The first week back from Paris was perfect.
Every morning started the same way. His alarm would go off at 6. He'd reach over to turn it off, and I'd feel him looking at me. Then he'd kiss my shoulder, my neck, my cheek, until I woke up laughing.
"Good morning, beautiful."
"You say that every morning."
"Because it's true every morning."
It was so cheesy but I loved it.
We'd have breakfast on the terrace. Sometimes he'd cook eggs. Sometimes I'd make congee the way my mom taught me.
Then he'd get dressed for work. I wasn't sure if I wanted to return to office yet after my passion for jewellery designing was ignited in Paris. But before he left, he'd kiss me goodbye.
"Have a good day." I'd say.
"You too. Text me. Let me know what you're up to."
"I will."
"I mean it. I want to know everything."
And he did. Throughout the day, he'd text random things.
"Just got out of a boring meeting and thought of you."
"What are you having for lunch?"
Sometimes just a photo of his view from his office with "Not as good as the view from our bed."
The evenings were even better. He'd come home around 7, sometimes 8 if meetings ran late.
"Rysa? Where are you?"
Like he couldn't exist without knowing exactly where I was.
I'd find him in the kitchen or the living room, looking tired but happy to be home. He'd pull me into his arms tightly.
"Missed you." He'd murmur into my hair.
"You saw me this morning."
"Still missed you."
We'd make dinner together. Well, he'd make dinner while I sat on the counter and watched. Sometimes I'd help chop vegetables, and sometimes I'd just steal bites of whatever he was cooking and make him laugh.
"You're not helping."
"I'm providing moral support."
"You're being distracting."
"Is that a complaint?"
He'd pull me down from the counter and kiss me.
"Definitely not."
After dinner, we'd end up on the couch. Sometimes we'll watch TV, sometimes just talking.
One night he came home and found me sketching at the dining table. I'd been so absorbed I didn't hear him come in. I only knew he was there when he held me from behind. I jumped.
"God, you scared me."
"Sorry." He kissed on my head. "What are you working on?"
"Just... ideas. Nothing serious."
"Can I see?"
I hesitated. My sketches were personal. But I wanted to share them with him.
"Okay."
I showed him my sketchbook. He looked at them slowly with full concentration.
"These are incredible."
"They're just sketches…"
"They're brilliant." He looked at me. "Have you thought about actually making them?"
"I don't know. Maybe? I'd need supplies and tools and…"
"So get them."
"It's expensive…"
"I don't care about expensive. If this is what you want to do, do it. You're too talented to waste it."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For supporting this, and for everything."
"Always." He said as he cupped my face.
Exactly one week after we got back from Paris, I made a decision.
Asher was in the bathroom getting ready for work. I was still in bed, wrapped in the sheets staring at my phone.
I had an email from his assistant regarding my leaves at his company.
Did I want to go back and analyse financial reports, sit in meetings, and pretend to care about quarterly projections and market share or did I want to do what I actually loved?
The shower turned off. A few minutes later, Asher came out in a towel.
"You're awake." He asked, smiling. "I was trying to be quiet."
"I've been awake for a while thinking."
He came over and sat on the edge of the bed.
"About what?"
"About work."
"Okay."
"I don't want to go back to the office."
He just looked at me.
"I know I should. I know you gave me that position and I'm probably expected to…"
"Stop. Do you want to go back?"
"No."
"Then don't."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." He touched my face. "Rysa, I gave you that job because I thought that's what you wanted. That's what I thought you should want. But I was wrong about a lot of things back then."
"But…"
"No buts. What do you want to do instead?"
"I want to design jewellery. A full time work. I want to actually make pieces, not just sketch them, build a portfolio, and maybe sell them."
"Okay." He smiled.
"Okay?"
"Okay." He kissed me. "Do it."
"Just like that?"
"You keep saying that." He laughed. "Yes, just like that. You're incredibly talented. Why waste it in an office when you could be creating? We'll set up a studio for you. Here, in the apartment or buy some other space if you prefer. Whatever you need."
"Asher, that's too much…"
"It's not enough. I spent two years holding you back, making you think you didn't matter. Let me spend the rest of our lives lifting you up instead."
"I don't know what to say."
"Say yes."
"Yes."
He kissed me then.
"I have to go to work. But tonight we'll look at studio equipment. Order whatever you need."
"Okay."
He stood up, and started getting dressed. After he left, I lay there for a while, just processing.
He wanted me to pursue my dreams. He was going to help me.
This was what marriage was supposed to be. To be partners, to support each other.
I got out of bed and went to the extra room. It was small but bright. In short, it was perfect for a studio. I spent the morning ordering supplies online. Everything was being delivered tomorrow or the next day. But I couldn't wait. So, I decided to start with the supplies I'd bought in Paris. It was basic stuff, but was enough to start.
I set up the extra room, and put everything out on the desk. My sketchbook had a design I'd drawn last week. It was a simple pendant with a small piece of sea glass I'd bought from Paris.
I picked up the wire, and started working. Time disappeared. The world outside the window faded away. My fingers remembered things I thought I'd forgotten. I knew how to wrap wire without gaps, how to handle to a stone, how to shape metal into something beautiful.
It wasn't perfect but it was still better than nothing. Finally, after working for hours, I was done with my first piece. It wasn't a sketch. It was an actual thing I'd made with my own hands.
I grabbed my phone, took a photo, and sent it to Asher:
"First creation!"
He replied immediately:
"Beautiful. Like you. Can't wait to see it in person."
He agon texted me:
"Have you eaten?"
I looked at the time. It was 3 in the afternoon. I'd been working for six hours.
"Not yet. Got distracted."
"Eat something. Take care of yourself."
"Okay."
I went to the kitchen and made a sandwich. My mind was already on the next piece. My phone was in the extra room. I'd left it there when I got lost in work. I needed to check my email to see if the supply companies had sent shipping confirmations.
I didn't know where my laptop was. I hadn't seen it since Paris. But Asher's laptop was in his office.
He wouldn't mind if I just quickly checked my email. Right?
I walked to his office. The door was open.
His desk was organised with his laptop in the center. I sat down on his chair and opened it.
There was no password. I was surprised.
I was about to open the browser when I noticed his desktop folders. Most of them had normal names. "Quarterly Reports Q3 2025, "Board Meeting Notes, "Shanghai Office Contacts."
But one caught my eye.
"PROJECT LIN CONTROL"
I stared at it.
Lin.
My heart started beating faster. It was probably about helping my family's business. The bankruptcy stuff he'd told me about.
Right?
But "control" was a weird word to use.
I moved the mouse, and hovered on the folder.
Don't click it, a voice in my head said. It's private. It's his work.
But it has my name, another voice argued. It's about my family. I have a right to know.
My hand was shaking slightly. I clicked. The folder opened, and my world shattered on seeing the files inside it.
"Phase 1 - Bankruptcy Implementation.doc"
"Phase 2 - Building Trust & Dependence.doc"
"Phase 3 - Marriage Consummation Timeline.xlsx"
"Financial Records - Lin Family Sabotage.pdf"
"Project Completion - Year 3 Goals.doc"
I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely control the mouse. I tried to click on a file. Ineeded to see inside.
"Enter password."
Of course, they were password protected.
I typed his birthday, our anniversary date, his fathers name, his company's important dates,
"Too many incorrect attempts. Folder will lock for 24 hours."
No. No no no no.
I sat there staring at the desktop. Then I heard the elevator sound.
No no no, he wasn't supposed to be home yet. It was only 3 in the afternoon. He never came home before seven.
The front door opened.
I immediately closed the folder, turned off the laptop. I stood up so fast the chair rolled backward and hit the bookshelf.
I turned toward the door, and saw Asher standing there. His eyes moved from me to the laptop to me again.
"What are you doing?" His voice was calm but his eyes were cold.