Two Sided
That sapphire blue dress was never Ada's taste, and the overly soft makeup was not her style either. Ada adjusted her hair before the vanity mirror; the overlong sideburns cast deep shadows across half her face, each strand of hair needing to fall exactly into place. She hadn't dressed up with such care in a long time, Wesker thought.
"Going out again tonight?" he asked the Ada in the mirror.
"Yes, I have plans with a friend." She didn't shift her gaze, picking out an infrequently used perfume and spraying it at her neck. Unable to settle on the right intensity, her fingers paused over the pump, then left, hesitated, and finally set it down with reluctance, turning her back to Wesker as she typed out a text message. The form-fitting dress accentuated her still-perfect curves, and the faint smile at the corner of her lips was caught clearly in his sight.
"I'm going out now. Might be back late. You get some rest."
The lingering trail of perfume hung in the room—really not a fresh scent. What kind of lover would favor such a fragrance? He couldn't read a single word of the documents on his computer. If he went downstairs now, he could still catch that cheating cat, but that would spoil her mood. He didn't want to make her unhappy.
At this rate, he'd be dragging through the night. He shut down the computer and poured himself half a glass of wine. The night sky settled into ink, blending with liquid gold; the city's nightscape streamed with color, and cool winds carried the rising tide of darkness over the metal window frames.
She thought that dress too bold and had worn it only once, many years ago. Which date was it... he couldn't quite remember.
Ada walked into a quiet bar. It had been a long time since she'd been to one of those intimate spots young people favored; a familiar flutter echoed in her chest.
"Ada!"
Sometimes the boy's taste was quite reliable. Ada was pleased with the counter seat by the window. Ice cubes gradually smoothed their edges in the alcohol, clinking against the glass in time with the bar's tranquil wind instrument music.
"Are you even old enough to drink?" Ada wetted her finger with the condensation on the glass and drew a thin line of water.
"I turned twenty-one last week. You don't care about me at all." Leon turned his face away in feigned pique, and Ada couldn't resist reaching out to pinch his cheek.
"Doesn't show. You don't look like an adult at all."
"I do. Stop treating me like a kid."
"Prove it to me?"
Leon looked at Ada, imprinting her mischievous eyes in his heart. His half-closed lashes veiled half his pupils; the warm, alcohol-laced breath brushed against Ada's lips. Their distance stopped at the finest possible measure.
"Stop—no crossing the line."
Leon shrank back awkwardly, turning his glass with some unease. His blushing ears seemed to mock his own youthful incompetence.
"Sorry, Ada. I got carried away."
"In the future, be more mindful when you're with girls. Guys without a sense of boundaries aren't appealing."
"Mm... you smell nice."
"Thanks. I was worried this perfume wouldn't suit me."
"Ada, don't you like guys who take the initiative?"
"Initiative and a sense of boundaries are two different things."
"Do you like men like Mr. Wesker?"
"Leon, there's no need to bring him up."
"I was thinking—if you don't like me, why don't you just turn me down?"
"...He's my husband."
"If you still love him, why are you out drinking with me?"
The wall clock was approaching midnight. Wesker looked at the silent door; no sign of her returning. Unknowingly, he'd been drinking through the evening again. A heavy drowsiness crept in; he let himself sink into the sofa, yet his body felt oddly light. Was she drunk? Or still drinking with her lover, refusing to stop until utterly wasted?
"Ada, you're still wearing the ring. He's always in your heart."
She instinctively touched the wedding band. The cool metal seeped from her fingertip into her skin, and all those vows of love lay sleeping in her memory.
The beginning of this affair held no romantic element whatsoever; perhaps they had Wesker's own son to thank for it. At the time, Jake was still in high school—that age of sharp bones and defiance against heaven and earth.
"Ahem... pretty lady, got time to drop by the school?"
"Got into another fight? Did you win?"
"Relax. I never lose."
It was always Ada who handled the mess. Both she and Jake understood that letting Wesker know too much would be bad for everyone. And it was precisely this shared complicity that made Jake not averse to her—unlike the way he bristled at the very sight of his father.
The dean stomped his foot as he listed Jake's offenses to Ada. To her, it was all small potatoes.
"And this time, he dragged young Mr. Kennedy into the fight too. If there were any more people involved..."
She looked at the other boy standing with Jake. He seemed to be sizing her up through his fringe as well. Their eyes met for only half a second before his rebellious gaze quickly hid itself.
Her attention wandered; the words around her faded. Perhaps young hearts are always drawn to mature charm, and in such an unseemly setting, a first glance was enough to make a boy's heart skip. But the object of that first love was so unspeakable—falling for a friend's mother, falling for a married woman. Perhaps this romance was doomed from the start to end without fruition.
"Hey, kid. Are you badly hurt?"
That captivating face suddenly drew near, offering sincere concern. He stammered, squeezing out a barely audible "I'm fine," his sweating palms gripping the hem of his shirt. If he were hurt worse, would she care more? He should have held back a little.
Sensing his friend's tension, Jake nudged Leon with his elbow, and the two whispered aside.
"Relax. She never scolds me for fighting."
"Didn't you say your mom passed away?"
"She's my stepmom."
"Oh. So do you have any siblings?"
"No."
"Is she not on good terms with your dad?"
"Why so many questions? You trying to be my dad?"
"What? We're bros—we know each other inside out."
Later, how that matter was settled, who got punished—all traces had vanished. Only that youthful longing fermented through the years, growing richer with each passing season. Just that one meeting, he told himself not to fall too deep. Later, when considering colleges, he inevitably wanted to leave this hometown tangled with too many emotions behind.
The world is vast and full of wonders, but that first love, clear enough to touch, was a one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable treasure. The long-buried flutter had not died—only his heart had been roughened by time, numbed into an unconscious paralysis. After graduating from the police academy and returning home, he carried the composure of an adult, yet that pure throb, when picked up again, felt terrifying.
During morning rush hour, even the coffee shops were packed. He waited in a long line for a cup of coffee, gazing at the wisps of milk dissolving into the dark brown, the swirls of even gradient so harmonious and serene.
He looked back uncertainly, confirming the figure in his peripheral vision—one he hadn't seen in years. This bustling city held hundreds of thousands, yet it brought the two of them together in a tiny coffee shop. Holding his scalding cup, he guiltily fled out the door.
Fate always arrives at the worst possible time. If she worked nearby, could he see her at the café every day?
The next day he got up early on purpose, taking a seat in the corner to observe every person who entered. At the same time as yesterday, she appeared—her gracefully aged features still lovely. Perhaps the age gap wasn't that large; perhaps Asians just didn't show their years. Somehow, a surge of impulse rose in his chest, the desire to walk side by side with his beloved.
"Good morning." Leon mustered the courage to greet her. Though prepared, the moment he met her unfamiliar gaze, his heart still pounded. "I'm Leon, Jake's friend. We met before... remember?"
"Oh..." Some blurry memories stirred. She nodded. "Just call me Ada. So you're a cop too now?"
"I work with Jake."
He produced a rose from his sleeve—a trick he'd practiced for half a month. Tied to the stem was a small note. "If you don't mind, give me a call sometime."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away. Whatever her response, it didn't matter—as long as he left himself no regrets.
Ada looked at the flower in her hand, marveling at young people's pickup techniques nowadays. Even Wesker hadn't been so flashy when he pursued her.
That evening, Leon got the call he'd been hoping for.
Perhaps even Ada hadn't realized she was growing tired of her bland married life. As a young woman, she'd always chased novelty—how could she have stowed away all her spikes for one man and spent her life with him? Besides, Wesker had had other women before her, while she'd had only him from start to finish—what a loss. When Leon gradually pushed his luck, she didn't evade. Except for kissing, sex, and other overly intimate physical contact, she indulged him in everything else.
Thanks to the awkward father-son relationship between Wesker and Jake, Ada never had to worry about balancing the roles of wife and stepmother. The two men who couldn't stand each other barely had any reason to talk. The only friction point was the annual family dinner—as long as those two could act through one meal together, that was enough.
Jake and Leon walked out of the precinct laughing and talking. Wesker, as usual, placed his hand on Ada's waist. His expression, slightly softened toward Ada, turned impatient the moment it met Jake's.
"Oh, here to pick me up? Since when am I treated so well?"
"Hello, Sir. I'm Leon."
A sudden flush of heat in his brain made Leon take the lead in being friendly—at least in front of her, he couldn't appear passive. Wesker didn't leave his extended hand hanging; he shook it politely. Still, he felt a certain prickliness in the young man's gaze—he seemed to dislike Wesker even more than Jake did.
That prickle was familiar. It was the same competitive look he'd seen in those young men who used to trail after Ada, utterly overestimating themselves.
Young people easily develop dependency on their elders—especially with Ada's stunning beauty. Even he himself couldn't resist her.
The doorbell pulled Wesker from a light sleep. Had Ada forgotten her keys? Careless. That eager to go cheat on him. Grumbling, he rubbed his sleepy eyes and opened the door.
Jake, standing outside, saw his biological father's tired face and swallowed half a sneer, which turned into an awkward cough.
"What are you doing here?" Wesker rolled his eyes and slammed the door unpleasantly.
"Who were you expecting?" Jake shot back, not understanding what he'd done wrong this time. He walked through the house, found no sign of Ada, and smirked at Wesker.
"The lady's not home. That why you're in such a mood?"
Too tired to bother, Wesker ignored him. Seeing Wesker even more morose than usual, even Jake could smell something off.
"She left you?"
"What?"
"Did you two get divorced?"
"Get out."
"Are you going through a midlife crisis? Can't satisfy her anymore?"
Jake knew Wesker's patience all too well. He locked the door from the inside a second before Wesker could make a move, smug about getting the upper hand this time.
Pretending not to care, Wesker's mind churned. If he didn't remind Ada of his existence as her lawful husband, who knew what might happen? Would she leave him for some other man? He still believed that years of marital affection couldn't be so thin. The grand feat of his passionate pursuit back then was still vivid before his eyes.
Believing she had fooled everyone, Ada grew careless, occasionally coming home late without notifying Wesker. He rarely asked; when he did, she brushed it off with overtime.
One evening she played too freely, caught up in Leon's endless questioning, and lost track of time. By the time she got home, it was late. Wesker should have been asleep long ago. Even without notice, he wouldn't be foolish enough to wait up all night. She turned the key as slowly as possible to reduce noise, crept in on tiptoe—only to find Wesker still sitting in the living room, his computer screen dark.
"You're back." Wesker kept staring at the black screen.
"Oh. It's so late—why aren't you asleep?"
"Overtime until this hour?"
"I got carried away with work and lost track of time."
"The bathwater's still warm. Get some rest."
She grabbed her towel and slipped into the bathroom, heart pounding with panic.
Would he become suspicious? If he knew nothing, he wouldn't be so calm. But if he did know, why wouldn't he say anything?
She couldn't face him directly anymore. Still, they'd have to get into the same bed, and there'd be a goodnight kiss before sleep. She feigned composure as she lightly kissed his lips, letting him hold her in his arms. She caught the scent of his body wash—the same one she used.
"Overtime again tomorrow?"
"Mm... but I won't be so late."
Tomorrow she'd have to make it clear to Leon—they couldn't meet so often anymore.
To her surprise, the next evening Wesker was already waiting downstairs at her company. She'd arranged for Leon to pick her up, but there was no sign of him—probably not here yet. Good thing they hadn't run into each other; she wasn't ready to lay everything bare.
"It's you?" Ada pretended to be delighted, throwing herself into Wesker's open arms.
"What are you doing here?" She rested her chin against his chest.
"Taking you home."
While answering Wesker's small talk, she typed out a quick text.
"Sorry, can't meet tonight."
She'd nearly been caught yesterday, and today almost slipped up again. What a coincidence. Did he really know everything? Ada nervously rehearsed possible questions in her head.
"Any plans tonight?"
"No."
"Then we can finally stay home."
"Yeah, no more exhaustion for a while."
She didn't dare read too much into his words. Would they have a big fight? But on second thought, she hadn't done anything too outrageous. Besides, he didn't even show a hint of jealousy—honestly, she kind of wanted to see him jealous. If he'd occasionally pout or act spoiled, she wouldn't have given Leon any chance at all.
Thinking this, a sudden itch spread on her thigh. Wesker's unruly hand left the steering wheel and gently kneaded the soft flesh of her inner thigh. The scorching warmth of his palm baked her skin; his fingers slipped between her closed thighs, teasing restlessly.
"Keep your eyes on the road."
Wesker just let out a light hum, his hand still on her leg. Seeing he wouldn't go further, Ada stopped reminding him. They stayed like that all the way home. The warm yellow light of the garage filtered through the car windows, softening their silhouettes into blur. Ada felt Wesker's figure drawing closer, his upper body almost pressed against hers.
"It's been a long time since we did this, hasn't it?"
In the past, with such an alluring partner initiating, she'd have felt the fire inside too—how could she have refused? But now, her chest felt stifled, heavy, as if stuffed with a ball of yarn her heart couldn't contain. Tangled threads burrowed in and out of her veins, choking her breath.
"Albert, wait... I'm too tired today."
"Don't want to?"
"Give me a break tonight. You wouldn't want to have a lousy time either, right?"
He lowered his gaze silently, gallantly opened the car door for her, and took her hand, their fingers interlaced tightly, squeezing her knuckles until they ached. He was definitely angry. She carefully took his arm to soothe him.
Of course he was angry. His wife would rather fool around outside than have sex with him, yet he didn't dare expose her infidelity, afraid of shattering this happiness he lived on.
Ada pondered. It wasn't that she didn't want Wesker to touch her—she just didn't know what mood to summon for his advances. There was also a lingering fear: that in the heat of passion, another man's name might slip out.
The first deadlock since their marriage. Neither dared to speak first in this heavy silence, afraid of tipping it into a quarrel. Wesker felt wronged. He'd tended this relationship with such care, even tolerated his wife's affair, and all it did was push her further away? He wouldn't grovel and beg her to change her mind. If she truly loved someone else more, he couldn't force her back. Let her go. He could wait a lifetime if he had to.
Before sleep, Wesker still held his computer, lost in thought. Ada quietly sat beside him, resting her chin on his shoulder. He leaned to find a comfortable angle for her, then covered her slender fingers with his hands, apologizing for his earlier impulse.
"Ada, do you love me?"
Words dormant for years were awakened. When was the last time he spoke of love? Probably on their honeymoon. Back then, love was still a blank sheet, waiting to be decorated with passion and fervor. Now, mentioning that old acquaintance felt like looking at a mottled fabric—old paint cracked, then recoated with fresh lacquer, the base color indiscernible.
What kind of love was it? The love of family, born of duty? The love of spouses, born of habit? Or the love of lovers, born simply for love's sake?
"Why do you ask?" She smiled; the warmth in her eyes soothed him.
"I haven't heard you say it in a long time."
Do you love that man? Wesker locked the words in his throat. If she said no, he'd think she was lying. If she said yes... he didn't want to hear it.
They fell asleep in each other's arms that night, yet their hearts played different melodies. Wesker's embrace made Ada feel safe and steady, but her mind couldn't help drifting back twenty years. She remembered his clumsy courtship, capturing a young girl's heart, making her reckless enough to want to be with him against all odds. What had they hoped for back then? Family, harbor, security—they had all of that now. Still, it wasn't enough; they always felt happiness was still worlds away.
Wesker held her. She was so small, much smaller than him. Her heart couldn't fit two men either.
Ada stopped meeting Leon in secret. She missed that eager look in his eyes whenever he saw her, but there was no real disappointment either. An extramarital affair didn't change anything for her—her schedule remained full. She had only deluded herself into thinking she'd found a turning point. But Leon was still hopelessly sunk. To spare his feelings and seem less heartless, keeping in touch by text was her last compromise.
One day after work, Leon suddenly appeared at her company entrance, his eyes filled with dejection and despair.
"I called so many times. You didn't pick up any of them."
"Sorry... I didn't see."
"Why are you pulling away all of a sudden? Did your husband give you trouble?"
"No, it's nothing. Don't worry about me."
"Then did I do something to upset you?"
"No, Leon. Don't think that way."
"Then... please take this."
He handed her an exquisite gift box. She recognized the brand; the price was far from pretty.
"Leon, do you really make that much?"
"I can afford this much."
"No. You don't need to spend on me."
"Take it. I'm not sure... how I should let my feelings for you end."
She hoped she hadn't dragged an innocent soul into the execution ground of desire. She couldn't bear too many romantic debts.
She didn't have the energy to deal with the gift just yet. She wouldn't open it, and for now, she didn't even want to think about where to hide it. She tossed it aside and sighed in exhaustion. Lately, everything had been giving her a headache. Wesker wasn't home yet. She fantasized about him out partying, so she wouldn't feel so guilty about her own affair.
The gift box lay in plain sight on the table. Jake spotted it the moment he walked in. After a few seconds of staring at that suspicious box, he fell into thought.
"Did the old man buy this for you?"
He vaguely remembered Leon dragging him to the mall last week to pick out a gift. They'd scrutinized for ages without settling on anything—one was too tacky, another too plain. He'd joked about what kind of stunning woman had bewitched Leon. The evasive look in his eyes seemed to hide more than just shyness.
After wandering through jewelry stores, the final piece Leon chose left Jake incredulous.
"Bro, let me give you some friendly advice. My dad bought this brand for my stepmom before. You definitely can't afford it."
"Really? Does she have this style?"
"I don't think so. Why ask?"
"Nothing. Just worried this might be too common."
He didn't know if some questions were his to ask.
"Are you having an affair?"
Ada's guarded look confirmed Jake's guess. He shrugged carelessly.
"Relax. I won't tell anyone. How far have you gone?"
"Nothing happened."
"If you've got your eye on Leon, need my help?"
"It's not what you think."
"Are you worried about the old man?"
"...I won't betray him."
"Tch. What do you even see in him?"
That question struck a chord with Ada. She touched the ring. Twenty years ago, when he'd held her hand and slipped it onto her finger, everything had seemed so hasty and absurd. It was mostly her reckless decision to tie her fate to a man so much older than her—a man whose extra years were nearly as many as she'd lived at all.
Her inbox was piled with unread messages from the same sender. She steeled herself and opened them. All were Leon reporting his daily life—even a cat passing by got a photo. Sprinkled among them were meek pleas, all asking for another meeting.
"Are you free next weekend? I'd like to spend Qixi with you... If not, that's okay. I figure you might have plans with your husband. I understand."
An understanding lover was endearing, but Wesker had indeed mentioned Qixi plans early on. She'd make it up to Leon another time.
On the night of the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, the lingering summer heat dissolved into the evening breeze, threading through streets and alleys. Fading twilight clung to rooftops, and the streets were packed with couples glued to one another.
They drove to the suburbs. Nestled in the quiet, cool mountain forest was an elegant, refined restaurant. The surroundings were pleasant; from the hillside, the town below was just scattered dots of light. The man-made glow dimmed the stars just a little.
"Remember this place?"
"Where you proposed." Ada rested her cheek on her hand and gazed out the window, as if seeing her younger self twenty years ago—shyly nodding at a sincere heart laid bare. "I never thought I'd come back here."
"You crying really scared me. I didn't know how to comfort you."
"Oh... I looked awful crying, didn't I?"
"Indeed. A complete mess."
"I knew it. I was so afraid you'd regret it that I jumped to say yes."
"Why would I regret it?"
"I don't know—you've been married twice before. You understand better than I do."
The sharp wine slipped down her throat, carrying delicate, fleeting bubbles. At this moment, it felt as if they'd shed all social roles of husband and wife, leaving only the honest game of love.
"Not at all." He smiled faintly in denial. "I was more afraid that you would regret it. That you'd fall for someone younger."
A familiar sense of inadequacy, one that had made her secretly sacrifice tears on countless long nights.
"Albert, do you think we might be happier without marriage?"
"...Perhaps."
"Then why did you marry me?"
"Without marriage, we might have only had a few happy years. I didn't want just those few years—I wanted all of you."
Including the plain, the aging, the quarrels, the exhaustion—the imperfect but genuine love.
Ada was momentarily speechless at his unprovoked confession. She twirled her knife and fork and looked up to meet his eyes. Guilt and difficulty burned her eyes; she should say something in return for his sincerity, but she couldn't utter those cheap words others had already heard.
"You never used to say such flowery things."
He gave a low laugh, tinged with bitterness. She was no longer the little girl who turned shy at sweet talk.
With age, one's capacity for alcohol wanes. Or perhaps it was the tranquil candlelit atmosphere. After a few glasses, Ada grew drowsy, yet stubbornly insisted she could walk on her own. Helped back home, she sank into the sofa and stretched with a yawn.
"Feeling unwell?" Wesker leaned down beside her, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek.
"I'm okay... just a little dizzy." Ada held his hand, pressing it tightly against her cheek.
The cool scent of perfume cleared her head. She wanted to pull him closer and breathe in his scent.
"Is this my favorite one?" she asked.
"Yes. I sprayed it just for you."
Remorse welled up—she'd only noticed now. And every time she switched perfumes, he could tell from meters away.
The warm indoor light softened her partner's features. The familiar brows and eyes still made her heart race. She wanted to turn and burrow into his arms, but her thigh accidentally brushed against his already evident arousal. She heard his stifled groan.
"Ah... bad timing, huh?"
"A little."
"Not bad for a man your age."
"Want to?"
"Kiss me."
He obediently leaned down to meet her lips. A string of lingering kisses stained her mouth with lipstick and painted pale pink marks on her neck. She returned the favor with just the right touch—still as skilled as ever, no less than before.
No longer content to quench thirst through fabric. In her ambiguous silence, he grew bolder, kneeling between her legs, offering devout affection, weaving, as she wished, wave after wave of moisture, releasing the pent-up fire. Fueled by wine, they grew more fervent, consciousness fragmenting. No more fear of being caught tasting forbidden fruit. Desire cloaked in reason, he was willing to taste that soft sweetness over and over.
Still, he had to keep an eye on Ada's reactions—gentle teasing at the right pace, and just a touch of roughness that barely concealed itself, made her climax easier. The first time with Wesker, anxiety over the unknown kept her from enjoying it; her tension also made the experience lackluster. She'd once blushed beneath him, trying to restrain herself, not wanting to show her unbridled side. Now she knew his rhythm, knew the natural responses of her body, and surrendered it to him for release.
When she fell asleep, tired, draped over him, their hearts, separated only by ribs and flesh, began to resonate. He wiped the tears of passion from her eyes and swallowed the fragrance of her sweat.
Sex helped strengthen the marital bond. Perhaps having again satisfied her physical desires, Ada grew more clingy with Wesker. He enjoyed his wife's dependence while also worrying about a possible third party re-entering the picture.
That night, his inbox chimed incessantly.
"Ada, I want to see you. Right now."
What was wrong with him? It was almost ten—there was no way she could find an excuse to go out. Ada tried to persuade Leon to let it go, but he insisted; tonight, he had to see her.
"I'm downstairs at your place. Just come out and see me, please? I have something really important."
Ada panicked. Young lovers were indeed prone to impulsiveness. Though she was sure he wouldn't dare knock on the door, if she didn't show up, he might actually wait on the street all night. She grabbed her car keys but hadn't figured out how to explain to Wesker.
"So late." Wesker tried to keep the displeasure from his voice as he checked his watch.
"Something urgent suddenly came up..."
Wesker blocked the doorway, paused briefly, then handed her a Jakeet.
"Come back soon."
He paced by the door and quietly followed her out.
Two blocks from home, Leon stood under a streetlamp, staring aimlessly at the building where she lived with another man.
Did they have sex? Leon kicked a pebble, imagining her daily intimacies with Wesker. The familiar car pulled up beside him; without waiting for an invitation, he slipped into the passenger seat.
"You really came."
"If we're talking business, can we go somewhere else?"
Apart from that bar, there seemed nowhere suitable. They stood outside the door, neither willing to go in. She leaned against the car, waiting for Leon to speak. He kept kicking stones, as if deliberately thinning the atmosphere.
At the corner, Wesker watched from his car, observing their every move. The night wind carried their voices to him, clear as day.
"I'm being transferred to the NYPD. With Jake."
"Oh. Jake hasn't told us yet. That's good news."
"Don't you have anything to say?"
"Congratulations."
"Ada... what exactly am I to you?"
Caught off guard by his direct gaze, she was struck mute. Love? Not really. She no longer felt the fervor Wesker once gave her. She could have abandoned everything to marry Wesker back then—and what they'd faced was far more than daily trivialities; so many barriers stood in their way, and she'd broken through them with him. But now, she couldn't imagine running away with Leon. Too cliché, too unappealing.
"We might not see each other again."
"How could that be? You can come back with Jake..."
"But I don't want to see someone else by your side. I want to be a part of your life that counts. If you're just treating me like a toy you can toss away, then let's not meet again. Don't give me hope anymore."
"Leon, you'll meet other girls."
"What about you? If you'd never met Mr. Wesker, would you have liked me?"
Ada laughed at that. A moment of silence, cool wind slipping through her fingers.
"Maybe. But I wouldn't have married you."
"Why?"
"Because you weren't there for those years."
"If it had been me who walked those years with you?"
Jumbled words clogged her throat; she had no answer. By now, he wouldn't want to hear her sweet lies anyway. The swaying feelings had long worn thin. She didn't know if she loved Albert Wesker, or just anyone who could understand her heart and make crazy decisions for her.
Another storm raged in Wesker's heart. He no longer expected to hear Ada's unwavering love—he just wanted to keep tucking her in at dawn, or filling the windowsill with flowers she casually mentioned for months on end. To continue living, who should he be? The husband, the victim, the judge, or just a man still deeply in love with her? He hadn't decided which title to put to work first.
Time to go back. Ada would want warm milk before bed.
Seeing off both his son and his rival at the airport—Wesker didn't want a second round.
Reading anything into a handshake between Leon and her was pointless. She was still here, on his arm.
By the time they watched the plane take off, it was evening. Ada absently watched the scenery retreating outside the window. Towns faded away; undeveloped beaches were piled with barnacle-covered wave-breakers. The car stopped. Ada looked at Wesker in confusion.
"Want to take a walk?"
A few young couples hand in hand passed by; two rows of footprints carved into the wet sand were erased by the next wave. There was also a family of three out for a stroll—children's laughter fading in and out, soda dripping drop by drop onto the gravel, instantly evaporated. Occasionally, shells washed ashore glowed with a pearlescent sheen in the sunset.
"Are you tired?"
An abrupt, headless question. She turned to look at his profile; the half-dark twilight didn't illuminate his eye sockets. What expression was he wearing now? She could no longer read his mind.
"You've been working overtime a lot lately. Must be wearing you out, right?"
"It's okay. Just temporary. Won't be so busy after this."
"Well... are you happy?"
"You were never this sentimental."
He took her hand and steered her clear of the rising tide. He suddenly felt that her feelings for him, too, would ebb and flow like this tide.
"We've been together a long time."
"Yes," she answered softly.
"Do you still remember when we first got married?"
"I remember."
Would they always live as they did back then? Turning off her alarm when she overslept. Telling her, when she complained the coffee was too bitter, that it was because she'd drunk the night before. Every morning, she'd naturally wear his shirt and ask him to fix her messy hair. At night, she'd pull the book from his hands and throw herself into his arms for a goodnight kiss...
"Just like now."
"We were much more reckless back then."
How much longer could the word "we" last? The things that seemed miraculous before marriage all became habits after—repeated so often they felt like they'd existed since the Big Bang. Wesker thought: maybe she was tired of the monotony, nostalgic for the man who used to chase after her and plead, unashamed, for her to stay.
He would never beg her not to leave again. The one and only time he'd petition heaven was used up in his proposal.
If she were to leave, he didn't know how to stop loving her.
"If it happened all over again, would you still marry me?"
In the future, more secrets would lie between them. All he could hold onto was the past. He prayed she could read his heart.
"Why are you asking that all of a sudden?"
The sound of the tide receded. The half-risen moon cast its clear light across the sky.
"Because I would. And I want to know your answer."