Chapter 4 — The Flower in Both Hands - Part 1 (4)
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We were sitting in the bar, sipping our drinks, when she carefully opened the door and stepped inside.
It was autumn, and her demeanor had changed noticeably—delicate in appearance, yet her figure was more curvaceous than expected.
“What brings you here?”
“Just… heard the boy’s mother is pregnant again.”
She brought her glass to her lips as she spoke.
“I’ve been trying for years with nothing. She gets pregnant so quickly… how unfair.”
We passed the bottle back and forth in silence, though neither of us seemed to drink much.
“Have you thought about remarrying? You already have a child.”
“Not yet. And who’d want a divorced man with a kid? But you—well, Sarah—shouldn’t you be the one getting married?”
“Hoho. I’m not thinking about it either. After getting burned once by a man, I’m just scared now!”
“I see.”
The silence between us stretched longer than our words.
After a long while, she spoke again.
“How do you bear it? I’ve heard men find it hard to endure.”
“I just… manage somehow. What about you?”
“Hoho. Me? Not like it’s something I even think about much.”
We were two people who had lived through similar experiences—relationships with men and women, the quiet betrayals, the emotional scars—and so we spoke more honestly than most ever would.
“If you’re managing somehow… do you have a lover?”
“No. Not a lover. Well… I occasionally meet someone to take care of things.”
“A miss?”
“No. A married woman.”
“Hmm… so he’s not exactly a righteous man either, then.”
“That’s right. That’s why I don’t even consider remarrying. No need to resent the child’s mother either…”
…
We both fell quiet again, fingers idly tracing the rims of our glasses, occasionally lifting them to our lips.
“One thing… the boy’s mother—was she always good in bed?”
She asked the second blunt question.
Seeing this composed woman speak so casually about such a thing confirmed what I’d suspected—she, too, had once been a married woman.
“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘good.’ Before my first marriage, how different could any of us really have been? But why do you ask?”
“I don’t have any lingering feelings for my husband. But that phrase keeps echoing in my chest—she’s better than you in bed. As a woman, it crushed my pride. Even if someone told me to go out and find a man, I wouldn’t have the confidence.”
“I… I understand. But you should let go of that memory. Sarah, you’re more than attractive enough!”
She took a sip of liquor, swirled it in her mouth, and gazed at me.
“Really. Do you truly think so?”
“Yes. Truly~.”