I splashed cold water on my face, then walked out of the restroom.

At the end of the hallway, Ethan was paying the bill at the front desk.

Linda stood beside him. With complete ease, she reached into the pocket of his coat and took out his car keys.

“Ethan, I’ll go start the car and turn on the heat. It’s freezing outside.”

“Go ahead. Turn on the passenger seat warmer too.”

Ethan didn’t even look up. He was still checking the bill.

The understanding between them was so natural, like water flowing over flat ground without the slightest resistance.

I walked over just as Ethan finished paying.

“Let’s go home,” he said, glancing at me.

When we reached the underground parking garage, Linda was already sitting in the passenger seat.

She had kicked off her heels and changed into a pair of fluffy flats.

When she saw me coming, she smiled apologetically.

“Stella, I have an old ankle injury, so I can’t wear heels for too long. The passenger seat has more legroom, and I can stretch my legs out. You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?”

Before I could answer, Ethan had already opened the rear door.

“Stella, sit in the back.

“Linda’s back isn’t good. I adjusted the passenger seat exactly to support the curve of her lower back. It’s too much trouble to change it back and forth.

“It’s only a thirty-minute drive anyway. Just make do.”

With the words “too much trouble” and “make do,” he blocked off everything I could have said.

I got into the back seat.

The car pulled out of the garage.

Linda’s phone screen lit up, and the car’s Bluetooth connected automatically. Soft jazz began flowing through the speakers.

“Oh,” Linda said, turning to Ethan. “Why does your car still connect to my phone first by default?”

Ethan kept his eyes on the road, his tone casual.

“It’s still connected from last time. I never changed it.

“Your playlist is fine. Besides, it saves you from complaining that my taste is outdated.”

He didn’t disconnect it.

He didn’t switch to anything else.

He simply let her preferences fill the space that belonged to me and him.

At a red light, the car stopped.

Linda casually opened the center console and took out a tube of hand cream.

She squeezed a little into her palm, rubbed it in, then naturally took Ethan’s right hand from the steering wheel and applied some to the back of his hand too.

“The wind is harsh in winter. The back of your hand is starting to peel.”

Ethan didn’t pull away.

He let her rub the cream into his skin.

“I’m about to be a married man. Who cares if my hands are a little rough? Why bother with this sticky stuff?”

He complained, but his tone was relaxed and completely unguarded.

After she finished, Linda passed the hand cream to the back seat.

“Stella, do you want some? This brand is really moisturizing.”

I looked at the familiar logo on the tube.

Last month, the back of my hands had cracked from the cold. I had asked Ethan to stop by the department store after work and buy me a tube.

He said going to the counter was too out of the way.

Then he brought me a two-dollar jar of petroleum jelly from the convenience store downstairs.

And now, the hand cream he had never bought for me sat naturally in Ethan’s car.

It belonged to Linda.

“No, thanks.”

I looked away and turned toward the window.

The car stopped outside Linda’s apartment building.

“Ethan, I still don’t know how to connect that new robot vacuum to Bluetooth. The instructions are too complicated. Can you come upstairs and help me set it up?” Linda unbuckled her seat belt.

Ethan turned off the engine.

Then he looked back at me.

“Wait here for ten minutes. I’ll go upstairs and connect it to the Wi-Fi, then come right back down.”

As he spoke, he pulled out the car key out of habit.

The engine stopped, and the heat inside the car cut off instantly.

“Leave the key,” I said, looking at him. “I want to keep the heater on.”

Ethan frowned.

“It’s only ten minutes. There’s still some warmth left in the car. Why waste gas by leaving the engine running?

“We’re getting married soon. Once you start living a real married life, you need to learn how to be practical. Stop being so delicate all the time.”

He used “married life” so confidently, as if he were teaching me how to behave.

Then he closed the door and walked into the building side by side with Linda.

I sat alone in the back seat.

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Then half an hour.

The last trace of warmth in the car disappeared, and the cold air slipped through the gaps around the windows like needles.

I opened the car door, called a cab from the roadside, and went home.

When I reached the bedroom, I pulled my suitcase out from under the bed and opened the closet.

One by one, I folded my clothes and placed them inside.

On the bathroom counter, my skincare products occupied only a small corner at the edge.

Most of the space was taken up by Ethan’s colognes and men’s hair products.

In the toothbrush holder sat Ethan’s blue electric toothbrush.

Beside it was a pink one.

Linda had left it behind the last time she stayed over.

Ethan had not let me throw it away.

He said she would need it the next time she came.

Two suitcases.

Half an hour.

That was all it took to pack up four years of my youth.

At half past midnight, Ethan sent me a message.

“The robot vacuum’s motherboard was broken. I took it apart and filed a repair request for her.

“You took a cab home? Why didn’t you tell me?

“Keep the receipt for the cab fare. I’ll reimburse you. In the future, when we’re married, don’t be so careless with money.”

I opened the message and replied with one word.

“Okay.”

Then I held down the chat box and tapped delete.

The entire conversation disappeared in an instant.

Saturday morning.

I made plain oatmeal in the kitchen and fried a couple of eggs.

Ethan came out of the bedroom, yawning.

“Why are you up so early today?”

“Ethan.” I looked at him. “Can you stay home today and spend the day with me?”

He pulled out a chair, sat down, and took a sip of oatmeal.

“Sure. I don’t have a shoot today anyway. We can look at wedding venues at home.”

He took out his phone, ready to search.

Then his screen lit up.

It was Linda’s special ringtone.

He answered immediately.

“Hello, Linda?”

Linda’s anxious, tearful voice came through the phone.

“Ethan, my cat ran out! I don’t know if it climbed up to the roof through the window. It’s so cold outside. It’ll freeze to death!”

Ethan shot to his feet.

“Don’t panic. I’ll come over and help you find it right now!”

As he walked toward the entryway, he grabbed his coat.

“Ethan.”

I sat at the dining table without turning around.

“You promised you wouldn’t go out today.”

His steps paused.

“Linda’s cat has asthma. If we can’t find it, it could die. Finding the cat matters more. We can look at wedding venues later.”

“If you walk out that door today, we won’t need to look at venues anymore.”

My voice was very soft, without the slightest ripple of emotion.

Ethan turned back to look at me, his eyes full of impatience.

“Stella, when did you become so cold-blooded? That’s a life. Can you stop throwing a tantrum at a time like this? Enough already.”

Enough already.

Again, those words.

“Go, then.” I nodded.

He seemed relieved.

“I’ll be gone for two hours at most. I’ll be back by lunch to eat with you.”

The door closed.

I dragged the two suitcases out of the bedroom.

On the coffee table lay a checklist for canceling the wedding.

The plain ring was sitting on top of it.

I looked around the home one last time.

There was not a trace of reluctance left in me.

I bought a one-way ticket to Hawaii.

The moment the plane landed, I turned off airplane mode.

My phone screen lit up nonstop.

Ethan’s message popped out.

“Where are you? Stop making a scene. I’ll buy the tickets right now and take you to Iceland, okay?”

I looked at that line of text.

All that flashed through my mind were the 3,200 photos of the aurora that belonged to someone else.

There was no longer even the faintest ripple in my heart.

My finger tapped the screen calmly.

“It’s too cold. I’m not going.”

I sent the message.

Then I blocked him, deleted everything, and turned off my phone completely.

When I pushed open the glass doors of the airport, warm sea breeze rushed toward me.

At last, I left that February, four years overdue, forever buried in the cold snow.