A Love That Ended in Blood

After a long silence, Edith bit her lip, her voice trembling as she choked out, "I just can’t compare to her, can I?"

Earl’s gaze lingered on Edith by the window, deep and unreadable. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

The room was silent, save for the sound of Edith’s muffled sobs.

He didn’t respond.

Edith buried her face in the quilt, showing him nothing but a lonely, retreating back.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Earl tossed a shirt onto the bed and walked out of the room without a hint of hesitation.

Before leaving, he spoke, his tone fainted but firm.

"Edith, I raised you for ten years after your parents left."

"I didn’t do it so you could learn to degrade yourself or act without shame like this."

Her tears soaked into the shirt he had thrown.

Degrade herself? Act without shame?

Earl… what am I to you?

The next morning, when Edith woke up, Earl had already left for the office.

A light drizzle fell outside, tapping softly against the windows.

On the dining table, a note awaited her in his familiar handwriting:

The milk is warm; drink it. Lunch is in the pot. The aunt will come by to wash the clothes.

He pretended nothing had happened, just like the past seven times.

Edith sneered bitterly at herself. She would be nineteen soon, not nine.

For ten years, he had been leaving notes like this, treating her as though she would never grow up.

Still, she obediently drank the milk and sent him an Instagram message: I’m done.

His reply was instant: You have a class at 1:30 PM. Don’t forget to go to school.

Earl had chosen Edith’s university—a ten-minute walk from home. He had refused to let her live on campus.

Her life had revolved around this house for as long as she could remember, her only excursions being to attend classes.

With her toothbrush in her mouth, she sent another message: Brother, let’s go to that new chicken wing place near the house tonight. It’s raining.

By the sink, her skincare products stood beside his facial cleanser. Their toothbrushes—matching electric ones, different only in style—rested side by side.

The pink rabbit-themed mouthwash cup was a set she had picked, and though he had grumbled about it, he used it anyway.

Earl… you say you can’t love me, yet our lives are so intertwined.

What about all the unspoken indulgence, the quiet doting, even the moments of tenderness?

Edith lifted her gaze to the mirror. The girl staring back had delicate eyebrows, eyes that seemed to hold secrets, and beauty as ephemeral as smoke and dreams. Yet, the faint vulnerability in her gaze always seemed to awaken a man’s instinct to protect.

That face—flawless and enchanting—had been plastered on the university’s confession wall the very first day she arrived. Everyone agreed: Edith was the most beautiful freshman at A University.

A notification from Earl lit up her phone: Another day. Today is Valentine’s Day—I promised to have dinner with Edith.

With a loud crack, the mirror shattered.

Edith again. It’s always her.

Earl hadn’t had dinner with Edith in a long time.

Edith feared rainy nights; her mother had died on one. Earl had once promised her that unless there was an unavoidable obligation, he would always come home on rainy nights to have dinner with her.

But Edith had broken promises over and over again.

Liar. They’re all liars.

Her knuckles brushed against the jagged fragments, sharp edges slicing into her skin. Blood began to drip onto the cold tiles.

Edith wiped her face, smearing blood across her cheeks, and then sat amidst the broken shards. She raised her injured hand, snapped a photo, and sent it to Earl.

She lay down on the icy ground, her phone glowing faintly in the corner of her vision as the screen lit up and dimmed.

Within half an hour, hurried footsteps echoed outside the door.

Earl burst in, his voice laced with panic. "Edith, what happened? Why are you bleeding?"

Edith remained on the floor, surrounded by the mess. She didn’t speak. She didn’t look at him. Tears streamed silently down her face.

With ease, Earl scooped her into his strong arms. His voice was exasperated but soft as he sighed, "You’re really made of water—always crying, aren’t you?"