The Night I Left, He Turned Grey

Leila jerked back quickly, only scalding her thumb a little.

Nathaniel Cole pulled open the kitchen door and went inside. Leila had already set down the kettle. She squeezed past him, found the first-aid kit, and sat on the sofa. Taking off her sock, she began applying burn cream.

She was remarkably adept.

Her expression didn’t even flicker.

Nathaniel Cole stood before her, his brow furrowed slightly.

He bent down, picked up his phone, and sent a message to Ms. Neville.

*She’s too independent. I feel useless.*

Startled by the message from her son, Ms. Neville shot upright so fast that the face mask she was wearing slipped right off.

It had been years since her son had confided in her—not since he was fifteen or sixteen, and especially not about his personal relationships.

Ms. Neville watched as another message from her son came in, describing how Leila had burned herself with the boiling water and then treated the wound on her own.

She smiled.

’So her son had his moments of feeling useless, too.’

*Nathaniel, you need to channel that same competitive spirit you’ve had since you were a kid, the one where you fought for everything you wanted.*

*But there’s one thing Mom has to say: can you rein it in a little? They’re not divorced yet! Not divorced!*

Nathaniel Cole: *It’s a done deal.*

According to what Cherry Cole had told him, Sean Sinclair’s father had connections to get the divorce certificate processed. Even if the Sinclair Family backed out now and refused to get it, he would step in and force it through.

Nathaniel Cole put down his phone, just as he saw Leila cutting a piece of gauze with a pair of scissors.

"Let me." Without another word, he snatched the square gauze pad from Leila’s hand, knelt in front of her, and gently wrapped her thumb. He tore off a strip of medical tape and secured it.

"Thank you, President Cole." Leila slipped her shoe back on.

Nathaniel Cole looked up, meeting her placid eyes, and said coolly, "I was afraid I wouldn’t have anyone to pour my water."

"I’ll go now." Leila had just started to get up when his hands on her shoulders forcefully pushed her back down onto the sofa.

Nathaniel Cole turned and went to the kitchen. He came back out with the kettle, a cup, and a plastic jar.

Meeting Leila’s questioning gaze, he added, "I don’t exploit my employees to the point of making them pour my water while they’re injured."

Leila: "..."

’Alright, then.’

’He’s so contradictory.’

Nathaniel Cole looked at the plastic jar. As he twisted the red lid, he remarked, "Where’d this thing come from? It’s so ugly."

"The orphanage." Leila reached out and snatched the jar, cradling it in her arms like a treasure.

Nathaniel Cole realized he’d said the wrong thing. His fingers curled slightly before he reached to take the jar back from her.

His broad hand covered the entire jar, but with Leila clutching it with both of hers, he failed to move it on his first try.

He only succeeded on the second attempt.

He opened it, and a fragrant aroma wafted out.

"Smells nice," Nathaniel Cole said as he poured the honeysuckle into the cup.

Leila grudgingly forgave his earlier comment. She leaned forward and nodded. "Pour a little less. This is all I get for the year."

Nathaniel Cole’s hand froze.

The fragrance of the honeysuckle grew even richer as the boiling water was poured over it.

"Did your matron make this for you?"

"And the other children at the orphanage." Leila picked up the cup. The warmth spread through her hands, and watching the honeysuckle flowers float on the surface, her heart warmed as well.

"Honeysuckle blooms twice a year, once in April and May, and again in the fall. The matron would take us all to pick it. Honeysuckle is used in traditional Chinese medicine, so we could sell it. Back then, the fresh flowers sold for a few yuan a pound, and the dried ones could fetch twenty yuan a pound."

This was the first time Nathaniel Cole had heard Leila speak of her past. His breathing grew shallow, afraid that any noise would startle her into silence.

"The honeysuckle vines grew in somewhat dangerous places—either on hillsides or along the edges of fields. They need to wrap around other branches to grow, so they were often hard to reach."

Her voice was always unhurried, like a spring stream just freed from the winter ice—trickling, still carrying a trace of chill, but warmed by the spring sun.

Nathaniel Cole savored the honeysuckle-infused water.

"After picking them, you have to steam them—boiling doesn’t work. Once they’re steamed, you spread them out on a round winnowing basket to dry in the sun. That way, the honeysuckle keeps its original color, looks good for selling, and retains its medicinal properties."

"How much does a pound of honeysuckle weigh after it’s dried?" Nathaniel Cole asked, tilting his head.

’Leila was a little surprised he’d ask that. It meant he was actually listening.’

In the past, whenever she told Sean Sinclair these stories, he would interrupt her with a pitying look and say that the hard days were over.

’But she never thought her childhood was a hardship.’

’For her, those were beautiful childhood memories.’

’And that childhood was what had shaped her.’

"Only a few ounces. Not even half a pound." Leila smiled faintly, pressing her lips together. "It shouldn’t be too hot now, President Cole. You can drink it."

"Mm." Nathaniel Cole took a sip before asking, "Does the orphanage still pick honeysuckle to sell?"

"No, not anymore. No one buys from us now. There are specialized honeysuckle farms, and the traditional medicine halls all buy from them." Perhaps it was the "cooling" properties of the honeysuckle, but Leila’s mood had improved considerably. It had been a long time since she’d had someone to talk to about these things, so she added, "Actually, we used to sell sweet wormwood, too, but it was very cheap."

She didn’t say any more after that.

"That’s it?" Nathaniel Cole seemed a bit disappointed it was over.

Leila said, "I’ve said too much."

"I don’t think so." Nathaniel Cole drained his cup and refilled it. "Keep talking. About the sweet wormwood."

Leila was at a loss for words. "...President Cole, this isn’t a teahouse, and I’m not a storyteller."

DING-DONG.

Someone was ringing the doorbell.

Leila got up and looked at the video panel by the door.

"Excuse me, is this Miss Jennings in apartment nine? You have a takeout delivery."

Nathaniel Cole said, "Tell the property manager to bring it up."

Leila did as he said.

Soon, the property manager arrived, carrying two bags of takeout.

Leila took the bags and looked back at Nathaniel Cole. Seeing that he showed no signs of leaving, she asked, "President Cole, have you eaten?"

"No." And just like that, Nathaniel Cole stayed for dinner.

While they were eating, Leila glanced at her phone. The message from Sean Sinclair said that if she didn’t reply, he wouldn’t leave his spot outside The Thorne Residence.

’What a public nuisance.’

Leila used her new number to send a message to Sarah Lynch, telling her Sean’s location.

Sarah Lynch replied, asking who it was.

Leila didn’t answer, simply continuing to eat.

"You cooked a meal for Cherry Cole last time?" Nathaniel Cole suddenly asked.

"I’d asked Cherry for a favor."

"I’ve helped you twice." Nathaniel Cole left the statement hanging in the air, its meaning obvious.

Leila nodded. "What would you like to eat, President Cole?"

Nathaniel Cole: "You decide."

Leila nodded again.

After dinner, Nathaniel Cole had no more excuses to stay and left of his own accord.

On the way, he changed the contact name for his dear mother, Ms. Neville, to: Strategist.

...

When Sarah Lynch found Sean Sinclair, he was sitting in the driver’s seat, smoking.

"Sean?" Sarah Lynch opened the car door and slid in. "Where’s your Bentley?"

"Wrecked." Sean Sinclair’s gaze remained fixed in the direction of The Thorne Residence.

Sarah Lynch was shocked. "When did that happen?"

"This evening." Nathaniel Cole had cut off his car and taken Leila away from him.

He flicked the ash from his cigarette.

Sarah Lynch frowned. "When did you pick up smoking?"

"Around the time you left." Sean Sinclair finished speaking and stared at the cigarette in his hand.

’But...’

’Leila hated the smell of smoke. After they got married, he seemed to recall that he’d never smoked again.’