I Walked Away Seven Years Too Late But Right on Time novel Chapter 248

"I'm divorced."

Harold announced it solemnly, but it didn't yield the reaction he had anticipated.

Sarah's response was flat. "That's your private business."

Harold let out a heavy sigh, the white mist of his breath quickly scattered by the chilling wind.

It started to drizzle, the freezing rain mixed with grain-sized flakes of snow.

Back in their hometown, they rarely got heavy snowfall in the winter. It was mostly this kind of sleet—bitter, damp, and bone-chilling. The school they went to back then didn't have heating; they didn't even have a coal stove.

While sitting in class, they constantly had to stomp their feet to keep them from going numb. Their hands would get so cold they could barely grip a pen.

He used to complain about the ugly cotton mittens his mother made him, saying they made it impossible to write. So, Sarah knitted him a pair of fingerless wool gloves—warm enough, but still practical for writing.

When school let out, they would walk down the quietest streets, secretly holding hands. Even through the knitted wool, he could feel the warmth radiating from her fingers.

When he went off to college in Boston, Sarah knitted all his scarves, gloves, and sweaters.

In the best years of his life, Sarah was his most beautiful memory.

How had it come to this? They used to be so incredibly close, and now, Sarah treated him colder than a stranger.

Spotting a street vendor selling umbrellas, Harold bought one. Just as he was about to open it for Sarah, she bought one of her own.

The two of them walked side-by-side, each carrying their own umbrella.

Seeing the hospital looming ahead, Harold grabbed Sarah's sleeve. "Let's go talk over there."

He pulled her toward a quiet, tree-lined path nearby.

"Sarah, just let all that anger out, okay? You can curse at me, hit me, whatever you need to do. I owe you for all these years."

Sarah shook her head.

"Do you still hate me?" Harold asked softly.

Sarah looked down at the ground. After a long moment, she raised her head and looked away. "I don't want to talk about the past anymore."

"Sarah, whether you hate me or resent me, that's fine. Just say it. Keeping all this bottled up is only going to make you miserable."

He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his own chest.

Years ago, whenever he made her mad, Sarah would angrily give him the silent treatment. He used to grab her hand and playfully hit himself with it, which always made her break down and laugh.

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