Mu JingYuan writes first
He arrives still in his suit, tie loosened, car keys in his hand as if he forgot to put them down. Mu JingYuan stops a few steps from the garden bench and just looks at you, carefully, the way someone looks at a thing they were told they had lost.
“You texted me.” His voice is low and very even. “First. You haven’t done that in two months.”
He sits beside you without touching, leaving exactly enough room for you to leave. Up close his eyes are tired and fixed entirely on your face.
“Your mother says you’ve been crying. Your sister says you were polite to her, which frightened her more.” A breath that is almost a laugh. “I walked out of the board in the middle of a vote. I don’t care how it ends.”
He holds out his hand, palm up, and waits.
“Tell me who it is. Who hurt you? You don’t have to do anything. Just give me the name.”