Marina first heard about Jonathan’s grandfather’s heart attack and hospitalization from Preston Winslow.
Jonathan himself hadn’t reached out to her—not that she found it surprising. Clifford had never liked her, so it made sense, both emotionally and logically, that Jonathan wouldn’t tell her. It was exactly the kind of thing he’d do.
Standing in front of Jonathan’s desk, Marina hesitated for a second before handing him a bag. “Jonathan, I know you’re only trying to look out for me. But since Preston Winslow told me what happened, I can’t just pretend I don’t know…”
She pushed the bag a little closer. “I get that your grandfather doesn’t want to see me, but I still want to do something for him. It’s nothing expensive, but I hope you can give this to him for me.”
Jonathan took the bag from her. It was a thick, high-quality paper sack with no brand printed anywhere—subtle, but tasteful.
He opened it and pulled out what was inside.
Over the years, Marina had always tried to win Clifford’s approval. The more she tried to please him, the less he seemed to like her. Jonathan half-expected her gift to be some kind of luxury item, something expensive and flashy. If that had been the case, he would’ve handed it right back; Clifford would never accept it, much less appreciate it.
But the moment Jonathan felt the warm, soft weight of the scarf in his hands, something deep inside him stirred. Old memories came rushing back.
“This… Did you knit this yourself?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
Marina smiled shyly and nodded. “Yeah…”
She knew he’d remember.
Back in high school, she’d learned to knit just for Jonathan. The very first scarf she’d ever made, she’d given to him as a gift. It had been a mess, really—wrong yarn, uneven stitches, the whole thing a tangle of rookie mistakes. But Jonathan had loved it. All winter long, he wore only that scarf. He never swapped it out for another.
Marina flushed, ducking her head with a bashful laugh. “Why would you keep something so childish and cheap?”
Jonathan’s voice was gentle, almost offhand. “I never throw away anything you give me.”
Inside, Marina was elated. Her plan had worked—the scarf had called up all the memories and feelings she’d hoped for.
But as she basked in her private triumph, Jonathan added softly, “I never throw away anything Rina gives me.”
The smile froze on Marina’s lips. She struggled to keep her expression steady, fighting down a wave of jealousy and anxiety that threatened to spill over.
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