Early spring snow on the piano keys

A fist closed around my heart and stole my breath.

So even where I slept had been part of her bet with Stephen.

What was I to them? Just a living prop, moved around at their whim?

The live comments exploded.

【??? Separate rooms from the start? Helen isn’t giving Joseph any face at all.】

【This is painful to watch. My idol, an award-winning actor, brought so low.】

【Stop defending him. A guy who starred in a softcore film? Helen not divorcing him is mercy.】

【Exactly. Without this show trying to rehab his image, a disgraced actor like him wouldn’t get screen time.】

I stared at those jagged words, nausea churning inside me.

Three years ago, that so-called “softcore” scene leaked, and my career collapsed overnight.

Everyone called me depraved, filthy. No one knew I’d done that film because Helen lost a bet to Stephen.

The terms were clear: if I refused, Stephen would release photos—photos of Helen, drunk and vulnerable at an investor dinner years ago, when she was desperate for funding.

I had no choice.

Yet Helen never explained. Not a word.

She let my “fall from grace” stand, content to enjoy the peace I’d bought with my reputation.

Without a word, I gathered my blanket and headed for the living room sofa.

It was narrow. At six-foot-one, I had to curl up, bones pressing into the thin cushions.

In the night, a chill seeped through the window cracks. I woke shivering, over and over, each jolt followed by a hacking cough.

Afraid of waking her, I bit my lip hard and swallowed every sound.

In the dark, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, remembering clearly the first time we met.

It was a snowy day, too.

I was the poorest student in the acting department; she, the celebrated belle of directing.

That day, with twenty bucks I’d just earned, I bought two steaming meat buns for the next morning’s breakfast.

Passing the library, I saw her sitting alone on the steps, shivering.

On impulse, I walked over and handed her one of the buns, still warm.

She looked up. Her clear, bright eyes met mine, and something shifted inside me.

Later, I learned she’d fought with her family. Her allowance was cut. She hadn’t eaten all day.

From then on, Helen became part of my life.

I skipped meals to buy her favorite strawberry cake. I trekked across half the city in a snowstorm for a cup of hot soy milk. I tied a handmade red-string bracelet around her wrist.

She’d say, “Joseph, this is so tacky.” But she never took it off.

After graduation, I entered the industry, starting from bit parts.

With her father’s support, she founded her own studio.

I took every role I could, pouring all my earnings into her projects.

She proved herself, winning a Best New Director award with her first film.

That night, clutching the trophy, she laughed and cried in my arms. “Joseph, when I’m a world-famous director, I’ll take care of you!”

I thought we’d stay on that path.

Until Stephen appeared.

He claimed he’d saved Helen’s life during an avalanche.

From that day, everything changed.

Stephen became the center of Helen’s world.

And I—along with our nine years—became worthless.

The pain in my chest sharpened, needling deep.

I knew my time was running out.