Chapter 205
At the first light of dawn, Luna Whitaker carried a wicker basket toward the chicken coop. The morning dew dampened her cloth shoes, but she paid no mind, deftly reaching into the nest to gather eggs.
"Cluck, cluck..." She scattered a handful of corn, and the chickens flocked around her. As she fed them and counted the freshly collected eggs, a faint smile touched her lips.
"Luna!"
She looked up to see Ryan Wallace standing at the gate. Today, he looked unusually sharp—his slate-blue tunic neatly pressed, even his usually scruffy beard cleanly shaved. But those shoes...
Luna's heart skipped a beat. They were the pair she had stitched for him two months ago.
"You look very smart today, Ryan," she said, forcing a smile while suppressing the flutter in her chest.
Ryan scratched his head, his sun-darkened cheeks flushing. "Aunt Zhang from the next village is bringing someone... to meet my father."
The corn slipped from Luna's fingers, scattering across the ground. She understood immediately—this was a matchmaking visit for Ryan.
"Oh... congratulations," she murmured, lowering her gaze, her voice trembling slightly.
Ryan was forty now. Luna knew he had delayed marriage for years to help his family raise pigs. Now that the Wallaces were doing better, it was time for him to find a good woman.
So why did her chest ache so much?
"Wait here." Luna suddenly turned and hurried inside, digging out a brand-new pair of cloth shoes from the bottom of her wooden chest. She had stayed up three nights finishing them, the soles tightly stitched.
"Put these on," she said, handing them over. "New clothes deserve new shoes."
When Ryan's rough hands took them, his fingers brushed against hers. A jolt shot through her fingertips straight to her heart.
"Thanks." He sat on the stone bench in the yard, clumsily changing his shoes—adorably awkward. Standing up, he took a few steps before blurting out, "Not like it'll work out anyway."
"What?" Luna froze.
But Ryan walked away without looking back, his silhouette radiating an inexplicable loneliness.
Luna stood motionless. Bending down, she picked up his old shoes and saw the soles were worn through. He had worn them... every single day for two months.
As she washed them by the water basin, tears suddenly splashed into the water. She wiped them away hastily with the back of her hand, scolding herself inwardly: Luna Whitaker, what are you thinking? A divorced woman with three sons—stop this foolishness.
Her boys were still asleep inside. Taking a deep breath, she hung the washed shoes under the eaves. Sunlight refracted through the water droplets, casting tiny rainbows.
Just like the secret in her heart—one she could never speak aloud.