Love Like Snow on Fingertips

In the middle of the night, Lucy was jolted awake by a sudden, searing fever.

She tried to speak, but her throat was so raw and hoarse that no sound escaped.

Though Ryan's room was right next door, he hadn't come to check on her once—his attention completely consumed by Ruth.

"Lucy, what's wrong?"

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside. At the sight of her flushed face, his voice softened with concern. "You're burning up."

"I'm taking you to the hospital."

She was about to speak when a pained cry echoed from the other room.

"Ryan... my stomach hurts so much..."

The moment Ryan heard it, his hands—which had just moved to lift her—fell back to his sides.

With every ounce of strength left, Lucy grabbed the hem of his shirt, her eyes pleading.

But after a moment's hesitation, he pulled away.

"I'm sorry, Lucy. Ruth... she's carrying a child. I can't let anything happen to her."

"Wait here. I'll take you to the hospital later."

He turned and left, without a backward glance.

Lying in bed, Lucy felt her tears were so hot they might evaporate before they fell.

Summoning the last of her strength, she dialed 911 for herself, then everything went black.

***

"You're awake?"

Waking to Ryan's sharply defined face, she saw worry in his eyes—not feigned, but it only made her want to laugh bitterly.

Lucy turned her back to him, no longer wanting to see him, yet the dam in her chest had already broken.

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I was just... worried and panicked, so I..."

"Get out. I don't want to see you."

"I'm sorry," Ryan sighed. "My family insists I take care of Ruth and the baby. What choice do I have?"

"Just bear with it a little longer. Once Ruth gives birth, I'll send her away. But for now, think of the family, okay?"

"Ryan, I just want to ask you one thing." She turned back, her eyes aching with heartbreak. "You don't believe me, do you?"

Ryan fell silent, then looked away. "It's in the past now."

*It's in the past now.*

With that answer, Lucy let out a self-mocking laugh.

When she was discharged from the hospital, Ryan didn't come to pick her up.

Returning home, she found him—the man who usually acted like the kitchen was beneath him—now fumbling clumsily to play chef for Ruth.

Even at the height of their love, he had rarely cooked for her.

He claimed to be fastidious, hating the smell of grease, so for years Lucy had indulged him, never letting him near the stove.

In the end, it turned out he just hadn't loved her enough.

"You're back," he said, handing her the ingredients as if it were the most natural thing. "Ruth is craving chicken broth. I don't know how to make it from scratch."

"You make it so well, Lucy. Make it for her, just this once."

"No," she said coldly. "I just got out of the hospital, and you want me to cook for another woman?"

Once again, for Ruth's sake, Ryan's expression darkened.

After all these years together, Lucy knew exactly what that look meant. For her sister's sake—and to protect her stake in the company—she bit her tongue.

She took the ingredients in silence, serving the two of them like a maid.

While making the soup, a splash of scalding broth landed on the back of her hand. She flinched from the pain, but when she turned to see his reaction, she found Ryan feeding a peeled grape to Ruth's lips.

She suddenly remembered: Ryan used to do the same for her.

"My, what have I done to deserve being waited on by Prince Ryan himself?"

Hearing that, he had smiled, his hands never pausing. "As long as it makes Lucy happy, I'd serve you for a lifetime."

And now...

Tears fell unexpectedly into the soup. Would it taste a little salty now, she wondered?

Silently wiping her tears, she picked up a bowl of soup and walked out.