No Wind on a Sunny Day

The day we graduated, Adrian and I had one last time together. A breakup fuck. Afterward, he lit a cigarette and passed it to me with practiced ease, a smirk playing on his lips. “When I find a wife,” he mused, “I’m definitely not marrying the kind of woman who smokes after sex.” A lump formed in my throat. I managed to ask him why. He just said, “Celine, I like them innocent.” I was silent for a long time after that. Then I cut off all contact. The next time we met, he was my new boss. To save us both the awkwardness, I handed in my resignation. But he cornered me in the office, his hand braced against the door. “It’s been five years,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “One more time?” I dropped my gaze. “I can’t. I have to pick up my daughter from school.”

1 The air in the room went still. Adrian froze. I tried to push myself off his lap, but his arm clamped around my waist like a steel band, holding me fast. The searing heat in his eyes cooled to a dark, unreadable shadow. The usual mask of calm control he wore so well finally cracked. He gritted his teeth. “How old is she?” I hesitated, then answered softly. “Three.” Three, not four. And we had been broken up for five years. The child had nothing to do with him. He clearly understood that, too. I tried to stand again, and this time, the hand on my waist let go. As I reached the door, his voice, now laced with suspicion, stopped me. “I remember your file. It says you’re unmarried.” My steps faltered for a fraction of a second, but I steadied myself and turned back, my expression placid. “We just got the license a little while ago.” “Just got the license, but your kid is three?” I nodded, my face a picture of serene confidence. “That’s right. We had her before we got married.” Adrian didn’t reply. His sharp gaze swept over my hand, lingering on the cheap wedding band I wore. A dismissive laugh escaped his lips. I didn’t feel a shred of shame. I held my hand up, showing it to him, almost poking him in the eye with it. Just as I saw the anger beginning to spark in his eyes, I made my escape. Back home that night, I let out a long, heavy sigh. Sometimes, a well-placed lie is the most effective tool for dealing with unforeseen trouble. I’d bought the ring at a dollar store the day before. Cheap, but it did the trick. It would be enough, I thought, to extinguish any lingering embers of affection Adrian might have held for me. Sure enough, my resignation was approved the next day. HR came to tell me personally that afternoon. I had one week to hand over my work, and then I was free. Normally, the process took a month. A week was unheard of. It wasn’t hard to guess whose influence was behind that. I nodded and started briefing the new intern on my duties. She was a sweet, enthusiastic girl named Violet. For the entire time I was training her, she made sure I never had to buy my own breakfast or afternoon tea. As quitting time approached, Violet looked at me, a shy expression on her face. “Celine, would it be okay if I left a little early tonight? My boyfriend is taking me to dinner.” I was in a bind. It wasn’t that I couldn’t let her go, but I also needed to leave early to pick up my daughter. Seeing me hesitate, she grew anxious, pressing her palms together and pleading. I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s fine, go ahead.” She thanked me profusely and started packing up. “My boyfriend’s coming down to get me now.” I was surprised. “He works here too?” Violet gave me a mysterious look. “Not exactly, he’s…” Her words were cut short by a deep, magnetic voice. “Ready to go?”

2 My entire body went rigid. If it had been a voice I’d never heard, I might have looked up, curious. But this voice, unfortunately, was one that had haunted my nightmares for the past five years. On the nights so dark I needed pills just to find sleep, Adrian’s words would echo in my ears. “Celine, you’re too good for me. I’ll just corrupt you.” “Celine, you should learn to smoke. It’s cool when a girl smokes. I want to see a different side of you.” I fell for it all, every word a sweet poison. I learned. I changed. Starting in my sophomore year, I went from just another girl with a crush on Adrian to his girl on the side. Eventually, I beat out all the other upperclassmen and freshmen to become his girlfriend for three years. The day he accepted my confession, the weather was awful, the wind howling. He had just dropped off a girl from his year after a date, his car parked right under the women’s dorms. His long, elegant fingers held a cigarette, his arm resting lazily on the open window frame as he leaned back with his eyes closed. The wind scattered the ash into the air. I threw on a jacket, ran downstairs, and knocked on his window. Banking on the sliver of special treatment he always reserved for me, I told him how I felt. In that moment, the roar of the wind seemed to fade, as if the world had hit pause. I waited for his answer. Adrian turned to look at me. He took out another cigarette, his dark eyes deep and bottomless, yet pulling me in with a fatal attraction. On impulse, I took it from him and put it to my lips. My damp mouth brushed against his fingers, and he didn’t pull away. His playful expression softened into something like silent permission. All he said was: “Look at the good girl, not so good anymore.” At the time, I was so lost in his eyes that I completely missed the true meaning behind his words. I didn’t understand until graduation day. It was the last time he asked me to a hotel, and the last time we ever saw each other. After we were finished, he handed me a cigarette with that familiar, practiced motion. “When I find a wife, I’m definitely not marrying the kind of woman who smokes after sex.” I choked back a sob and asked him why. Adrian smiled, a plume of white smoke curling from his fingertips. His tone was more serious than I had ever heard it. “Celine, I like them innocent.” Tears blurred my vision, and I forgot how to breathe. Innocent. He said he liked them innocent. But once, he had whispered that I was too innocent, too good, that he didn’t know what to do with me. Only now did I finally understand what he meant. Because I wasn’t the good girl anymore, he had filed me away in the category of girls you could play with.

3 I pulled myself from the memories, my face a calm, emotionless mask again. Violet, seeing her boyfriend, excitedly grabbed her bag and hurried over to him. Then she suddenly turned back to me. “Celine, don’t you have to pick up your daughter, too? We can give you a ride.” I was about to refuse, but Adrian walked straight over, picked up my bag from my desk, and headed for the parking garage without giving me a chance to say no. The atmosphere in the car was unnervingly silent, broken only by Violet’s occasional chatter. Adrian tapped a light rhythm on the steering wheel, giving her brief replies while his eyes kept flicking to me in the rearview mirror. Violet, probably sensing my discomfort, tried to start a conversation. “Celine, when you work late, does your husband usually pick up your daughter?” The word “husband” caught me off guard. It took me a second to process. Then I just shook my head and made an excuse. “He works out of town. He’s not back very often.” She nodded with an “ah, I see” expression, her gaze falling to the cheap ring on my finger. “Is that your wedding ring? It looks a little faded.” Her voice was casual, but the words were sharp. “It looks like something you’d get online for ten bucks.” “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that! Please don’t take it the wrong way.” Violet quickly turned to apologize, but I saw the flicker of disdain in her eyes, a strange sense of superiority she couldn’t quite hide. And why not? Compared to my fifty-dollar diaper bag, her Hermès was in a different universe. Before I could respond, a soft laugh cut through the tension. Adrian reached over and ruffled her hair, his smile full of affection. “It’s okay. You didn’t say anything wrong. No need to apologize.” Then, his eyes met mine in the mirror. His tone was light, as if making casual conversation, but the words were aimed directly at me. “People with no money are always so proud. If you’re this blunt, aren’t you afraid of getting on someone’s bad side at work tomorrow?” He was talking to Violet, but the message was for me. A seemingly careless comment that was a blatant defense of her, and a subtle warning to me. I pretended not to hear and turned to look out the window. I had heard countless variations of the same sentiment during our three years together. That I wasn’t good enough for him. And I agreed. The gap between us was immense. My family wasn’t poor, but we were comfortably middle-class at best. The Courtlands, however, weren’t just wealthy; they were a powerhouse of influence and prestige. Right from the beginning, Adrian had been clear. “Celine, you can be my girlfriend, but you’ll never be my wife.” I knew. I had always known. I guarded my heart carefully, never crossing the lines he had drawn. But in moments of intense passion, my resolve would waver. A voice would whisper, Just try. What if you succeed? So, just before graduation, I asked to see him. He picked me up early that day. He parked on a quiet side street on campus, and the driver got out to wait at a distance. He turned me around in my seat. The dappled shadows of the sycamore trees danced with the sunlight, stabbing at my eyes. An hour later, Adrian was leaning back against the seat, his white shirt damp with sweat, a sheen on his forehead. The window was cracked open, and a cool breeze swirled inside, dispersing the smoke from his cigarette. I looked at him and finally asked the question. “Adrian, do you love me?” More than wanting to know if he would marry me, I needed to know if he had ever loved me. He looked at me, his usually teasing eyes holding a rare seriousness. “We’re about to graduate.” In that instant, I understood. We’re about to graduate, so it’s time to break up.

4 The car pulled up to the curb in front of the daycare. I opened the door and got out. My daughter, who had been standing by the entrance holding her teacher’s hand, saw me and waved happily. I hurried over, thanked the teacher, and bent down to my daughter. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Mommy’s late today.” “Have you been waiting long?” She tilted her little face up at me and pointed. “Is it because of that man that you were late?” Startled, I followed her finger and turned around. Adrian was standing behind me. I had no idea when he’d gotten out of the car. The usual careless swagger was gone, replaced by a heavy gravity. And a flicker of something I couldn’t quite identify… joy? I froze, my hand tightening on my daughter’s. He walked over and slowly crouched down in front of her, his gaze fixed on her sweet, angelic face. Adrian’s voice, usually so cool and detached, softened. “How old are you? What’s your name?” I didn’t say a word. I didn’t stop him. We had been together for three years. I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t believe me unless he saw her with his own eyes. I looked at my daughter, my expression gentle, and gave her hand a small, meaningful squeeze. She got the hint. “My name is Poppy,” she said clearly. “And I’m three years old.” Phew. I let out a quiet breath of relief. Adrian stared at the little girl, at the eyes and brows that were a startling echo of his own. The initial rush of paternal joy that had been rising within him was instantly extinguished by her words. The questions he was about to ask died in his throat. Poppy was premature, and because I’d been malnourished during the pregnancy, she was smaller than other kids her age. Besides, with a child that young, it was hard to guess their exact age. After breaking up with Adrian, I had blocked him on every social media platform. He, in turn, had made no effort to keep tabs on me. We were like two intersecting lines. We’d had our brief, tangled moment, but once pulled taut, we returned to our separate paths. We had lived in the same city for five years. I won’t deny that I had fantasized about seeing that familiar car at an intersection, of us crossing paths by chance. But it never happened. We were moving in different orbits, each with our own rhythm, our own destination. Even under the same sky, we lived in different worlds. That night at home, my daughter tugged on my shirt, her face a mask of confusion. “Mommy, I’m four. Why did we have to lie?” She was right. Why was I teaching my child to lie? Perhaps, I thought, because I didn’t want to invite trouble into our lives. Not long after our last meeting, I discovered I was pregnant. I considered ending it. But lying there on the table at the clinic, I hesitated. A stubborn defiance burned inside me. I admit it, I was bitter. Even if we can’t be together, I thought, at least I’ll have a child who shares his blood. So I went through with it alone. But the moment I held that tiny, pink bundle in my arms, I was overwhelmed with relief. I knew I had made the right decision. This was my child. Half of her was me. She didn’t belong to anyone else. She deserved a chance to see the world. … After putting Poppy to sleep, I got a call from the head of HR. He told me not to bother coming in tomorrow. I frowned. “Whose decision was that?” He paused for a moment on the other end, clearly not intending to answer. I didn’t press the issue. One day sooner or later made no difference to me.

5 After leaving my job, I didn’t look for another. Instead, I opened a small children’s clothing studio, with my daughter volunteering as my adorable model. Thanks to her cute face and my hard-won video editing skills, I managed to build a small following. Between scattered orders and the occasional ad sponsorship, I could make ends meet, and even save a little. I thought that quitting my job meant I was once again free of Adrian. But I was wrong. He showed up at my door with a paternity test. I wasn’t surprised. The night before, while I was giving Poppy a bath, she had a troubled look on her little face. She clearly had something on her mind but didn’t know how to say it. I pretended not to notice and kept washing her hair. After a while, she finally spoke in a small voice. “Mommy, I saw that man at school again today.” I didn’t respond, continuing to lather the shampoo. Fearing I was angry, she waved her soapy hands in the air to reassure me. “He didn’t talk to me! He just patted my hair and then he left.” “Mommy, you’re not mad, are you?” Looking at her anxious little eyes, I sighed, a wave of helplessness washing over me. For a child, parents are their entire world. When Poppy started talking, her first word was “Mama.” Her second was “Dada.” But there was never anyone to answer that second call. When she was three, she asked me why all the other kids had a mommy and a daddy, while she only had a mommy. I didn’t hide the truth from her. I didn’t lie or spin some tale about her father being far away. I told her, “You have a father. Your father and I just chose not to be together. He might not even know you exist in this world.” “You can choose to find him, and you can even choose to live with him, but I can’t promise he will accept you. It was my mistake to have you without telling him.” I showed her a picture of Adrian. My daughter is very smart, with a child’s sharp memory. She recognized him instantly that day at school. But she didn’t approach him.