Chapter 3

On the third day, my mother called.

She started with, "Mabel, did you and Richard have a fight?"

My stomach dropped.

"He came to you?"

"No, he stopped by this afternoon."

I was on my feet at once.

"What did he say to you?"

Her laugh came out strained.

"Nothing, really. Just how things would be arranged after you're married. That Richard, he thinks so far ahead."

I didn't wait for her to finish. I got in the car and drove home.

The moment I pushed the door open, I saw Richard sitting in the living room.

Shirt cuffs rolled up.

A few documents spread across the coffee table.

My mother sat on the other side, her eyes a little red.

"Richard."

He looked up.

"You're here."

"What were you talking to my mother about?"

"Post-marriage risk allocation."

My mother stood up quickly.

"Mabel, don't be harsh with him. He means well for you."

I grabbed the documents off the table.

The first: recommended spending on parental support.

The second: cost-sharing for critical illness.

The third was my mother's old follow-up records from her breast tumor.

At the very bottom there was even a line in small print.

【Recurrence within five years could cause fluctuations in household cash flow; recommend setting a personal spending cap.】

I stared at those words.

My mind went blank with a roar.

"Who gave you this?"

Richard glanced at the file.

"You gave me the medical history last year, when we set up the insurance policy."

"So you used it to run the numbers on my mother?"

"Not on your mother."

He corrected me.

"To assess the potential long-term burden each side's family might create after marriage."

"Burden?"

My mother's face went white.

"Richard's not wrong, though. My health isn't good. If something really happened to me someday…"

"Mom."

My voice shook.

"You are not a burden."

Richard frowned.

"I never said that either."

"Then what is this line?"

I slapped the paper down in front of him.

"Medical expenses over eight hundred thousand to be covered by my personal assets. You even worked out the eight hundred thousand?"

"Based on your mother's current age, recurrence probability, and comparable treatment costs, the median is around seven hundred twenty to seven hundred fifty thousand. I left a safety margin."

He was still explaining.

Earnest to the point of cruelty.

My mother kept her head down, then suddenly said, "Mabel, maybe if I really do get sick someday, don't spend so much on treatment…"

My throat went tight.

I turned to look at Richard.

"Get out."

He froze.

"Mabel."

"I said get out!"

My mother jumped at that.

And Richard finally shut up.

He stood, silent for two seconds, then pulled the insurance policy out from the rest.

"Keep this."

I didn't take it.

"What?"

"I added a medical policy for your mother."

He paused.

"Three million in coverage. Effective today."

In that moment I really did want to cry.

This man always had this ability.

He'd just driven a knife into your chest.

And the next second, he could hand you the best medicine there was.

Until you didn't even know whether to hate him or thank him.

"Mabel."

His voice dropped low.

"I'm not looking down on your mother."

"I'm just used to factoring in the worst case ahead of time."

I looked at him.

"Then have you factored this in?"

"What?"

"That one day I'll stop loving you."

He went quiet for a second.

Then laughed, very softly.

"No."

Not because he was romantic.

Because he was certain.

He walked up to me and pressed the policy into my hand.

"You won't."

"Over the past three years, your probability of proposing separation was zero. After major arguments, average time to reconciliation was under eleven hours. Your attachment to the relationship is far higher than mine."

When he finished, he even reached up and ruffled my hair.

Like soothing a child in a temper.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

I didn't pull away.

I just looked at him.

For a long time.

Then I folded the policy up and put it back in his pocket.

"Mm?"

"All that old data is void now."

His hand stilled.

I opened the door.

"Get out."

This time, he didn't say anything.

He only looked back at me once when he reached the door.

For the first time there was a faint confusion in his face.

Probably his model had never told him this.

That before a person is completely done, they usually just get quieter and quieter.