I Took Off My Ring At The Abandoned Station Chapter 09

I Took Off My Ring At The Abandoned Station Chapter 09

Chloe Stevens looked at me and suddenly 

smiled. 

“Ms. Miller, you really have changed.” 

“How so?” 

“You used to carry all your emotions inside, 

never making a scene, but you knew you were hurting. Now, you aren’t hurting anymore. Not because you’re suppressing it, but because it’s truly gone.” 

I picked up the water glass on the table and 

took a sip. 

“Chloe, you know, Grandma Dorothy told me something before she passed.” 

“What was it?” 

“She said, Abby, don’t wrong yourself in this, life. I didn’t understand what that meant back then. I thought it meant not eating. good food or not buying things I liked.” 

Later I realized that truly wronging yourself is keeping an unworthy person in 

your heart for too long.” 

I put down the glass. 

“I took him out. So it doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

Julian Sterling asked me to dinner, and I 

didn’t refuse. 

I had been eating alone for too long; sometimes it’s nice to have someone sitting 

across from you to talk to. 

He chose a Japanese restaurant–small, but 

quiet. 

We were the only ones in the private room. 

He poured tea for me and handed me the 

menu. 

“You order, I’m fine with anything.” 

I ordered a few dishes, and he took the menu 

back to add two more. 

“What did you add?” 

“Sea urchin. Theirs is very fresh, you should 

try it.” 

“I’ve never had sea urchin.” 

“All the more reason to try.” 

When the food arrived, he pushed the sea 

urchin toward me first. 

I looked at the orange delicacy, not knowing 

how to start. 

He smiled, picked up his chopsticks, took a bit, and placed it on the plate in front of me. 

“Just like this, a small bite.” 

I tried it; it was very fresh, with an 

indescribable sweetness. 

“Good?” 

“Yes.” 

He gave me another piece. 

Throughout dinner, he never asked about 

my past. 

He didn’t ask about Nathaniel, the divorce, why I went abroad alone, or why I came back. 

He talked about his work, the books he was reading, and how his cat had gained two pounds recently. 

I listened, occasionally smiling. 

After dinner, he drove me home. When the 

car stopped at my building, he wasn’t in a 

hurry to leave. 

“Abigail.” 

“Yes?” 

“Are you doing anything next weekend? 

There’s an art exhibition I thought you 

might like.” 

“What kind of exhibition?” 

“A Japanese painter, hosted by a friend of mine. It’s not crowded, very peaceful.” 

I thought for a moment: “Sure.” 

He smiled. 

“I’ll pick you up then.” 

“Okay.” 

I got out of the car, walked into the lobby, and looked back. He was still standing by his 

car, watching me. 

I waved, and he nodded. 

Upstairs, I went inside and changed my 

shoes. 

My phone vibrated. A message from him:[ I 

had a great time today. Goodnight.] 

I looked at it for two seconds and typed: 

[ Goodnight.] 

Then I put down my phone and went to 

shower. 

In the mirror, the corners of my mouth were turned up. 

The weekend came, and Julian Sterling picked me up. 

The exhibition was in a private gallery; it 

was indeed quiet, with only a few people. milling about. 

He walked beside me, keeping a distance of about half a step–neither too close nor too far. 

We stopped in front of one painting. 

It showed a woman sitting by a window. The sky outside was gray; the woman wore a white dress and had her head down, holding a flower, with petals scattered all over the floor. 

“What’s this called?” I asked. 

Julian looked at the label: ” <Waiting» .” 

“Waiting,” I repeated the word. 

“What do you think she’s waiting for?” he 

asked. 

I thought about it: “I don’t know. Maybe a person, maybe for the rain to stop, or maybe she isn’t waiting for anything at all, just sitting.” 

“I think she’s waiting for an answer,” he said. 

“What answer?” 

“Whether she’s worthy of being loved.” 

I turned to look at him. 

He wasn’t looking at me, but at the painting. 

“Abigail,” he said, “you are.” 

I used to cry when I heard things like that. 

But not this time.