So, when he was rubbing salt into her wounds, she just endured it, didn’t she?
On the surface, she acted indifferent as if she didn’t care, but in reality... how could she not care? It hurt her.
She had once told him that when he hurt her, it made her feel bad.
Yet, even so, he hurt her many tis, even saying quite hurtful things.
And every ti, she never had a hysterical fight with him, she just chose to endure it silently, like today, enduring it in silence.
He had long known that she endured a lot of criticisms in college; maybe she could disregard those, but the words that he spoke himself, she couldn’t ignore them.
The one who hurt her the most was him.
She’s always been soone without much ambition, soone content with little.
Despite how many tis he hurt her, she chose to forgive him, without even holding a grudge...
Sylvan Cheney frowned, smoking a cigarette.
The smoke veiled his deep-set features, the blueish smoke coiling in the air, dispersing slowly, and in Sylvan Cheney’s eyes were shadows that couldn’t be dispelled.
His shadow, standing alone.
...
That evening, Sylvan Cheney canceled all social engagents and parties, went to a mall, and bought a bouquet of yellow roses wrapped in starry glass paper.
Jasmine Yale was at ho ironing his shirts.
When the door sounded, she knew that Sylvan Cheney had returned.
Turning her head, she saw Sylvan Cheney holding a bouquet of roses.
Under the bright lights, the bouquet of roses was especially beautiful, a bright yet not gaudy yellow, like a fairy of pure elegance, with baby’s breath dotted around the yellow roses.
However, more dazzling than the roses was Sylvan Cheney in his suit.
Jasmine Yale’s gaze lingered on the roses for only a few seconds before looking at him.
"You’re back, and quite early today," Jasmine Yale said with a smile. "The flowers... are they for ?"
"Yes, they’re for you." Sylvan Cheney’s face was solemn, with a bright light in his eyes, and the previous shadows disappeared the mont he saw Jasmine Yale.
"They’re lovely, go ahead and put them on the table first, let finish ironing your shirt." The heavily pregnant Jasmine Yale stood by the ironing board, her actions skillful and smooth.
Sylvan Cheney watched her, his throat moved, and he did not speak for a long mont.
He didn’t put the bouquet down, holding them all the while.
Jasmine Yale swiftly finished ironing the robe he was to wear at night as well.
She didn’t trust the housekeeper with this, and took care of such small matters herself.
When the clothes were ready, she turned and saw Sylvan Cheney still standing there.
She laughed, "Why are you standing there? Watching ? Am I good-looking?"
She helped him hang up the clean clothes.
"Jasmine, the store manager told that yellow roses represent asking for forgiveness." Sylvan Cheney paused, his voice gentle, "I’ve made many mistakes before and said many things I shouldn’t have, I’ve hurt you. I know a bouquet of roses can’t an much, nor do I expect your forgiveness, it rely represents my apology to you."
Holding the roses, he looked at her intently, "Will you accept them?"
Jasmine Yale was montarily stunned, not expecting him to apologize at this mont today.
He had apologized before too, but never so formally like today.
His expression was truly sincere.
Jasmine Yale smiled, stepping forward to take the roses from his hand.
What can you do but forgive?
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