The Night I Left, He Turned Grey

"Yeah, a coincidence of names," Sean said flatly. "She’s just an ordinary office clerk. But it’s an honor for her to share a name with someone on your project, Sarah."

"It should be," Sarah said with a sweet smile. "The Leila Jennings on our project is really professional and skilled."

Indeed—so professional and skilled that Sarah deeply resented her. That woman wouldn’t let her anywhere near the core of the project, even though she was the lead.

And, Sarah thought, all women named Leila Jennings disgusted her.

Leila looked straight at Sarah and asked, "May I ask, Ms. Lynch, what project are you working on?"

Before Sarah could answer, Sean cut in with a dismissive tone. "Stop asking about things you don’t understand. It’s a classified national project. Not something that can be shared."

"If it’s so classified, then how do you all know about it?" Leila asked coldly.

Sarah was slightly taken aback and shot Leila a strange look before turning to Sean. "Your wife is funny."

Sean frowned and snapped at Leila, "I told you not to ask questions about things you don’t understand."

Leila suddenly felt a sting in her heart, and she had to fight back tears. Sean wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes were locked on Sarah.

Sarah flashed a triumphant smirk but forced it into a gentle smile the next second, pivoting to another topic. "Sean, I thought you were joking when you said you were getting married."

Her tone carried a hint of bitterness that made Sean freeze. They held each other’s gaze quietly, and the air between them grew thick with tension.

Then Sean replied, "I wasn’t joking." Another silence followed.

Sarah said in a vague, wistful tone, "I’m sorry I missed it."

By this point, Leila could see that Sean’s hands, hanging at his sides, were trembling slightly.

"Please, Mrs. Sinclair, don’t get the wrong idea," Sarah continued, her eyes fixed on Leila—whom she clearly dismissed, with her cheap off-the-rack clothes and plain, unstyled appearance. "What I mean is that I missed your wedding when Sean called. I thought he was joking with me."

That reminded Leila of some small, odd details from back when she married Sean. She had found them peculiar at the time but couldn’t explain them.

Their wedding had been small and private—only Sean’s closest friends and the Sinclair family were there. Despite that, Sean had spent the whole night drinking with them and didn’t stumble back to their room until late. He was incredibly drunk. The moment he pushed the door open, he collapsed to the floor, one hand clutching a liquor bottle, the other gripping his phone. It was hard to read his expression through those bloodshot eyes. He clenched his fist for a long moment before releasing it.

When Leila approached him, she could see the tears in his eyes. But Sean just flung the phone aside and pulled her into his arms, saying, "I’m just so happy that we’re married!"

It was a bitter smile. And as she thought back, Leila realized that Sean must have called Sarah at that moment, trying to provoke her with news of the wedding.

So that was why she was here. That was the real reason Sean had married her.

Leila felt like laughing. A bitter taste rose in her throat.

When the group later gathered in Cecilia’s hospital room, Cecilia started by tearfully complaining to her parents and brother. But when she spotted Sarah among them, she burst out in delight. "Sarah!"

"Cecilia, it’s been a long time." Sarah bent down and gently pinched her cheek.

Cecilia broke into an even wider smile. Though Cecilia frequently threw tantrums and sulked around her brother, this was the first time Leila had ever seen her so docile and affectionate.

Yet that still didn’t stop Cecilia from ordering Leila around. "Hey, Leila, peel an apple for me."

"Let me," Sarah said, smiling as she picked up an apple and a fruit knife from the table. But just as she placed the apple in her hand, someone caught her wrist.

It was Sean. "Don’t spoil her. Your hands aren’t made for this kind of work."

"Exactly!" Cecilia chimed in. "Sarah, your hands are for experiments and data, not rough chores. Leila can do it. She’s good at that stuff."

Sarah looked at Sean and asked, "Is that okay?"

Sean pushed the entire fruit bowl toward Leila and said, "It’s fine. Leila may not have any career achievements, but she’s great at household chores like peeling and cutting fruit. She can even carve a flower out of them."

Leila hadn’t always been good at such things. Sean never liked fruit, but it was healthy and necessary for him, so she’d had to get creative to make him eat it. She remembered him saying, "I really don’t like fruit. Unless you can carve a flower out of it."

She’d taken him seriously and started watching tutorials, learning how to carve and arrange fruit beautifully.

Yet those skills, picked up out of love, were now just "cheap work" in Sean’s eyes.

As Leila thought about that, she picked up an apple from the table, rubbed it clean, and took a bite without peeling. It was crisp, and as the sweet juice hit her throat, she felt the bitterness in her heart ease just a little. "Sorry, my hands are full. Ms. Lynch can do it if she wants to."

Sean glared at Leila, his brow deeply furrowed. For some reason, Leila had been acting rebellious the past couple of days. What had gotten into her?

Leila kept chewing her apple as she spoke under their displeased glares. "The victim’s family is still waiting for compensation. Your parents claimed I’m in charge of your money, but as you all know, I barely see anything from you except the $417 I get monthly. So you’d better handle this yourself."

Her cold tone made Sean’s brow twitch.

Sarah’s smile froze for a moment, then she said, "Well, since Cecilia is doing fine, I’ll take my leave."

"I’ll walk you out," Sean said instantly, though he felt a flicker of awkwardness at showing so much attention to another woman in front of his wife. He glanced uncomfortably at Leila and handed her a bank card. "You go take care of the compensation."

"My hands are full," Leila said, holding the apple in one hand and clutching her bag with the other, stepping back with a distant look.

Sean found that annoying. Leila wasn’t behaving—she was slipping out of control! But he couldn’t lose his temper now. Sarah was here, and she was easily unsettled. He couldn’t let her feel uncomfortable.

"Fine. I’ll go."

"I’ll go with you, Sean," Sarah said.

"Okay."

As the two of them left, Leila took her leave as well, ignoring the glares from the rest of the Sinclairs.

...

A cold autumn breeze blew by.

As if fate itself were playing a cruel joke, Leila saw them again at the entrance of her apartment complex. They stood close together, sharing a lingering farewell.

Sarah stood slightly to the side, looking up at the tall, handsome man before her. "Sean, you don’t need to walk me upstairs. You should go back. Your wife seemed upset tonight. You should go and cheer her up."

Sean frowned. "We live in the same complex. It won’t take long to get home. It’s getting late—I’d worry if I didn’t see you safely inside."

"Sean, you’re a married man. This isn’t appropriate." Sarah deliberately took a small step back.

Leila felt sick hearing that. Sarah had been here for half a month already, chauffeured everywhere by Sean. Did she only now remember what was appropriate?

Sarah continued, "Your wife is a good woman. At least she takes very good care of you. Unlike me... I’ve always been the one you had to take care of."

"There’s no comparison between the two of you," Sean replied, feeling a flicker of impatience as he thought of Leila’s recent strange behavior. "She’s just a housewife—not a match for you. Let’s not talk about her. I’ll walk you home."

"You really don’t have to," Sarah said gently. "It wouldn’t be good if your wife found out. But... there’s something I’ve always wondered. You’ve been married for four years. Don’t you have any children?"

That question had been asked of Leila before. She had once wanted a child with Sean, too. The director of the orphanage had told her that once she had a husband and a child of her own, she would finally have a real family that truly belonged to her.

But every time their embrace lasted more than a moment, Sean would pull away. He always had an excuse—work the next day, or that he didn’t like children.

And Leila, caught between her research work, preparing his meals, managing his daily life, caring for his parents’ needs, and dealing with the trouble Cecilia stirred up every few days, had her days completely full. There was little space left for anything else, let alone physical intimacy.

Sometimes, she wondered what it might be like—the kind of closeness she read about in novels, where husband and wife became inseparable. But she never acted on those thoughts against her husband’s wishes.

She had grown up in an orphanage. To her, as long as the person she loved was by her side and she was no longer alone, that was enough. Whether they were deeply intimate or simply coexisting didn’t seem to matter.

If Sean said no, that was the end of it. But it turned out that Sean didn’t want a child—he just didn’t want one with her.

"No," Sean replied.

Sarah tilted her head slightly. "Why not?"

Sean frowned. "No reason."

"I see." A hint of disappointment crept into Sarah’s voice, followed by a small, bitter smile. "I thought maybe you still remembered that old joke between us."

"What?" Sean looked at her.

"You once said you didn’t like children... unless you had them with me." She met his gaze, smiling faintly.

Sean fell silent.

"Oh dear, why did I bring that up? You’re a married man now. You should go back soon, or Leila will start having doubts. She’s not like me—I have my career. She only has you. Women like her are very sensitive. They get the wrong ideas easily."

Sean didn’t insist on walking Sarah to her door this time. Sarah had deliberately slowed her pace, but when she realized he truly wasn’t following, the smile on her face faded almost instantly.

So even now... a part of Sean still cared about that unremarkable wife of his.

...

Sean returned to the ward, only to find Leila gone.

"Where’s Leila?" he asked, walking in and glancing at Cecilia, who was lazily being fed by their parents while lying in bed.

"She left right after you did. Probably felt outclassed when she saw how outstanding, beautiful, and refined Sarah is. She must’ve gone somewhere to hide." Cecilia’s eyes suddenly lit up. "Sean, now that Sarah’s back, why don’t you just divorce Leila? From the way Sarah spoke, I can tell she still has feelings for you. I doubt she’d even care if you were divorced."

"Sarah grew up wealthy and refined. She’d never be like Leila, clinging to your money but always acting stingy, hunting for bargains everywhere. Oh, right, Sean—you promised to pay for my study abroad, didn’t you?"

"Cecilia, Leila is your sister-in-law. Being frugal is just being responsible with the household money. Don’t talk about her like that." Sean looked tired as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted to say more, but paused.

There were things he couldn’t explain. Eighty percent of his income had gone to Sarah over the years to fund her research.

Now that Sarah was back in the country and had landed a major national project, she likely wouldn’t need funding anymore, with a promising future like that. From this point on, what he earned could finally go to himself and his family. So he’d better keep quiet and not explain anything now.

It might give his parents the wrong impression of Sarah. Besides, Sarah was always so sensitive. She didn’t like conflict, especially with the family elders.

"Mom, Dad, you should both head home and get some rest. I’ll have a private nurse assigned to Cecilia."

"No need for that," Loretta said, waving a dismissive hand. "We’d rather stay here with her. You go on home. And make sure you keep in touch with Sarah—reach out to her more often. Show her a little extra consideration. It’ll only work in your favor, trust me."

"I know," Sean said flatly, already turning toward the door.

...

When Sean finally walked through the front door, Leila had just stepped out of the shower. She hadn’t even reached for her robe yet—she was still wearing nothing but a thin, damp slip dress. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, beading onto the flimsy fabric and leaving dark, translucent patches that clung to the curves of her body.

For a moment, Sean stopped in his tracks. His eyes traced the outline of her figure, lingering a beat longer than he intended.

"Hey, Leila..."