12
Once, Julian and I had a good relationship.
When I was a child, my father went out and, in a dramatic turn of events, was kidnapped. He risked his life to save Mrs. Blackwood, Julian’s mother. Mrs. Blackwood, tears streaming down her face, asked him what he wanted as a reward. He weakly murmured, “I have a daughter at home. I worry about her future…”
My father, shrewd his whole life, knew that if this debt were repaid with mere money, it would be forgotten. But if the Blackwood heir married his daughter, then our family’s prosperity would be secured for generations. Mrs. Blackwood understood. Overwhelmed by emotion, she readily agreed: “Very well, Julian will marry your daughter. You are a good man; your daughter must be kind as well.”
But actually, Julian and I had already known each other before that. We lived close by. He always used to pull my hair when he saw me. When I glared at him, anno- yed, he’d just grin and say, “Hungry? I’ll buy you something.”
“You’re so annoying?” I’d snap, then walk away. Julian didn’t mind. Day after day, he’d bring me food. He’d even give me all the little trinkets other girls gave him. I’d say coolly, “I don’t want other people’s discards.” He’d look startled. “Then from now on, I’ll only give you things I bought myself.” As he spoke, he’d gather the other gifts, ready to throw them away. “If you don’t want them, why didn’t you just refuse when they were given to you? Why waste their money?” I’d ask. He’d look hurt.“– But I didn’t want them, and they insisted on giving them. Just like you don’t want me, but I insist on giving you things anyway.” I’d fall silent for a moment, ignoring
him.
Later, when I started school, I barely knew a hundred words. My tutor called me slow. It was Julian who rushed over. “How dare you say that about her! In my eyes, she’s the smartest girl! The best girl!” I just stared. Everyone else was silent. From then on, I started giving him a kinder look.
He was a sweet, clueless rich kid. We walked to and from school together, played together. He’d call me “Ellie–Belle” every day, and give me stuffed animals, saying,
So fuzzy, so cute.”
Until one day, he was pouting. I asked him, “What’s wrong?” He said, “My mom says I have to get married for an alliance. I’m too young!” I comforted him. “That’s fine. It’s a good match.”
“She talks about someone named Ellie–Belle,” he complained, “but can she really be as cute as this Ellie–Belle right in front of me?” I remained silent. “Hmm… actual- ly, my dad was also looking at potential partners for me. Could it be…”
It all clicked. He cried tears of joy. “Holy cow, the universe finally gave me what I wanted!”
Later, as we grew older, my father wouldn’t let me out anymore, but Julian would climb over the back wall to find me. While I did my needlework, he’d quietly prop his
chin on his hand and watch me.
… Until the recent events flooded my mind. Frame by frame, like a dizzying carousel, the images played, carving an indelible scar in my heart. My thoughts slowly returned. In a hazy moment, a single tear fell from my eye. When did such an unhealable wound open between us?
