He knew Chloe had studied design in college, but he had zero recollection of her having any interest in ceramics. In his vague memories, she might have mentioned wanting to learn something new once or twice, but he had always been busy or dismissed it offhandedly with a "Sure, sign up for a class if you like." Never taking it to heart. So, she hadn't left on an impulse.
She had planned her departure. She had even mapped out her future life using her own hard-earned money to master a craft he knew nothing about and perhaps had never acknowledged. That realization caused him a far deeper, duller pain than her simple departure. He realized he didn't know this woman he had shared a bed with for 3 years at all.
Her passions, her dreams, where her savings went, the unspoken feelings behind her silences, he was completely clueless. "Book me the earliest flight to Riverbend." Ethan shut his laptop and stood up. He had to see her right now, immediately.
"Mr. Vance, tomorrow morning's final merger negotiation with Apex Tech, postpone it." He interrupted Leo, his voice leaving no room for argument.
After a flight and a long car ride, a travel-worn Ethan finally stood at the entrance of Seven Clouds Lodge. It was late afternoon. The ancient town was bathed in the soft glow of dusk. With cobblestone paths, winding canals, and small bridges, it felt as though time itself had slowed down here.
The lodge owner, a warm middle-aged woman, blinked at Ethan's tailored suit and intense aura. "Who are you looking for?" "I'm looking for Chloe Shen, or Chloe. She's staying here."
Ethan kept his tone as calm as possible. "Oh, Ms. Shen." The landlady nodded in recognition, then hesitated. "She spends her days studying pottery over at Nie En Studio, and doesn't come back until evening.
But, sir, who are you to her?" "I'm her husband." Saying those three words brought an odd ache to Ethan's chest. The landlady sized him up with a subtle, complex gaze, then pointed down the street.
"Nie En Studio is right down by the river ahead, less than a 10-minute walk. Though, Ms. Shen seems to really enjoy her life here." "Thank you."
Ethan cut her off before she could finish, turning to stride quickly in the direction she had pointed. As he drew nearer to Nie En Studio, the distinct scent of damp clay grew stronger in the air. It was a rustic, traditional workshop with a small courtyard. Its wooden front gate swung wide open.
From inside came the soft hum of a spinning potter's wheel and faint, soothing ambient music. Ethan halted outside the gate. There, beneath an old locust tree in the courtyard, Chloe sat with her back to the entrance at a potter's wheel. She wore a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hair loosely pinned up at the back of her head, with stray strands brushing her neck.
Sunlight filtered through the tree leaves, crowning her in a soft, ethereal glow. She leaned slightly forward, her hands steadily shaping a spinning mound of clay. Her expression intensely focused and tranquil. It was a look Ethan had never seen on her face before.
Not the nervous walking on eggshells when facing him, nor the quiet dimness of her solitary moments, but a total, luminous immersion in creation, radiating peace and fulfillment. The clay seemed to spring to life beneath her hands, rising and thinning into graceful curves as the wheel spun. Though her fingers were slick with mud, her movements were firm, rhythmic, and poetic. Ethan stood frozen, mesmerized.
The urgent confrontation, demanding questions, and subtle anger he had carried on his frantic trip seemed to be gently absorbed and smoothed away by the serene scene and floating clay dust. In their place arose a far vast, unfamiliar bewilderment and a tentative, timid fear of disturbing her. In his memory, Chloe had always worn immaculate dresses and subtle makeup, quietly arranging flowers or reading at home, or preparing late-night tea for him. She was like a delicately framed fine painting, exquisite, yet lacking vibrant breath.
But the woman sitting in the dirt and sunlight before him, hands coated in mud, gazing at the clay as if it were her most precious treasure, she felt so unfamiliar that it made his heart ache, yet she glowed with a breathtaking, vibrant vitality. So, this was who she was when stripped of the title and shackles of Mrs. Vance. Chloe. He finally called out, his voice hoarse from long silence and choked tension.
The potter's wheel slowly came to a halt. Chloe's back stiffened almost imperceptibly. She didn't turn around immediately. Instead, she gently lifted the shaped piece of clay from the wheel, carefully setting it onto a nearby wooden rack.
She picked up a damp cloth and meticulously wiped the clay from her hands, taking her time with unhurried grace. Then, she turned to face him. The setting sun touched her face softly. Bare-faced, her skin bore a healthy sun-kissed glow, her eyes clear and calm.
When she looked at him, there was none of the rage, grievance, or tearful breakdown he had anticipated, only a stillness like a deep, tranquil pool accompanied by a light, knowing detachment. "You're here," she said casually, as if remarking on the weather. All the rehearsed demands and explanations, even his habitual commanding "Come home with me" stuck in his throat.
Under her unruffled gaze, those words felt pathetic, empty, and almost absurd. He parted his lips, but out of a thousand thoughts, only a dry sentence tumbled out. "Your your phone was disconnected." "Mm-hmm."
Chloe nodded, reaching for a water cup on the rack and taking a sip. "I changed my number and closed my messaging accounts. I just wanted some peace and quiet." Her composure was like a soft yet impenetrable wall, repelling all his emotions and words.
Ethan felt an unprecedented wave of powerlessness. He took two steps forward to close the distance. "Chloe, about that night at the airport. It was my fault."