They were never very likely to be on the same wavelength; that kind of tacit understanding often failed between them. Julian Grant didn’t think this was a serious problem—after all, wasn’t language invented to facilitate communication? Understanding is something that’s built over long-term living together, and The Vault never even gave him the chance.

If The Vault kept giving him reading comprehension questions as novel as exam prompts, his young and fragile heart really wouldn’t be able to handle the repeated shocks.

…But this couldn’t be entirely blamed on The Vault either. Julian Grant realized this. Captain Harris had to take most of the blame.

The Vault was just thinking about how to comfort him when the string of irritable messages in front of her suddenly disappeared.

[Julian Grant retracted a message]

Julian Grant: Are you coming home for dinner tonight?

The Vault felt a bit guilty at Julian Grant’s sudden show of understanding. But that feeling only lingered for a moment and didn’t help The Vault tell the truth.

The Vault: I’ll be back.

Julian Grant: Okay, come back early. I’m going to work now.

After that, there was no more response from the other side.

The furious Julian Grant had so easily soothed himself.

Looking at the now-still phone screen, The Vault, out of caution, also sent a message to Henry Harris to give her a heads-up. She said that if Julian Grant came asking, help her cover and say she’d gone to see her today.

Henry Harris only saw this message after leaving the prison; by then, ten minutes had already passed.

Sitting in the car, Henry Harris thought to herself that young people these days were really something—still just dating and already looking for someone to cover for them, not honest at all.

But if it was The Vault, she probably had a legitimate reason that was hard to explain.

Henry Harris scrolled down through the chat history.

Julian Grant hadn’t come to ask her anything, so she took the initiative to send Julian Grant a message.

Henry Harris: The Vault is with me.

Receiving this belated report, Julian Grant felt a bit confused.

Julian Grant: Done with your business? Then have her answer the phone.

Henry Harris replied calmly: We’re about to go in for a prison visit, talk later. She’ll be home tonight, don’t rush her.

After handling Julian Grant, Henry Harris called The Vault directly.

The call was picked up quickly, and Henry Harris asked casually, “Where are you?”

It sounded quiet on The Vault’s end. She said, “I’m about to go to the hospital.”

“You’re still not better?” Henry Harris said in surprise. “If it’s just a follow-up, why do you need me to cover for you? Are you okay?”

The Vault explained, “I want to visit Leonard Campbell’s ex-wife.”

Henry Harris was relieved. “Oh, I was just about to head over too. See you at the hospital then.”

The Vault: “Okay.”

·

Leonard Campbell’s ex-wife—The Vault had only met her a few times. She just remembered that the two had been divorced for a long time and their relationship was rather distant. They had a son named Zachary Campbell, who was two years older than The Vault’s father.

In fact, she had only met Leonard Campbell a handful of times as well. Leonard Campbell studied social psychology and was also a very perceptive person; he could sense The Vault’s resistance toward him. Before Quinn Foster appeared, most of what he provided The Vault was financial and academic support. Later, after Quinn Foster became close with The Vault, he gained another channel to communicate with her.

Unfortunately, Quinn Foster wasn’t able to ease their relationship; every conversation between the two still carried a clear sense of distance.

Standing at the hospital entrance, The Vault picked out a nice fruit basket from a shop and bought a bouquet of flowers, carrying them as she went up to visit.

She’d gotten the room information by asking Quinn Foster. Even Quinn Foster didn’t know his teacher’s wife’s birthday was coming up; he had to go ask Zachary Campbell before he could give The Vault the exact details.

When The Vault arrived, in the hospital room besides Leonard Campbell’s ex-wife—Ms. Steele—there was also a middle-aged caregiver.

She discreetly scanned the room.

The room was warmly decorated, with flowers and ornaments stuffed into every corner, making it feel almost crowded. Even the quilt and sheets were changed to bright floral patterns, unlike the coldness of other hospital rooms. It showed that her family was taking good care of her.

The Vault glanced around briefly, then quickly looked back at Ms. Steele.

Ms. Steele seemed clear-headed, just physically very weak. She was extremely thin, almost skin and bones. The bones at her joints protruded outward, making her look like just a layer of skin draped over a skeleton.

Various sophisticated instruments were set up near the bed to monitor her vital signs. Modern medicine could no longer do much for her, only make her a little more comfortable.

Ms. Steele stared at her face for a while without recognizing her. After The Vault introduced herself, she thought for a moment before remembering.

“So it’s you. I didn’t expect you to come see me.” Ms. Steele was surprised, her voice hoarse, nodding at her. “Sorry to make you worry.”

The Vault sat down beside her. Since the bedside table was full, she put the fruit basket and flowers on the floor.

“It’s nothing. I don’t keep in touch with Uncle Campbell much, so I only recently found out you were ill.”

“Don’t say it’s just you—even I don’t keep in touch with Leonard much.” Ms. Steele smiled, the movement deepening the wrinkles on her face. “He’s only interested in his research; he doesn’t care about anything else… But we’ve been divorced for a long time, so there’s no need to keep in touch often.”

Ms. Steele reached up to smooth her withered hair, trying to make herself look less disheveled. But her illness was already very serious, her life nearing its end, and most of her elegance had been destroyed by sickness.

The Vault stepped forward to help prop up her pillow and tidy her scattered white hair.

“Thank you. You even made time to visit me, such a hassle.” Ms. Steele said softly. “Actually, I’m fine. No need to celebrate my birthday—I can’t eat cake anyway.”

The Vault exchanged a few polite words, unwrapped the fruit basket, and took out a banana.

Ms. Steele shook her head. “I can’t eat it.”

After being bedridden for so long and rarely having visitors, Ms. Steele was clearly happy to have a young person to chat with; even her complexion improved a bit. She relaxed her brows and looked at The Vault kindly, asking, “How old are you now?”

The Vault replied, “Almost 27.”

“You’re already grown up. When I met your father, he was just a teenager. In the blink of an eye, even you’re this old.” Ms. Steele sighed, then asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

The Vault shook her head, dragged her chair to the bedside, and curiously asked, “How did you meet Uncle Campbell?”

“We didn’t really ‘meet’—we were classmates, and just naturally got together.” Ms. Steele’s eyes curved, and though her pupils were cloudy, they still shone with light. She teased, “Disappointed? There’s no story like the ones you young people long for.”

“Not long ago, I found a poetry collection with a poem he wrote for you.” The Vault said with envy. “Uncle Campbell isn’t just talented, he’s also romantic, right?”

Ms. Steele seemed to hear something naïve, half helpless and half amused: “Romantic? Him? No, no, he’s not romantic at all. The most romantic thing he ever did was write me a poem—just one, the one you saw. He used that poem for years, even included it in his poetry collection later. I couldn’t stand it. If he hadn’t been handsome when he was young, I wouldn’t have liked him.”

The Vault looked surprised, and Ms. Steele laughed softly at her expression.

“That’s just how he is. If you’re not his research subject, he doesn’t even want to talk much. Very stiff.” Ms. Steele lowered her voice, confiding to The Vault, “Even though he studies social psychology and can talk endlessly about other people’s love lives, he can’t practice it himself. Maybe he’s seen too much and become indifferent. Maybe, in his eyes, human impulses are just different hormones at work.”

The Vault joked, “From a scientific perspective, that’s not wrong.”

Ms. Steele: “Feelings are the least scientific thing. You young people…”

It sounded like Ms. Steele still had some feelings for Leonard Campbell. Or rather, even if Leonard Campbell had no lingering attachment, Ms. Steele still maintained a bond with her husband, something like family.

So why did they get divorced?

The Vault asked the question.

Ms. Steele stiffened for a moment when she heard it, then said a bit awkwardly, “We just weren’t right for each other. Our personalities didn’t match, so we couldn’t go on living together.”

She didn’t realize that the wrinkles on her face revealed every emotion. Because her cheeks were so thin, every change in expression was obvious.

The Vault nodded calmly, leaned in closer, and smiled, “I don’t know about compatibility, but Uncle Campbell is my standard for a boyfriend—good temper, polite, talented, respected, and a gentleman to women. If I look for a boyfriend, I’d want someone like him.”

Ms. Steele shook her head. “You can’t just look for a good temper in a partner. Sometimes what you think is a good temper is just someone who doesn’t like getting angry. Marriage isn’t what you imagine. If you idealize it too much, you’ll find you can’t keep going. Of course, everyone wants something different—find what’s right for you.”