost deafening. But soon, as if driven by some strange impulse, I opened Rose Wells' livestream.

That day, she was streaming from the villa Ian Sutherland had bought for her in the mountains, painting at her easel. The girl wore a men's shirt that was two sizes too large for her, her hair in a messy bun, carefully mixing colors on her palette. Her cheeks were flushed, her smile sweet and innocent.

"The shirt? Oh, it's my boyfriend's. Mine can't be worn anymore. Last night was… a little intense." She looked shyly toward someone off-camera. "I didn't think my first kiss and first night would happen on the same day…"

A man's voice, low and tender, drifted in. "Sorry. I'll be gentler next time."

The livestream chat exploded.

'Rosie finally got her man! Please share more couple updates!'

"That might be tricky. My boyfriend's job is… a bit special. He can't show his face."

As she spoke, her sleeve brushed against some red paint. Rose gasped softly, and a man's slender fingers reached in to roll up her sleeve, revealing a cute rose-shaped ring on her finger. "It's fine, even if it's stained."

Her cheeks turned a deeper red. She giggled, then suddenly got pulled out of view. Off-camera came the unmistakable sounds of kissing and breathless laughter.

The comments scrolled faster and faster, one line catching my eye—'I swear I just heard Ian Sutherland's voice.'

The man's voice came again, colder this time. "I'm not."

The livestream cut off abruptly. I set my phone down and drifted back into sleep.

In my dream, I was cleaning one day and accidentally brushed some dust onto his white shirt. I apologized immediately, but he flew into a rage, yelling that I shouldn't have touched his things. He threw the shirt away like trash, and from that day on, I never saw any of his clothes in the house again.

At the end of the dream, all I could see was Ian's back—just like all those other times over the past three years, when I was suffering and he was walking away in a hurry to find Rose.

When I woke again, half-dazed, the first thing I saw was a rose-shaped ring glinting faintly in the light. My gaze traveled upward. Rose was now dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans, smiling as she sipped chicken soup from a thermos.

The housekeeper's expression was apologetic. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. I only made one serving of soup for you, and Ms. Wells happened to like it as well."

"Oh no, I didn't realize it was yours. I'm so sorry, Hazel." Rose looked at me with wide eyes, her lashes trembling as a mist gathered in them—like she'd just realized she'd drunk the patient's meal.