Julian Reed and I were childhood sweethearts. I had a stepfather, and he had a stepmother. We depended on each other as we grew up. He said he liked to wander, so I wandered with him. I thought we would be together forever. Until, in that dilapidated rental apartment, I saw Julian shirtless with my own eyes, bending down to pick up another woman's underwear. I asked him why. He didn't answer, just told the woman to get dressed and leave. After a long time, he said he wanted freedom. And I was his biggest lack of freedom. The day he left, I gave him a kite. I said, "I wish you freedom." 1 I had imagined the scene of my reunion with Julian countless times. But I never expected it to happen under these circumstances. The hospital called me using Julian's phone, saying he had been in a car accident and asked if I could come. Only then did I learn that Julian had returned to the city at some point. In the bustling metropolis, the streets were still busy even in the early hours of the morning. I rushed to the hospital, asked for Julian's bed number, and hurried over. In a not-so-spacious single room, a woman with a good figure stood by the bed with her back to me, her tone coquettish: "Julian, I was the first to rush over to visit you. Aren't I good to you?" "Yeah, you're the best to me." The familiar voice rang out. I stood frozen on the spot, blinking, and withdrew the hand that was about to push the door open. Julian and I hadn't been in touch for a few years. The breakup was heart-wrenching back then, but time has always been a healing medicine. Now when I think of him, my emotions rarely fluctuate. But hearing that familiar voice suddenly, I realized that maybe it wasn't that I didn't love him anymore, but that the feelings were too heavy, forcibly sealed away by me. I didn't dare enter the ward. I asked the nurse for Julian's hospitalization number and paid his fees. After leaving the hospital, I parked my car on the roadside and smoked for a long time. I had been a good student and a good girl since childhood. Smoking was the only bad habit I inherited from Julian, learned only after breaking up with him. Work pressure has increased over the years, and so has my addiction to smoking. After finishing half a pack, my mind wasn't any clearer. Instead, I choked on the last puff and coughed violently. How pathetic. I leaned against the steering wheel and smiled bitterly. Logically, I should have appeared in front of Julian looking glamorous, saying "Long time no see" casually. But I didn't even dare to look at him with my own eyes. Just hearing his voice made me flee in panic. Maybe I am a bit cheap, loving nothing more than offering my sincere heart to be trampled on. 2 I secretly visited Julian a few more times later and asked his attending physician about his condition. Julian's ward was lively. No matter when I went, there was always someone by his bed, men or women, chattering away. This was expected. Julian had been popular since childhood. Wherever he went, people would soon gather around him in a circle. He had always been the center of attention. The last time I went to the attending physician, the doctor rubbed his temples with a headache: "Actually, the patient in Bed 2 isn't seriously injured, just a minor fracture and a mild concussion. He's recovering very well. "I know you care about him, but can you send a representative to ask about his condition? Otherwise, I have to repeat the same thing five, six, seven, eight times a day. Isn't it affecting other patients' families consulting about conditions?" I didn't dare say I wasn't actually a family member, so I could only apologize repeatedly and back out of the doctor's office. Then I made eye contact with Julian, who was walking in the corridor. Three people were with him: one holding the IV drip, one supporting his arm, and another following leisurely. It looked quite like stars surrounding the moon. I also heard Julian say with disdain: "I'm injured, not crippled. Can you let go of me? I can walk by myself!" As soon as he finished speaking, he saw me. I only hated that the hospital corridor was too wide, leaving my panic and awkwardness nowhere to hide. Standing there for a while, I finally spoke first: "Long time no see." "Julian, who's this?" Julian looked at me, his expression indifferent: "Someone from my hometown." "Looking so affectionate, I thought it was your ex-girlfriend." Julian and I had depended on each other for over twenty years. I wore his only down jacket; he wore my only scarf. We shared a plate of egg fried rice and slept under the same quilt. Now, we were just people from the same hometown. I clutched my phone tightly and turned to leave. Julian stopped me: "Wait." He asked if I had paid his hospitalization fees. "I saw the call log with you on my phone. The hospital called you, right?" Julian said. "Are you still using that bank card? I'll transfer it directly to you." "No need." I refused. "If anything, I should transfer money to you." Julian paused. "I spent so much of your money back then, I feel quite embarrassed. Give me a card number, I'll pay you back." Hearing this, Julian's friend laughed: "Thinking of paying back after so many years? So insincere? How much interest do you plan to give?" Julian glared at that person, his expression cold. "Ignore him." Julian said, "No need to pay back." I scratched my head and said, "I have to pay it back." I never had a psychological burden using Julian's money before. I accepted everything he bought me as a matter of course. At that time, I felt we were family. His money was mine, and when I made money later, it would naturally be his. But since we've separated, financial dealings should be settled clearly. 3 Julian didn't give me his card number, but I still went to the bank to print a statement. The next day, I gathered my courage and went to the hospital with the bank card. But Julian's ward was empty. Actually, I knew Julian wouldn't accept it. I just wanted an excuse to see him again. But he didn't leave me a single chance. Once he discovered my presence, he vanished without a trace. Sometimes I couldn't help wondering what I did wrong. I never threw tantrums or made scenes with him. Just how much did he hate me to avoid me like the plague? "Compared to manipulative scumbag women, men actually hate submissive love-brains more. Like a plaster you can't shake off, clingy and disgusting." In the bar, my friend downed her cocktail in one gulp and poked my forehead: "Talking about you, love-brain! "Sometimes I really want to dissect your brain to see its structure. How can you be so devoted and unrepentant to a man rotten to the core!" I held my glass and refuted her seriously: "First, I'm not a love-brain. Except for Julian, I've never loved another man in my life. Second, Julian isn't a rotten person. He's especially good." My friend rolled her eyes in disgust: "Seriously, I thought after so many years you'd at least sober up a bit. Didn't expect you haven't changed at all. Hopeless. Suggest burying you alive." I smiled and stopped refuting her. Every friend of mine has scolded me for not being clear-headed. I also explained to every friend that I'm not unclear-headed; I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm not a love-brain. Julian was really, really good to me before. "Every love-brain says that. But look at what Julian did? Cheated, two-timed, hooked up with another woman in your rented apartment, blocked your number. You begged him to reconcile, waited at the bar entrance for a whole week, and he didn't even show his face." "You don't understand. Without Julian, not only would I not have gone to college, I wouldn't even be alive today." I downed half a bottle of wine. My alcohol tolerance has grown over the years, but mixing red, white, and beer tonight made me a bit tipsy. I lay on the bar counter, pulling my friend's arm and pointing at the male dancers dancing hotly in the center of the dance floor: "My tuition and living expenses for four years of college were earned by Julian dancing night after night like that. "He could earn six thousand a month back then. Five hundred for rent, five hundred for living expenses, and the rest was spent on me. "He actually got into college, but my parents didn't want to pay for my education. Julian said, anyway, the college he got into wasn't good, so he wouldn't study. He went to work to support me. "After college graduation, my parents wanted me to marry someone for the dowry. Julian borrowed from all his friends to gather the dowry money. "So I am Julian's wife. He paid the dowry; I'm going to marry him." The music was still noisy, but my friend seemed drunk, lying beside me without a word. I was quiet for a long time, then said: "So, actually, it's normal for Julian to want to leave. I, this burden, dragged him down for too long." 4 My friend was drunk unconscious. I downed the last half bottle of wine and scanned the code to pay. When I stood up, my gaze accidentally swept across the bar entrance, and my pupils dilated instantly. It was Julian! He wore a low-key black hoodie and a mask, but I still recognized him at a glance. He didn't see me and walked straight to a lively booth. Someone cleared the center seat for him to sit. I saw Julian take off his mask and casually accept a beer handed to him. A young woman leaned close to Julian with a smile, saying something to him. Julian nodded absently, responding casually. Before, I never got jealous. I was too certain. I felt nothing and no one could separate Julian and me. I knew Julian's charm clearly, but was also incredibly confident in his loyalty to me. When did it start? The fact that Julian didn't love me anymore. I still remember after Julian said he wanted to break up, he never returned to the rental apartment. I went to the bar where he worked to find him, called every friend of his, even ran to their homes asking if they knew where Julian went. I sent him many messages, wanting to ask what went wrong with our relationship, if we could talk properly, and I would change whatever needed changing. I said I didn't mind him playing with other girls, asked him not to be angry. Later, I only worried about his safety. I said he didn't need to reply to me, just reply once to let me know he was safe. Finally, I really had no choice. At 3 AM at the bar entrance, I sat on the steps cold all over, holding the phone with both hands, typing the message word by word with stiff fingers. [I agree to break up. Go home, let's deal with the apartment.] Ten minutes later, Julian appeared beside me. So he had been there all along. Standing not too near nor too far, looking at me coldly. At that moment, I felt as if I had never known him. Julian rented that apartment. He said he would leave soon and had prepaid three months' rent. I could continue to live there or discuss ending the lease with the landlord. He left very decisively. When leaving, he just carried a black backpack containing his wallet and ID. He took nothing else. I walked him downstairs, still wearing the couple pajamas we bought together at the wholesale market. I handed him a small kite charm and said with a smile, "I wish you freedom." Julian, do you feel free enough now?
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