When her sister-in-law left the room, Jiang Lai still didn’t answer the phone.
Instead, after it stopped ringing, she messaged the caller on a chat app, explaining her “illness.”
She could delay things with the company by claiming health issues, but even using all her vacation days would only buy a few days.
Eventually, she’d have to face reality.
A week or two might be manageable, but if she remained like this after a month, no matter how much she wanted to, she’d lose her job.
Jiang Lai couldn’t lose this job.
She’d worked tirelessly, climbing from a small employee to a department manager over more than a decade.
Thinking of the effort and heart she’d poured into it, Jiang Lai refused to give up easily.
In her current position, only the company president or board members could dismiss her.
The board only cared about year-end dividends; the president held the real power.
Outside of work, Jiang Lai had little interaction with the president.
Neither professionally nor personally should they have much contact, especially since the current president was a woman.
Appointed a few years ago, the president pushed for a younger company image to appeal to a modern market, showing little warmth to older staff.
Jiang Lai avoided these politics, keeping interactions minimal and her work impeccable to avoid scrutiny.
But now, in this situation, she couldn’t think of a good solution.
A misstep could mean unemployment.
She thought she’d escaped the 30-year-old job crisis, but now it loomed before her.
Was losing her job her only option?
Jiang Lai’s heart refused to accept it, but what could she do with such a drastic change?
Her mind was a mess.
Ignoring or avoiding these issues kept her mood stable, but facing them now left her helpless.
Maybe she could plead with the president… but how?
Not only did her backside ache, but her head throbbed too.
She couldn’t imagine what value she’d have if she lost everything.
If it came to it, could she beg the president, revealing her situation to her alone?
Would she understand?
Jiang Lai felt she was overthinking.
She and the president had no personal connection, barely any interaction.
Why would the president help her?
Besides, the president wasn’t someone she trusted.
If someone with ulterior motives learned of her situation, Jiang Lai feared being taken to a lab or losing her peace forever.
Her current gender brought immense pressure, though it was better than the first few days.
The worst was enduring it alone.
Over the years, being on her own had made Jiang Lai fiercely proud.
She hated showing weakness, especially to those closest to her.
In this moment, she thought of her daughter, her sister-in-law, and her late wife.
When her wife passed, with everyone relying on her, Jiang Lai vowed never to show weakness or worry those around her.
She’d walked that path alone for so long.
But now, she desperately wished for someone to let her reveal her vulnerability, to lean on.
If only her wife were still here.
Jiang Lai picked up her phone and slowly opened her photo album.
There was a picture she’d kept for years.
Looking at the two people in it, her fingers gently touched the smiling young girl.
It was taken before they married.
No matter how much time passed or how many phones she changed, her wife’s photos stayed with her.
Her eyes grew redder, tears welling up, ready to fall.
At the last moment, she closed her eyes tightly, refusing to let the tears become real.
Though she stopped looking at the photo, her wife’s image filled her heart.
“I miss you so much…”
When Chi Yingyu returned with the safflower oil, she saw Jiang Lai curled up on the sofa, wrapped tightly in a blanket, asleep.
Thankfully, the living room’s heater was on, or she’d catch a cold in just a thin blanket in this weather.
Chi Yingyu set the oil on the table and approached Jiang Lai, gazing at her quietly without touching her.
Her playful expression was gone.
For over a decade, Chi Yingyu had poured all her thoughts into Jiang Lai.
How could she not understand her brother-in-law’s mood?
One glance was enough to know.
She could swear no one understood Jiang Lai better—not even Jiang Lai herself.
Chi Yingyu wished so much for Jiang Lai to be happier, lighter, free from so much pressure.
She wasn’t the child she used to be.
Looking at her sleeping brother-in-law, she considered carrying her to bed for proper rest.
But seeing Jiang Lai’s furrowed brow, even in sleep, she knew it was a light slumber.
Any big movement would wake her.
In the end, Chi Yingyu only brought a blanket from her bed, gently covering Jiang Lai.
She stayed by her side.
Jiang Lai was so delicate, curled up in a corner, leaving plenty of room on the sofa.
Chi Yingyu lay beside her.
Looking at Jiang Lai, Chi Yingyu’s fingertips gently smoothed her furrowed brow.
Though she wanted to do so much more, she only rested her hand on Jiang Lai’s.
“Maybe you only have my sister in your heart, but you’re the only one in mine…”
Even this silent, unconfessed companionship was enough for Chi Yingyu.
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