Just His Charity Case

There is a small bistro in the historic district of Seattle. It opens only for lunch, and the menu never changes: a limited run of one hundred bowls of house-special broth.

The owner is a quiet man. They say he has been keeping watch over this place for more than a decade.

People often ask him, "Why sell only this one simple dish? Is there a secret recipe?"

He always smiles a polite, distant smile, wiping down the counter. "Im waiting for an old friend," he says. "One who hates cilantro."

Fifteen years later, having finished my expedition early, I returned to Seattle. I walked into that shop and ordered a bowl.

"No cilantro for me, please," I told the server.

In that instant, I heard a sound from the kitchena sharp crash, like something fragile shattering on the floor.

1

On my twenty-third birthday, Roman rented out the entire penthouse lounge of the Space Needle.

Above us, crystal chandeliers competed with the stars; below us, the city grid of Seattle glowed like a circuit board of amber and gold. Every light felt like it had been turned on just for me.

My best friend, Sloane, handed me a box wrapped in silk. She looked stunning in a champagne slip dress that cost more than my entire childhood wardrobe.

"Happy Birthday, Nora," she beamed, her smile radiant. "May my princess always be surrounded by love."

From behind, Roman wrapped his arms around my waist. I felt his chin rest gently on my shoulder, his warm breath tickling my ear. "Happy Birthday, Nora. My girl."

I was so happy I felt dizzy.

My name is Nora. Before them, I was just a weed struggling to grow through cracks in the pavement. My mother died young, leaving me with a stepfather who treated me like a nuisance he couldn't wait to scrape off his shoe. I survived his glares and his backhands until I was fifteen.

That was the year I met Roman and Sloane.

It was Sloane who found me shivering on her doorstep one freezing November night after my stepfather locked me out. She dragged me into her warm, lavender-scented bedroom, dressed me in cashmere, and said, "Nora, from now on, youre family."

It was Roman who, when the neighborhood bullies cornered me for lunch money, descended like an avenging angel. He bloodied their noses and stood in front of me, a human shield. "Don't be scared," hed said. "I'll protect you. Always."

They were the only light in my life. The reason I crawled out of the abyss.

For eight yearsfrom fifteen to twenty-threethey spoiled me. They turned the weed into a hothouse flower.

Roman would drive across the city at 3:00 AM to find me the specific dark chocolate I craved when I had cramps. Sloane cataloged my entire existence, buying me clothes that fit perfectly before I even tried them on.

They were the two pillars of my world: the lover and the soulmate.

I thought this happiness was infinite.

The party was perfect. Friends sang, champagne flowed. I closed my eyes before the candles, making a fervent wish: Let the three of us stay together, forever.

After the cake, the room felt a little stuffy. I slipped away to the terrace for some air.

The wind at that altitude was brisk. I reached for the handle of the glass door, but stopped when I heard voices.

It was Sloane. Her voice was shaking, laced with a fragility I had never heard before.

"Roman... we cant keep doing this. Its not fair to Nora."

My feet were nailed to the floor.

An invisible hand reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it stopped beating.

Then, I heard Roman. The voice that usually whispered sweet nothings to me was now heavy with exhaustion and conflict.

"Sloane, just give me a little more time. I love her, but I..."

He paused. The silence stretched out, agonizing and thick. When he spoke again, it sounded like a confession on death row.

"...I think Im in love with you, too."

Boom.

My world didn't crack; it vaporized.

Not think. He said love.

"But what about Nora?" Sloane sounded desperate. "She relies on us. She has no one else. How can we do this to her?"

"I know," Roman groaned. "Im a bastard. In the beginning, when I saw her... she was like that stray kitten I couldn't save when I was a kid. I just wanted to protect her. I wanted to give her a home. I thought that feeling was love. But with you... this ease, this electricity... Sloane, I cant tell the difference anymore. I really cant."

A stray kitten.

Thats all I was. A projection of his childhood regret.

Eight years of devotion, rooted in misplaced pity.

My epic romance was nothing but a charity case.

I didnt feel cold. I didnt feel pain. My body slipped into a terrifying numbness. I could hear my heart shattering, like ice hitting pavement, piece by piece.

I didn't have the courage to listen to another word, nor the strength to burst in and scream.

Like a ghost, I retreated into the shadows and blended back into the noise of the party.

Roman and Sloane returned shortly after. They looked flushed, unnatural, but they plastered smiles over their guilt.

Roman walked up to me, sliding his hand around my waist. "Where did you go? You look pale."

I looked up at his handsome facethe face that used to be my sanctuary.

I smiled, shaking my head. "Nothing. Just a little tired."

He didn't suspect a thing. He just rubbed my hair, eyes full of that damn pity. "Lets wrap this up early then. Ill take you home."

That night, I was a perfect marionette. I smiled at the toasts, I laughed at the jokes, I said thank you.

No one noticed that on that terrace, the wind had already blown my soul away.

Back at our apartment, Roman ran a bath for me and placed a warm glass of milk by the bedside, just like always.

"Nora, hop in the tub before the water gets cold." He kissed my forehead.

An hour ago, that kiss would have melted me. Now, it felt like dry ice.

I nodded obediently, locked the bathroom door, and turned on the shower.

Hot water cascaded down, but I felt like I was standing naked in a blizzard. I curled into a ball on the tiles, burying my face in my knees, and let out a low, animal wail that the water drowned out.

Tears and tap water mixed, scalding my skin.

What was I supposed to do?

Storm out? Tear off their masks? Ask them why?

I couldn't.

When I was fifteen, broken and bleeding, they pulled me out of hell. My tuition, my rent, my very survivalit was all them. They gave me a life.

How could I bite the hands that fed me?

They fell in love. Maybe that was how it was always supposed to be. Roman came from money; Sloane was old intellectual elite. They were a matching set.

And I was just the lucky orphan standing in the glow of their benevolence.

Now, the light was returning to its source.

I couldn't be the obstacle. I couldn't let them resent me. I couldn't let my beautiful memories turn into something ugly.

I had to let them go.

Once the thought took root, it grew violently.

I had to leave. To a place where they would never find me, where they would never feel guilty.

I didn't sleep that night.

The next morning, I ate the breakfast Roman made. He told me he had to go to Portland for an academic conference. Two days.

I smiled and told him to drive safe.

The moment the door clicked shut, I opened my laptop.

Compelled by some dark instinct, I typed into the search bar: The farthest place on Earth.

A result popped up: [Arctic Yellow River Station].

Chinas first Arctic research station, located in Ny-?lesund, Svalbard Archipelago, Norway.

I clicked on the images.

It was a world of blinding white. Glaciers, snow-capped peaks, a lonely station at the edge of the world. It looked beautiful. It looked cold. It looked numb.

A recruitment banner caught my eye.

[State Oceanic Administration: Polar Expedition Office. Recruiting Environmental Researchers. Deployment: Arctic Station. Minimum Contract: 15 Years. Renewable up to 20.]

Requirements: Ph.D. candidate in Environmental Science, independent research capability, excellent physical health, ability to withstand extreme isolation...

I was a doctoral candidate in Environmental Science. I was one year from graduating. I fit every criterion.

Fifteen years.

How many fifteen-year blocks does a life have?

By the time I came back, the dust would have settled. They would be married, maybe with children. Happy.

And I would have repaid my debt to them with my absence.

My finger hovered over the mouse, trembling.

I remembered Roman telling me, "Nora, you're like a hothouse flower. You'd wither without me."

I remembered Sloane hugging me. "Don't worry, Nora. If the sky falls, we'll hold it up for you."

They protected me so well that I forgot I was born a weed. I could survive anywhere.

I was just going back to the wild.

A sharp pain stabbed my chest, but I clicked Apply.

I uploaded everything. Transcripts, awards, thesis drafts.

In the "Statement of Purpose" box, I wrote only one sentence:

I wish to dedicate my life to the glaciers and stars at the northernmost edge of the world.

When the submission bar hit 100%, I heard a shackle break.

This was my penance. This was my rebirth.

A twenty-year self-imposed exile.

2

The waiting period was agony.

I became the greatest actress of my generation. I played the role of "Nora, the beloved girl" perfectly.

We ate dinner. We watched movies. We planned a future that didn't exist.

Roman even took me to see a condo overlooking the sound. "Nora," he said, eyes shining, "when you get your doctorate, well get married. This will be our home. What do you think?"

I looked at the hope in his eyes, smiled, and said "Yes," while my insides bled.

Sloane dragged me to bridal shops. "Nora, you have to wear this silhouette! I insist on being the Maid of Honor."

I tried on the gowns. I looked at the stranger in the mirror, white as a sheet, and forced a smile.

They were so good at this. Sometimes, I almost tricked myself into believing the birthday party was a hallucination.

Until that night.

Roman was in the shower. His phone, sitting on the nightstand, lit up.

I glanced over. It was a notification from an app called "HeartBeat." A pink icon.

I knew it.

Sophomore year, Roman downloaded it. He said it was for usa private digital diary to store his thoughts about me, for when we were old and gray. The password was my birthday.

I hadn't thought about it in years.

A demonic voice whispered in my ear: Open it.

I knew I shouldn't. It was an invasion of privacy.

But my hand moved on its own. I punched in my birthdate.

It unlocked.

I tapped the pink heart.

The latest entry was from last night.

[Took Nora to see the house. She seemed to like it. Why do I feel like there's a stone on my chest? I can't imagine living the rest of my life there with her. All I could think about was how it would look if Sloane was the one standing by the window... God, I'm a monster.]

My breath hitched.

Trembling, I scrolled up.

Six months ago.

[Sloane cut her hair short. She said its for the heat, but I know shes restless. I ache for her.]

One year ago.

[Debated with Sloane at the library for hours. When I proved her wrong, she made this face... so fierce, so cute. Its electric. Its so different from the way I feel about Nora. With Nora, its just... quiet.]

Two years ago.

[Sloanes boyfriend cheated. She cried in my arms. She smells like gardenias. My heart was racing so fast I thought shed hear it.]

I scrolled back, page after page. A countdown to the death of our relationship.

The diary I thought was a shrine to our love had slowly, insidiously, become a shrine to her.

First "Sloane," then just "She."

He chronicled every stolen glance, every suppressed urge. Their love had been growing in the dark for years, a lush garden I was too blind to see.

I was the intruder.

I scrolled to the very first entry. The day we became a couple.

[Today, I finally brought that poor kitten home out of the rain. Her name is Nora. Her eyes are so clean, but so fragile. Like theyd shatter if I blinked. I swear, I will protect her. She will never be hurt again.]

There it was.

Proof.

I put the phone back exactly where it was. My hands were steady.

So this is what it feels like when a heart finally dies.

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "301298" to read the entire book.