By the time my final patient left, it was nearly seven in the evening.

I removed my white coat and folded it carefully.

Tomorrow morning, I would leave for Xinjiang.

No wedding.

No marriage certificate.

No Chu Ze.

For the first time in years, my future felt entirely mine.

The head nurse helped me carry a box of personal belongings downstairs.

“Doctor Tong, take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“And don’t soften your heart if that man comes begging.”

I laughed.

“That won’t happen.”

But I underestimated Chu Ze.

When I returned to the apartment, he was already waiting outside.

His car was parked crookedly beside the entrance, as though he had driven back in a hurry.

The moment he saw me, he strode over.

“Tieu Tinh!”

I kept walking.

He grabbed my wrist.

“What exactly is wrong with you?”

I pulled my hand away.

“Nothing.”

“Then why didn’t you go to Yunnan?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“And what did that message mean?”

His voice became sharper.

“‘Stay by her side for good.’ What are you trying to do?”

I looked at him.

“Exactly what it says.”

Chu Ze stared at me for several seconds.

Then he sighed impatiently.

“You’re jealous because I stayed with Dao Dao.”

“No.”

“Tieu Tinh, stop pretending.”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Dao Dao has emotional problems. You know that. She has nobody she can rely on.”

“She has you.”

“That isn’t what I mean.”

“It is what I mean.”

I walked past him.

When I opened the apartment door, he followed me inside.

Then he froze.

The living room looked strangely empty.

The framed wedding photograph that had been prepared for the ceremony was gone.

The gift boxes were gone.

The red decorations our families had selected were gone.

Even the wedding invitation samples on the coffee table had disappeared.

Chu Ze slowly turned toward me.

“Where are the wedding things?”

“I threw away some and returned the rest.”

His expression changed.

“What?”

“The wedding has been canceled.”

Silence swallowed the room.

He laughed suddenly, but there was no amusement in it.

“Stop joking.”

“I’m not joking.”

I walked into the bedroom and pulled my suitcase from beside the wardrobe.

Chu Ze followed.

“Tieu Tinh, enough.”

He grabbed the suitcase handle.

“You’re angry, so you’re trying to scare me.”

“I called the wedding company two nights ago.”

His hand stopped.

“I canceled the decorations.”

I looked directly into his eyes.

“Then I canceled all fifty banquet tables.”

The color drained from his face.

“You…”

“The bridesmaids already know too.”

“TONG TINH!”

His shout echoed through the bedroom.

I remained calm.

He stared at me as if he were looking at a stranger.

“Do you know how many relatives we’ve invited?”

“Yes.”

“My parents have told everyone!”

“I know.”

“Then how am I supposed to explain this?”

I almost smiled.

Even now, his first concern was his reputation.

“Tell them the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That the night before we were supposed to register our marriage, you returned my household registration book and spent the night with another woman.”

His face stiffened.

“Nothing happened between Dao Dao and me!”

“I didn’t say anything happened.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I finally understand something.”

I zipped my suitcase closed.

“You don’t have to betray someone physically to make them realize they are always second.”

His expression flickered.

For years, Lam Dao only needed one phone call.

Chu Ze would leave dinner.

Leave my birthday.

Leave our dates.

Once, he even left me alone in the emergency room because she said she was having a panic attack.

Every time, he gave me the same explanation.

She was fragile.

She needed him.

I was mature.

I should understand.

And I did.

Again and again.

Until understanding became humiliation.

Chu Ze lowered his voice.

“After you come back from Yunnan, we’ll register.”

“There won’t be another registration day.”

His eyes suddenly sharpened.

“What do you mean?”

I pulled the suitcase toward the door.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

He looked at the luggage.

“Where?”

“Xinjiang.”

For the first time that evening, Chu Ze became completely silent.

“Xinjiang?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“One year initially.”

His face changed instantly.

“You’re crazy.”

“No.”

“You decided something this important without discussing it with me?”

I looked at him quietly.

The irony was almost unbearable.

“You postponed our marriage registration without discussing it with me.”

“That was different!”

“Of course.”

I nodded.

“Everything you do is always different.”

He stepped toward me.

“You can’t go.”

“I already accepted.”

“Then reject it.”

“No.”

His voice hardened.

“Tieu Tinh, don’t force me to get angry.”

I laughed softly.

“What are you going to do?”

“Postpone our marriage again?”

That stopped him.

His phone suddenly rang.

Lam Dao.

Neither of us needed to see the name.

I recognized the ringtone he had specially set for her.

Chu Ze glanced at the screen.

Then at me.

For perhaps the first time, he hesitated.

The phone kept ringing.

I picked up my suitcase.

“Answer it.”

“Tieu Tinh—”

“She probably needs you.”

I walked toward the door.

This time, he ignored the call and followed me.

“Where are you going tonight?”

“My parents’ house.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No need.”

“Tieu Tinh!”

The phone rang again.

Lam Dao.

Again.

Again.

On the fourth call, Chu Ze finally answered.

“Dao Dao, what’s wrong?”

I stopped outside the elevator.

His voice instinctively softened.

Then his expression changed.

“What? Don’t move. I’ll come immediately.”

He hung up.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

The elevator doors opened.

I stepped inside.

Chu Ze stood between me and the apartment, frozen.

One road led to me.

The other led to Lam Dao.

I smiled.

“Go.”

His face tightened.

“She’s having trouble breathing.”

“I know.”

“I’ll check on her and come find you afterward.”

“There won’t be an afterward.”

The elevator doors slowly closed.

At the final second, he put his hand between them.

“Tieu Tinh, wait for me.”

I looked at the man I had loved for seven years.

“No.”

I pressed the close button again.

“This time, you can wait for me.”

The doors shut between us.

At six the next morning, I arrived at the airport with the hospital medical team.

My parents came to see me off.

Mom cried.

Dad repeatedly reminded me to eat properly.

I hugged them both.

Then my phone began vibrating.

Thirty-seven missed calls.

All from Chu Ze.

Dozens of messages followed.

Where are you?

Why aren’t you home?

Answer me.

We need to talk.

Don’t leave.

The last message had arrived three minutes earlier.

I’m at your parents’ house. Your father says you’re already at the airport.

I switched off the screen.

“Doctor Tong!”

Someone from the medical team called.

“We’re boarding.”

“Coming.”

I handed my luggage over and walked toward security.

Behind me, someone suddenly shouted my name.

“TONG TINH!”

I stopped.

Chu Ze was running through the terminal.

His shirt was wrinkled, his hair disordered, his face exhausted.

For the first time, the always composed Chu Ze looked genuinely frightened.

“Tieu Tinh!”

He reached the barrier, breathing heavily.

“Don’t go.”

Everyone around us turned.

I simply looked at him.

“Why?”

He stared at me.

“We can register when you come back.”

I shook my head.

“You still don’t understand.”

His face went pale.

“I don’t want to postpone the marriage.”

“I don’t want the marriage at all.”

His lips parted.

Before he could answer, my phone vibrated.

A message from my best friend.

She had sent me a screenshot.

It was Lam Dao’s newest social media post, uploaded only ten minutes earlier.

A photograph of Chu Ze asleep beside her hospital bed during the night.

Underneath it, she had written:

“Some people can run as far away as Xinjiang, but the person who truly belongs to me will always come back.”

I looked at the picture.

Then I looked at Chu Ze.

He clearly didn’t know what she had posted.

I smiled and turned my phone toward him.

The moment he read the caption, his face became terrifyingly cold.

But what he said next surprised me.

“That’s impossible.”

He stared at the photograph.

“I left her hospital room before midnight.”

My smile disappeared.

“What?”

Chu Ze enlarged the image.

Then his fingers suddenly stopped.

“This photo wasn’t taken last night.”

He pointed toward the watch on his wrist in the photograph.

It wasn’t the watch I had given him last month.

It was an old watch he had stopped wearing nearly three years ago.

He looked up at me.

For the first time, confusion replaced desperation in his eyes.

“Tieu Tinh…”

His voice dropped.

“Why does Dao Dao have a photograph from three years ago that I’ve never seen before?”

The boarding announcement sounded behind me.

And at that moment, neither of us realized that the answer would uncover something far uglier than an interrupted wedding.