A Heart For Nothing

Jameson called around 9:00 am.

“Camille, I'm waiting for you by the elevator in the underground parking lot. You can come down now.”

Camille grabbed the offerings she had prepared earlier and got into his car.

Her grandmother passed away when she was in her second year of college. Originally, she had planned to bury her grandmother in their hometown.

It was Jameson who bought a plot at the most expensive cemetery in South City.

He said that her grandmother would be buried in South City as it would be too lonely for her grandmother to stay in their hometown alone.

Reluctantly, Camille, under his persuasion, had her grandmother buried at the cemetery in South City.

However, she was about to leave now and would never come back.

Now, her grandmother would be buried alone in South City. She should never have trusted Jameson’s promises.

Camille sat in the car, her tears flowing uncontrollably.

Jameson, feeling heartbroken, stopped the car and pulled her into his arms, gently comforting her, “Camille, darling, don’t cry. Your grandmother knows what you’ve done for her, and she’ll be at peace.”

At that moment, all Camille could think of was his betrayal, yet he was still pretending to be so sincere in front of her.

She closed her eyes tightly, pulled away from his embrace, and said in a hoarse voice, “You're right. I can't make Grandma worry. Let's go.”

Jameson looked at her worriedly. “Camille, did something happen? Your grandmother has been gone for a long time. Why are you so upset?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I just miss her so much all of a sudden.”

Jameson asked a few more times, but when he did not get an answer, he had no choice but to continue driving. “Camille, please stop crying. If you keep this up, I’ll tell Grandma you’ve been naughty. You weren’t feeling well yesterday, and today, you’re crying your eyes out for her.”

Camille lowered her gaze and said nothing.

When they arrived at the cemetery, she took two bouquets of flowers and some candles with her as she got out of the car.

Jameson offered to carry them, but she stepped aside. “I want to give them to Grandma myself.”

The two of them walked up the steps together.

Camille looked at the familiar smile on the photo of her grandmother and felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Kneeling down, she touched the tombstone.

Jameson knelt beside her.

“Grandma, please rest assured. I’ll take good care of Camille and be her support for life.”

Camille did not understand why he still dared to say such things in front of her grandmother’s tombstone.

She took out the bouquets of dried flowers to place them in front of the tombstone.

Jameson grabbed her hand.

“Camille, aren’t these the flowers you arranged for us?”

Camille nodded. “I’m giving them to Grandma so that she can be happy for us too.”

He furrowed his brows. “But you said these were meant for us to use on our wedding day.”

“I’ll make new ones.”

Jameson reluctantly let go, watching as Camille placed the bouquets she had carefully arranged on the tombstone.

A sense of inexplicable panic rose within him. “Camille, are you…”

However, before he could finish, a voice suddenly called out from the cold, solemn cemetery.

“Jameson!”

Both Jameson and Camille turned around to see Sylvia standing not far away.

Her white clothes were a stark contrast to her black hair, making her look unusually fragile.

Jameson frowned as he walked toward her. “What are you doing here?”

Camille tried to ignore them. She took out a small carved house from her bag that she had specifically prepared for today.

She silently said to her grandmother in her heart, ‘Grandma, I’m leaving soon. I’m leaving this house from our hometown as a memento…’

Just as she was about to place the house in front of the tombstone, someone suddenly grabbed it from her hands.

Camille turned around.

Sylvia was holding the small house, tears streaming down her face. “Ms. Fields, this little house looks just like my grandparents' house when I was a child. Can you please give it to me?”

Camille immediately refused without thinking, “No, I carved this for my grandmother with my own hands. Please give it back to me.”

She reached out her hand.

However, Sylvia refused to return it. Instead, she turned to look at Jameson with pleading eyes. “Jameson, when my grandparents passed away, they were still thinking about their hometown. This house really looks like their home. Can you let Ms. Fields give it to me?”

Jameson hesitated for just a moment before saying to Camille, “Camille, give it to her. You can carve another one for your grandmother, okay?”

Camille felt a sudden chill run through her.

When she first learned stone carving, her hands had been covered in cuts from the tools. Jameson had been so heartbroken at the time, telling her that her hands were meant for saving lives, not for such things.

After failing to stop her, he made her promise that this would be the only piece she ever carved and that she would never do it again. Now, he wanted her to give away this stone house, which she had so painstakingly carved, to Sylvia.

Camille lowered her head. “This is for my grandmother.”

Jameson walked over, bent down, and whispered in her ear with a tone of helplessness, “She has cancer and doesn’t have much time left. Camille, please let her have it, okay?”

Camille said, “What if I say no?”

He fell silent.

The air grew cold.

Sylvia clutched her chest and, in a choked voice, called out, “Jameson…”

Without a second thought, Jameson replied, “Yes, Sylvia, you can take it.”

Sylvia broke into a smile, turning to walk quickly toward her grandparents’ tombstone and placing the stone house there.

As Camille looked at the smile in the photo of her grandmother on the tombstone, her lips trembled as she tried to force a smile, but her eyes turned red.

Jameson was saying something beside her, but she could not hear a word.

She just kept thinking about how she had spent so long learning stone carving—sketching drafts over and over, failing again and again. She had put so much effort into preparing the gift for her grandmother.

Yet it was so easily taken by Jameson and given to Sylvia.

At this point, what other decisions would Jameson make for her? What more of hers would he give away to Sylvia?

She thought to herself, ‘Grandma, both you and I misjudged him. But luckily, it’s still not too late. I no longer want this man.’