I almost laughed out loud.
That girl that day wore a bright, eye-catching red dress and had long, wavy perms, a look I’d never worn before.
And I didn’t even have a single red dress in my closet.
“Felix Shaw, I clearly called you that day.”
The resentment within me forced me to ask. “And then?” Felix Shaw raised his eyelids. “Do you want me to apologize for my mental illness?”
“Sarah Grant, you knew I had this problem long before we got married.”
Looking at his impassive face, I suddenly felt tired.
Yes, this is all my own fault.
“Okay, I’ll go to the press conference.”
Felix Shaw’s attention wandered, his gaze fixed on my bag.
There was a half-opened aviation magazine.
I followed his gaze and saw that the page was open, a photo of a symphony orchestra performance.
Dozens of people were crowded together, and in the most inconspicuous corner of the photo, sat a girl playing the cello.
It was the girl Felix Shaw had embraced.
The photo was so blurry that her features were barely discernible.
But Felix Shaw, with just one glance, saw her.
It turned out that it wasn’t that he couldn’t recognize women’s faces.
He just couldn’t recognize someone he didn’t love.