His Time Was Never Mine

My boyfriend Ethan Blake was always busy with work.

He set a rule with me that our dates couldn't exceed one hour.

On our fifth anniversary, I went to the restroom during dinner.

When I came back, he'd already paid the bill.

He said impatiently, This date has already gone three minutes overtime. I don't have time to stay with you.

I looked at the unopened cake sitting nearby.

Calmly, I said, "Then I'll take a cab home myself. You don't need to give me a ride."

But the next day, I saw a reminder on his phone.

[Cancel everything. Wait for Madison's call.]

So he did have time. He just didn't want to spend it on me.

In that case, I wouldn't waste my life on him anymore.

Ethan grunted in acknowledgment and turned to leave.

No extra explanation. He didn't even look back at me once.

The waitress approached. "Excuse me, Mr. Blake only paid for his portion."

She paused, pushing another bill in front of me.

"This is yours."

I stared at the numbers on the bill, precise to the decimal point, my fingers slowly curling.

Even our anniversary dinner, he wanted to split.

I swiped my card calmly.

Walking out of the mall, a torrential rain poured down.

The icy rain hammered against me as I stood by the roadside, watching taxis with their "occupied" lights speed past.

On my phone screen, the ride-share app's queue number didn't budge.

I retreated back to the mall lobby and found a corner seat, sitting alone until it got dark.

The rain gradually lessened, and I finally got a ride.

Back at our apartment complex, even the short walk left me completely soaked.

I opened the door in a sorry state. The living room lights were off, pitch black.

Only a box of fresh lychees sat on the dining table.

I found it strange. Ethan had never bought me fruit before and didn't know I liked lychees.

The study door suddenly opened. Ethan said coldly, "Why did you call me earlier?"

"That was my scheduled work time. I told you not to disturb me."

I gripped my phone, the screen still showing the unanswered call from half an hour ago.

The rain had been pouring then. I just wanted to ask if he could bring an umbrella and meet me at the complex entrance.

Now, I only said, "It was nothing."

"Don't do meaningless things like that again." He dropped that line.

His gaze moved to the table.

"Peel the lychees and put them in the fridge."

I asked, "For whom?"

A trace of impatience entered his voice. "A colleague. Why are you asking so many questions?"

A colleague.

Who else besides Madison?

The study door closed again. The living room was dark once more.

I picked up the box of lychees, peeled one, and put it in my own mouth.

I didn't touch any more, left them as they were, and walked into the bathroom.

When I came out after showering, Ethan was on the phone on the balcony.

The door wasn't fully closed. His deliberately lowered voice drifted through the gap, carrying a gentleness and patience I'd never heard before.

"The day after tomorrow morning? I have plans... Yeah, I can cancel them."

"Your car is more important. I'll wait for your call. Let me know when it's fixed."

I leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the floor.

The day after tomorrow morning was our long-scheduled visit to a traveling exhibition by a painter I really loved.

The painter had visited three times. I'd missed every single one.

This time I'd scheduled a month in advance to finally get time with Ethan.

He said he hated unplanned events.

But apparently, he only hated unplanned me.

When Ethan finished his call and returned to the bedroom, he saw several of my clothes draped over the closet door.

They weren't hung neatly. The corners crossed the dividing line he'd set.

He frowned. "Put them away properly. This is messy."

I hummed softly in acknowledgment.

Then I pulled out all the black, white, and gray clothes that matched Ethan's aesthetic and threw them in the trash.

Ethan watched my actions, his face showing no ripples of emotion.

He didn't ask why. He didn't say a word.

He just turned over, his back to me, and went to sleep.

The next day, I woke up burning with fever.

Last night's rain had caught up with me after all.

Ethan was already fully dressed, standing by the bed.

"It's seven fifteen. You didn't prepare breakfast according to plan and disrupted my morning schedule."

My head was splitting. I tried to sit up, but my vision kept going black.

He unlocked his phone screen and tapped on his notes app a few times.

"Your relationship behavior score, minus five points."

I walked out of the bedroom in a daze. On the dining table was his finished breakfast plate.

Fried eggs, toast, milk. The same as his usual.

But there was no plate for me.

In the laundry basket, the shirt and dress pants he'd changed out of yesterday were gone.

But my soaked dress still lay there quietly.

He'd only washed his own clothes.

I forced myself to take a cab to the nearest hospital.

The emergency room was noisy and chaotic. I felt weak all over from the fever.

The doctor prescribed medication and put me on an IV drip. After taking my temperature, she said, "102.5 degrees. We need a family member to stay with you and sign."

I gripped my phone, hesitating for a long time before finally calling Ethan.

The phone rang for ages before someone picked up.

"What is it?"

My voice was hoarse. "I'm at the hospital. I have a fever. The doctor says they need a family member..."

"You've seen my schedule. This morning is completely booked." He cut me off.

"It'll only take a little of your time. Just to sign."

Silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"I can spare forty minutes at most. Twenty minutes round trip from the office to the hospital. Twenty minutes for care."

I closed my eyes and said softly, "Okay."

"Could you buy me a hot water bottle from the hospital convenience store?"

The call ended.

A moment later, my phone buzzed.

It was a link to a delivery app from Ethan.

"You can order one for delivery."

Ten minutes later, Ethan appeared in the ward right on time.

He signed the form, took out his laptop, and started working.

The medication dripped into my body drop by drop. My arm was numb with cold.

Looking at Ethan's tightly pressed lips nearby, I didn't speak. I ordered a hot water bottle.

The nurse came to change the IV and saw my hand, frowning. "Why is it so swollen? Are you allergic?"

Only then did I notice my hand was covered in a large red rash, itchy and painful.

Just then, Ethan's phone alarm went off.

He closed his laptop, didn't even glance at me, stood up, and left.

I instinctively called out, "Ethan, my hand..."

He stopped and looked back at my swollen hand.

"Time's up. I have an important industry conference this afternoon."

Then he turned and walked away.

The nurse, unable to watch anymore, pressed the call button for me.

An elderly woman in the next bed handed me a hot water bottle. "Here, dear, use mine."

The doctor and nurses rushed over, changing my IV and treating the allergic reaction.

I lay alone in the hospital bed, enduring the worst hours.

By evening, the fever finally broke a little.

I leaned against the headboard, mindlessly scrolling through my phone.

On Instagram, Madison had posted several updates that afternoon.

Every post showed Ethan playing with her golden retriever.

In the photos, his face showed a smile, patient and focused.

I looked at the swelling on my hand that still hadn't gone down and the bruises left by the IV.

Then I opened a secondhand trading platform.

I listed the matching smartwatch Ethan had specially customized for me.

That electronic shackle designed to accommodate all his schedules, reminding me every moment what I should be doing.

I didn't need it anymore.

After leaving the hospital, I packed up everything I'd bought according to Ethan's preferences, one by one.

His preferences, the rules he'd set, his whole aestheticall went into boxes.

The apartment was half empty, but I felt an indescribable lightness.

At dawn, when Ethan got up, he didn't find the glass of water at the perfect 113-degree temperature on his nightstand.

Walking into the closet, there was no ironed shirt either.

He habitually checked his watch. "Your slacking today has delayed my morning routine by eight minutes."

I sat at the dining table, eating the pancakes and coffee he'd never allowed me to touch.

Steaming hot, it was a long-missed aroma of real food.

I didn't even look up. "That's your own problem."

Ethan's face darkened. He probably thought I was still throwing a tantrum about our anniversary.

He said nothing more, got his own water and found his own clothes with a cold face, then slammed the door on his way out.

That afternoon, the door lock clicked.

Ethan had brought Madison home.

He had a strong sense of territory and had set a hard rule against letting outsiders into the apartment.

Once my best friend was going through a breakup and came to stay for just one night, and he sent her away on the spot with a cold face.

But now, Madison was wearing my slippers, sitting on my couch as if she owned the place.

She held a box of ice cream.

Cream dripped onto the carpet, leaving large stains.

Ethan saw it. He just walked over and gently handed her a wet wipe.

"Be careful. Don't get it on your hands."

Not a hint of reproach.

But last time when I accidentally spilled a few drops of coffee, he threw away my entire coffee set.

Along with the coffee beans I'd painstakingly collected from all over the country.

I ignored them, continuing to pack my things, putting the last few books into a box.

Madison stood up curiously and walked straight into my studio.

"Wow, you're so talented."

The paint I'd arranged by color system according to Ethan's requirements was now a mess from her handling.

She held a cup of coffee, walking with interest toward my easel.

The next second, her hand tilted.

An entire cup of coffee spilled onto the painting I'd spent six months on.

That was my work. I'd prepared for half a year to enter it in a competition.

Hearing the commotion, Ethan came in. Seeing the mess everywhere, he blamed me first.

"I told you to take proper protective measures."

Then he softly comforted Madison.

"It's just a worthless piece of paper with no commercial value. No big deal if it's ruined."

Looking at the painting, completely disfigured by coffee stains, I felt not even a trace of heartache.

I picked up the painting and stuffed it into the paper shredder in the corner.

The machine roared to life.

I looked at Ethan's shocked face and smiled calmly.

"You're right. Just waste paper. Should've thrown it out long ago."

That evening, Ethan did something rare and apologized to me.

"I didn't mean your painting was garbage," he explained. "I was just trying to comfort Madison."

"Make a list of whatever materials you need to repaint. I'll have someone get them."

How rare. In the past five years, he'd never cared what I lacked or needed for painting.

In fact, he didn't even know what I was painting.

This concern I'd waited so long for finally arrived, but I only found it annoying.

I turned over and refused. "No need."

The next day, I had to pick up my grandmother's belongings.

Ethan had promised to take me, but with Madison around, I didn't expect him to actually go with me.

But Ethan kept reminding me from the moment he woke up.

"We're going to get your grandmother's things later. Don't be late."

He paused and added, "Even if you're late, it's fine. I've cleared my whole morning."

I looked at the inexplicable emotion in his eyes, not understanding what it was.

Guilt? I'd lost more than just one painting over five years. Why bother?

On the way to the watch shop, Ethan's phone rang.

It was Madison.

With tears in her voice, she said the exhibition model she was responsible for had the wrong dimensions and the client was giving her hell on-site. She urgently needed Ethan to come support her.

According to Ethan's rule of never getting involved in other people's basic mistakes, he should have refused.

Just like he'd refused to bring me my admission ticket, causing me to miss the research institute exam.

But I knew. The caller was Madison.

Sure enough, without a moment's hesitation, Ethan made an illegal U-turn right on the highway bridge.

Sharp honking erupted behind us.

I watched the route on the GPS instantly veer off course and reminded him, "The watch shop closes at five."

His voice was ice cold.

"A broken watch won't disappear if you pick it up late, but Madison's project involves millions in company profits."

"Your emotional outbursts are seriously interfering with my efficiency. Can't you tell which is more important?"

The car stopped outside the exhibition hall.

The sky had darkened at some point, and rain began to fall.

Ethan unbuckled his seatbelt. "Wait in the car. I'll be quick. I'll take you to get the watch as soon as I'm done."

With that, he locked the car and walked toward Madison, who was waiting anxiously at the entrance.

I watched the time on the dashboard tick by, second by second.

Forty-five minutes passed.

Two hours passed.

The sky grew dark.

Through the blurred rain, I could see Ethan on the second floor by the floor-to-ceiling windows, bent over, patiently helping Madison revise blueprints.

On the table sat an elegant dessert box he'd specially ordered for Madison.

But in the car, there wasn't even a bottle of water.

That alarm of his that always went off on time, reminding him which step of his schedule to proceed with

For Madison, he'd turned it off too.

His phone was completely silenced. No one could disturb their time.

Much less my calls.

The sky turned completely dark.

Seven whole hours.

The watch shop owner sent a final message: [We've already closed. I'll keep your things for now, but I'm leaving town tomorrow.]