When Love Learns to Let Go

I only glanced once at the special pinned contact in Ethan's phone.

Then I learned one thing: not to care.

He worked a thirty-hour night shift without replying to messages. I stopped waiting.

He forgot my birthday. I didn't mention it.

My ankle was badly sprained. I gritted my teeth and wrapped it myself, then went onstage in heels the next day.

Loving someone is hard, but letting go is simple.

Joanna's POV

Today was Swan Lake's quarterly performance.

In the third act, during the Black Swan's 32 fouett turns, I heard a crack from my ankle on the 29th landing.

Backstage, a crowd swarmed around me.

"Joanna! Should we stop the show?"

My forehead was covered in cold sweat. I waved them off. "It's the last act."

Eight minutes of solo dance. I don't remember how I finished it. I only remember the applause was loud during curtain call, the spotlight was warm, and beneath my skirt, my ankle had swollen until it shone.

I smiled and took three curtain calls.

No one saw that when I stepped into the wings, my entire body was trembling from pain.

1 AM. Sacred Heart Hospital emergency room.

I sat alone in the observation room on a plastic chair, an ice pack pressed against my ankle bone.

The nurse on duty frowned after reviewing the X-rays. "Ligament strain. Good thing the bone's not damaged. Why didn't you come earlier? Delaying makes the recovery period even longer."

"Just finished a performance."

While recording my information, the nurse asked casually, "You're Ethan's girlfriend, right? He posted a photo of you two on social media, that five year anniversary one."

My eyelashes flickered.

He did post something on our fifth anniversary. The caption read: "Survived 3 trauma emergency courses."

I'd waited five hours at the restaurant we'd reserved, only to receive one message. "Something came up. We'll make it up another day."

That "another day" still hasn't come.

"He's on shift tonight. Want me to call him for you?" the nurse offered kindly.

"No need," I said. "Don't disturb his work."

The moment I finished speaking, footsteps echoed from the end of the emergency corridor.

Ethan came down from upstairs. He paused when he passed the observation room.

He turned and walked in, his gaze falling on my swollen ankle, his brow furrowing. "You're injured? Why didn't you tell me?"

He crouched down to examine it.

I pulled my foot back slightly, the movement gentle, as if afraid of making noise.

"It's just a minor injury."

Ethan's hand froze in midair. He looked at me with surprise.

In the past, if I got even a blister from dance practice, I'd photograph it and send it to him, acting spoiled. "The wound hurts so much, I miss you."

Before every performance, I'd curl up nervously in his arms, asking repeatedly, "You'll come watch, won't you?"

Now my foot was this swollen, yet there wasn't a trace of grievance on my face.

I wouldn't even let him touch it.

Before he could ask, the sound of high heels echoed from the end of the corridor.

"Ethan!" The voice was light and soft, carrying a smile.

Grace wore a sharply tailored dress under her white coat, carrying two cups of coffee. She walked over and naturally positioned herself beside Ethan.

"Your favorite mocha, less sugar." She handed him the cup, her gaze turning to me, pausing for a beat. "This is... your friend?"

Ethan took the coffee, his voice unconsciously softening by half a degree. "My girlfriend, Joanna. She hurt her foot."

"Oh my god, is it serious?" Grace immediately crouched down to look at my ankle. "Hi, I'm Grace. You really can't dance on this injury anymore-you need to let it heal properly."

Her tone was sincere.

The flash of condescension in her expression was equally sincere.

"Thanks," I said. "The nurse already treated it."

When Grace stood up, her shoulder brushed against Ethan's arm, seemingly by accident. "Ethan, we're paired for tonight's shift. I'm still not familiar with a lot of procedures-help me out more."

"Sure." Ethan seemed oblivious to her intimacy.

He looked at me. "Let me take you-"

"No need."

I braced myself against the armrest and stood up, taking the crutch. "You two are busy. I called a car."

Ethan frowned. "In your condition, how can you-"

But I'd already left.

The crutch tapped against the floor. One tap, then another. The rhythm was steady.

Behind me came Grace's voice, clear even across the entire corridor.

"Ethan, did Miss Joanna misunderstand something? Should I go explain to her?"

"She's not like that." There was a hint of helplessness in Ethan's voice.

I didn't look back.

Five years. I'd never made a fuss, never demanded answers.

I thought I was being understanding and accommodating, but in his eyes, I was simply "not like that."

Actually, on my way to the hospital, I'd thought about messaging him.

But when I opened my phone, I saw the message I'd sent three days ago.

"It's opening night today. Will you come?"

He hadn't replied.

I knew that he hadn't forgotten. He just didn't want to respond.

In his life's hierarchy, I ranked behind surgery, behind his shifts, behind that less-sugar, less-milk mocha.

And especially behind Grace.

Always had been.

Back home, I opened my laptop.

The email from the French Arts Dance Company sat quietly in my inbox. I'd read it many times.

"We cordially invite you to serve as principal dancer with our company, three-year term. We look forward to your reply."

My fingers hovered above the keyboard.

I thought of Grace handing him coffee in the ER and how naturally he'd accepted it. I thought of how his tone unconsciously softened when he spoke to her. I thought of my ankle swollen until it shone, and how he hadn't even asked once if it hurt.

Five years.

I'd waited through countless "another days," countless "something came ups."

I didn't want to wait anymore.

I typed my reply:

"Thank you for the invitation. I accept. I'll complete domestic handover within seven days and report on time. "

Joanna's POV

I took two painkillers. They didn't help much.

My ankle throbbed with a dull ache, like something was drumming beneath my skin.

I didn't sleep all night.

Ethan didn't come home all night.

At seven in the morning, I hobbled into the kitchen on my crutch.

The moment the cooking smoke rose, I suddenly thought of my mom.

I could never see her either.

She was an ER nurse at the hospital. Her schedule was always packed solid. Even on her rare days off, she'd often get called back.

From childhood, I was used to eating alone, sleeping alone, hanging the key around my neck and going to school alone.

But every time Mom came home, she'd busy herself in the kitchen for hours, preparing meals for the next few days. She'd pack them into containers one by one, stacking them in the fridge with sticky notes on the lids. "Eat this on Tuesday," "Remember to heat this one for two minutes."

Later, she had an accident during an emergency rescue. She contracted an acute infectious disease.

From diagnosis to death, only eleven days.

When the operating room lights went out, nineteen-year-old me stood in the corridor, my mind completely blank.

I don't remember my reaction. I only remember my knees hitting the tile floor-it hurt so much. I cried until I couldn't breathe, like all the strength had been drained from my body.

People came and went in the corridor, but not one of them was my family.

Suddenly, someone crouched down in front of me.

A warm bottle of coffee appeared before my eyes, still carrying the warmth of being held in someone's palm.

I looked up and saw a young face with gentle eyes.

"Don't cry anymore." His voice was soft. "Your mother was a great nurse. She saved many lives. Even though she's gone, we'll all remember her."

Through a veil of tears, I saw his name tag: Ethan.

I never drank that bottle of coffee, but I held it in my palm until it went completely cold.

From that day on, I remembered that name and those gentle eyes.

The second time I saw him was two years later.

I was dancing Giselle as the lead for the first time.

During curtain call, the lights were too bright to see the audience clearly, but as I exited, I casually glanced at the seats and spotted a familiar figure in the corner.

He sat there quietly, wearing a dark blue shirt. His applause wasn't enthusiastic, but it was sincere.

After the performance, I didn't change clothes. Clutching a bouquet of pink roses, I ran from backstage and caught him on the theater steps.

"Ethan, can I pursue you?"

He looked at me, clearly startled.

Then he smiled. Warm, but with a weariness I couldn't read at the time.

"I just broke up recently. Someone very important to me went abroad. Right now... I haven't moved on yet."

I knew he was rejecting me.

But the warmth of that coffee bottle still lingered in my heart. Those ten minutes of companionship still lived in my memory.

I desperately wanted that kind of gentle love, unique, a favoritism that belonged only to me.

All my life, with an absent father and a deceased mother, I'd never been watched so attentively by anyone.

He appeared in my most helpless moment. Even if it was just a bottle of coffee, just one word of comfort. To me, it was already light.

"That's okay," I heard myself say. "I can help you move on slowly."

I thought if I was patient enough, sincere enough, he'd eventually turn around and see me.

During these five years together, Ethan really was good to me.

He'd remember my performance dates, occasionally pick me up after work, remind me to take medicine when I caught a cold.

But this kindness always felt like it was separated by a layer of gauze.

Gentle, yes. Just not burning.

He smiled at me, but also at nurses, also at coffee shop cashiers. I couldn't tell whether I was special to him or just one among many.

I convinced myself it was enough.

Being loved by a gentle person was enough.

On my birthday, I thought our relationship should move to the next stage.

I'd reserved his favorite restaurant, prepared a ring, even secretly practiced a solo dance to perform just for him.

That evening, as I was doing one final rehearsal in front of the mirror, my phone rang.

Ethan's voice was urgent. "Grace is back. She's injured. I need to go to the hospital first. Wait for me at the restaurant."

He hung up.

The ring in my pocket, I waited at the restaurant for five hours.

He never came. Never called either.

From that day on, everything changed.

During the time after Grace returned, whenever she called, Ethan would immediately rush over, no matter what he was doing.

He started coming home late frequently, becoming absent-minded frequently. When he mentioned Grace, there was something in his eyes I'd never seen before.

I told myself that once Grace was better, maybe everything would return to normal.

Until that late night.

I got up to get something from the study and accidentally knocked over an old photo album from the corner of the bookshelf.

The album fell to the floor and scattered open.

Every page was Grace.

Some were candid shots, some were photos together.

The backgrounds ranged from campus to hospital, from summer to winter.

And on the back of each photo was Ethan's handwriting.

"Day 47."

"Missing you."

"A patient today had the same birthday as you."

I crouched on the floor, flipping through them one by one. My fingers didn't tremble.

The date on the last photo was the week before our fifth anniversary, late at night.

On the back, it read:

"If you hadn't left back then, I definitely wouldn't have let go."

I closed the album and returned it to the corner of the bookshelf, arranging it exactly as it had been before I took it down.

Joanna's POV

I went to the rehearsal hall with my injury.

My ankle wrapped in thick bandages, I didn't go onstage. I just spent the day supervising the group dance formations from the side.

Someone asked if I wanted to take leave. I said no need. Sitting was still work.

At eight in the evening, I returned home. The entryway light was off.

Only my shoes sat by the shoe cabinet. No messages from him on my phone.

Another day and night without him coming home.

My phone rang while I was pouring water.

"Hello, your online visa review has been approved. Now you just need to mail the paper materials. We can issue the visa within three business days."

"Okay, I'll organize everything tonight and mail it first thing tomorrow."

"Wishing you all the best."

After hanging up, I walked into the bedroom.

I opened the nightstand drawer. Passport, ID documents, bank statements, employment verification.

I placed the documents into a folder one by one.

Halfway through packing, I suddenly stopped and glanced around the room.

Ethan had mild OCD. He didn't like the house cluttered with too many things.

When I first moved in, I'd bought a floor lamp. He said it didn't match, so I returned it.

Later I wanted to grow flowers on the balcony. He said they'd attract bugs, so I didn't.

Over five years, I'd learned to minimize my presence in this home.

Only now, while packing, did I realize I owned so little it wouldn't even fill a suitcase.

A few seasonal clothes, one pair of backup dance shoes, a jewelry box, my passport, and some contract copies.

That was it.

Five years, condensed into half a suitcase.

The bedroom door suddenly pushed open.

Ethan walked in. He paused when he saw the documents spread across the bed.

"What are you working on?"

"Organizing visa materials," I replied without looking up. "I was thinking we could travel abroad for Christmas. Preparing in advance."

"Christmas?" Ethan glanced at me. "It's only July-"

Before he finished, his phone rang.

Grace's name lit up the screen.

"Ethan, the ER transferred a patient. I can't handle it alone. Can you come help?"

The voice on the other end wasn't loud, but in the quiet room, it was crystal clear.

Ethan hung up and looked at me. His lips moved.

He looked guilty, yet couldn't let it go.

"Go ahead," I said, folding a document and tucking it into the bag. "Work is important."

Ethan stood there, frowning. Something probably felt off to him.

If this were the old me, I definitely would have frowned and said, "She's also a doctor. She even worked abroad. Can't she handle something this small?"

"There are so many doctors at the hospital. Why does she always call you?"

But this time I said nothing.

I didn't even lift my eyes from the documents.

"I probably won't be back tonight," he said. "Breakfast together tomorrow?"

"Okay."

Ethan left, reassured.

The sound of the door closing was soft. The car engine started about two minutes later.

I listened to the engine fade away, then packed the remaining materials into the folder and sealed it.

Joanna's POV

The next morning when I woke up, the pillow beside me was cold.

I picked up my phone. A message hung on the screen, sent at 3 AM.

"Emergency situation last night. Can't make it back for morning. Sorry."

I stared for two seconds, then locked the screen.

The apology was real. Not making it back was also real.

The things ranking ahead of me were always so numerous that "sorry" had become a standard phrase.

After rehearsal that evening, I carried my bag home. While changing shoes in the entryway, I heard voices in the living room.

I walked in to see Grace sitting on the sofa wearing loose loungewear, a suitcase by her feet.

Ethan stood nearby. When he saw me, his expression visibly tightened.

"Grace... just got back and isn't adjusting well. Living alone, she keeps having insomnia," he kept revising his wording. "She lost touch with her friends while abroad. The person she's most familiar with now is me. I was thinking of letting her stay in the guest room for a few days until she adjusts, then-"

"Sure."

I set down my bag.

Ethan's whole body tensed. His lips parted slightly, looking like he was frantically searching his mind for excuses.

But I'd agreed too quickly. So quickly that the expression on his face froze instantly, like a gulp of cold air choking in his throat, unable to produce a single word.

Grace stood up from the sofa, her voice soft. "Ethan, can I invite a few friends over for dinner? A welcome-back party. I'd feel more at ease if you arranged it."

Before Ethan could answer, I already had. "Sure. I'll prepare everything."

Grace smiled. A flash of triumph passed through her gaze.

That evening, the friends Grace invited arrived one after another.

They were all Ethan's old friends, some former colleagues.

The living room quickly grew lively, everyone surrounding Grace.

Talking about her experiences, saying she'd gotten thinner, saying she was just as beautiful as before.

I stayed in the kitchen cutting fruit, pouring drinks, changing plates.

I went in and out of the living room many times. No one asked if I wanted to sit down and chat with them.

After several rounds of drinks, someone drunk threw an arm around Ethan's shoulder.

"I'm saying, Ethan, if you and Grace hadn't broken up back then, your kid would be in kindergarten by now, wouldn't they?"

The living room instantly went quiet.

Ethan's expression changed. He looked sharply at me.

I was just coming out of the kitchen carrying a plate of cut watermelon.

I set the plate on the coffee table and smiled.

"Yeah, pretty unfortunate."

My tone was casual, like commenting on a movie.

But no one dared to continue the conversation.

The drunk person awkwardly took a drink. The atmosphere took a while to recover.

Ethan stared at my profile for a long time.

I was smiling.

But that smile contained nothing.

No jealousy, no grievance, not even concern.

Like an outsider entertaining guests.

After the dinner party ended, I was washing dishes in the kitchen.

Grace leaned against the doorframe. "Joanna, do you know Ethan and I almost got married?"

The faucet rushed loudly. My hands didn't stop.

"We'd already bought the ring," Grace's voice was loud. "I was the one who initiated the breakup. I was going abroad. He begged me to stay. I didn't agree."

I turned off the faucet and set down the last plate.

I turned around, drying my hands while looking at Grace. "So?"

Grace met my gaze, her smile confident, even carrying a trace of pity.

"So I'm back now." She took a step forward. "My place in this home is mine. You, the substitute, should take your curtain call."

The kitchen was quiet for a few seconds.

I folded the dish towel neatly and hung it back on the hook.

"You're right," I said. "I really should take my curtain call."

Grace's smile froze. "Joanna, you'd better understand your position. You're nothing but an orphan without family, you-"

Joanna's POV

I interrupted her. "Grace, we're all adults. If you can't bear to lose Ethan, you can pursue him, but there's no need to put me down."

Grace looked angry.

I didn't look at her again. I walked out.

In the living room, Ethan had just returned from seeing off friends. He ran right into me.

He glanced at the kitchen, then at my face.

"They drank too much just now. What they said... don't take it to heart."

I looked at him, silent for a few seconds. "Ethan, I saw the photo album on your bookshelf."

The air in the living room seemed to freeze.

"Every single photo is of Grace. Every one has something you wrote on the back." My voice was steady. "'Day 47, missing you.' 'If you come back, I definitely won't let go again.'"

Ethan looked flustered. He tried to grab my wrist, but I dodged. "Joanna, let me explain. That was just-"

"No need to explain." I cut him off.

Ethan stubbornly grabbed my hand.

"Joanna," his voice was tight, "let's talk."

"Ethan!"

Grace came out of the kitchen holding up her hand, her voice urgent. "I just accidentally cut my finger. It's bleeding a lot. Quick, look at it for me. Will the injury affect my ability to do surgery later?"

Blood was seeping between her fingers.

Ethan immediately released my wrist and strode toward Grace.

I stood there, looking down at my released wrist.

Red marks still remained, but they'd fade quickly.

Just like all my traces of him.

I glanced at the two of them, then turned and went upstairs.

The injury on my ankle still hadn't healed. The bandage was wrapped tightly. Going up the stairs, I had to grip the railing hard.

With Ethan comforting Grace as background noise, when I reached the fourth step, the bandage accidentally caught on a metal strip.

I didn't have time to react. My foot slipped, and I fell heavily backward.

That already-swollen foot twisted violently.

Sharp pain shot through me.

I bit my lip. I didn't make a sound.

Ethan's voice came from the living room. "What happened?"

He walked two steps in this direction, then was called back.

"Ethan, I'm still bleeding. Help me first."

The footsteps stopped.

I bit my lip, slowly standing up while supporting myself against the wall.

My left foot couldn't bear any weight at all. The ankle had swollen so much it was about to burst through the bandage.

I pulled out my phone and dialed emergency services. "Hello, my ankle is injured. I need an ambulance."

Ethan finally came over, his expression terrible. "I'll take you."

"No need."

As soon as I finished speaking, a siren sounded outside.

The paramedics came in and helped me onto the stretcher.

From beginning to end, I didn't let him touch me once.

Forty minutes later, I finished treatment and hobbled out of the clinic on crutches.

Ethan stood waiting for me in the corridor.

"Joanna." He blocked my path. "What's wrong with you tonight? Why are you being so cold? If you're angry, just say so. I can change, can't I?"

I stopped and looked at him.

The corridor light was very white. Anxiety and confusion showed in his eyes.

"Ethan," I said, "haven't you always hated it when I lose my temper?"

Ethan froze.

"Every time I came to you about Grace, you said I was too sensitive. You said I should be more mature, stop being unreasonable."

He opened his mouth but couldn't speak.

"Now I'm mature." I looked at him, my voice very soft. "I'm not losing my temper anymore. I can solve my own problems without troubling you."

I paused.

"Isn't this what you always wanted?"

Joanna's POV

Ethan looked panicked.

My eyes held genuine confusion.

Ethan didn't dare meet my gaze.

I hobbled toward the exit on my crutch.

The cold morning light fell on my back. I still kept my spine straight.

He seemed very uncomfortable.

"Joanna."

He caught up and bent down to pick me up.

I didn't struggle, but I didn't lean against him either. I just let myself be carried quietly, like a piece of luggage.

In the car, he fastened my seatbelt. When his fingers touched me, I pulled away.

Ethan gripped the steering wheel in silence for a long time, then spoke. "Joanna, let's get married."

His tone became firm. "Let's get married."

The car was instantly very quiet.

I turned my head to look at him.

"Didn't you always say marriage was too early?" I said softly. "You said you really liked our current situation."

Ethan's voice was hoarse. "We've been together five years. We'll get married sooner or later. Why not... right now."

I looked at the barely concealed tension in his eyes and suddenly found it amusing.

This expression had appeared on my face constantly over five years.

I'd tested him countless times. He always had reasons to refuse: too busy, evaluation period, let's wait a bit longer.

Now that I didn't care anymore, he was suddenly anxious.

That desperate look was almost like he was trying to forcibly lock me up with a marriage certificate.

I didn't answer.

We rode in silence all the way home. I went upstairs. Ethan sat motionless on the sofa.

My ankle throbbed with dull pain. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes.

Before long, the sound of the door closing and an engine starting came from downstairs.

He went to find Grace.

An expected development. Not worth losing sleep over.

The next day, I called the dance company to request leave.

I'd already submitted my resignation anyway.

Only three days left before I left.

After sleeping, I went downstairs. Grace was sitting there eating pasta Ethan had cooked.

"Morning." Grace smiled at me, her manner like the master of this house.

Ethan came out of the kitchen, his tone ingratiating. "Nice weather today. Why don't the three of us go out for some fresh air?"

I thought about it.

"Okay."

In the park.

Grace held Ethan's arm, chatting about their experiences abroad, laughing and patting his shoulder.

I walked behind on my crutch, looking at the roadside flowers, looking at the clouds in the sky.

No one turned around to tell me to catch up.

I didn't need them to.

When we reached the lake, Grace sat on a bench.

I stood at the lakeshore, watching fallen leaves on the water's surface.

Grace walked over, her voice very soft. "Joanna, if there was danger, who do you think Ethan would save first?"

Before I could respond, the sharp sound of an out-of-control bicycle came from behind.

The bike headed straight toward the two people by the lake.

Grace screamed.

With my foot injury, I had no time to dodge at all.

The bike grazed past me. I lost my balance and fell backward.

In that second of falling, I saw Ethan rush over.

His arms caught Grace securely.

Grace curled up in his embrace.

Then I fell into the icy lake water.

Through the rippling water, I saw two people embracing tightly on the shore.

Grace was buried in Ethan's arms. He held her shoulders tightly.

I kept my eyes open underwater. The cast became heavy with water. My ankle throbbed with a dull ache.

I thought to myself, I won't have any more expectations of Ethan.