For a fleeting moment, it felt like time had rewound twenty years to when we still loved each other fiercely.
Back then, we struggled. Isaiah had cut off every opportunity for Charles, trying to make him regret his decision to get a vasectomy. Because of that, he resented me, too.
In this vast, indifferent city, we had slept in a cramped basement, surviving on instant noodles and steamed buns. At our poorest, we couldn't even afford a single sanitary pad.
On the coldest nights, we curled up together in one bed, wearing every piece of clothing we owned, shivering beneath a threadbare blanket.
I had cried back then, too.
I kept telling myself to let go, that if we clung to this life any longer, Charles, whose health was already fragile, would only wither further.
"Charles, let's stop this. Let's get a divorce. Go back and admit your mistake. If you go now, you might even get a warm bowl of chicken soup waiting for you."
He held me tighter, tucking my hands deeper into his clothes, pressing my frozen feet against his body as if trying to shield me from the world itself. His voice trembled between fear and determination.