Chapter 24

Purpose Chapter 25

The hallway was mercifully empty, her footsteps echoing on the polished floors. Mary’s carefully held polite smile faded, her brows furrowing. Her jaw ached from the polite smile she’d worn through the conversation with Carly. She needed to think about this more, maybe ask for help. She’d never been in this situation before. Mary concluded she would talk to Dr. Mu. Director Mu should at least be aware of the tension. She mentally fortified herself for that conversation. With a nod of her head she continued walking, refocusing on her next task.

She was already mentally reviewing the afternoon’s interviews. The Agency had provided three candidates for the domestic position, scheduled back-to-back starting at four. She needed someone reliable. Someone who wouldn’t ask questions about why a professor needed help with school pickup and simple cooking. Someone who would just... be there. She could not keep abusing Sam’s singleness to help with the boys.

“Professor Thomas… Mary.”

Mary’s heart lurched. She turned to find Ming approaching from the direction of her classroom. His expression was warm with pleasant surprise. He carried a brown paper bag and a coffee warmer. His hair tousled, sleeves rolled, he looked effortlessly approachable.

“Ming. Hello.” She kept walking, hoping he’d take the hint.

He fell into step beside her easily. “I was hoping to catch you. I wondered if you might be free this Friday evening? There’s a small gallery opening in the Arts District. A former student of mine is showing her work. I thought you might enjoy it.” His voice was light, casual, as if asking a colleague out was the most natural thing in the world.

Mary’s mind raced. Friday. The boys would be with Sam for their weekly pizza-and-movie night. Sam had insisted on carving out that time after the move, a small anchor of normalcy for the kids. Mary would technically be free. But the thought of an evening, of social expectations, of being perceived and questioned…

“I’m so sorry, Ming, I can’t.” The words tumbled out too fast. “I have interviews this afternoon, and Friday is, um, it’s complicated. Another time, perhaps.”

They had reached the building’s exit. Mary pushed through the door, letting the afternoon air hit her face. Ming followed, his expression unruffled, though something flickered in his eyes too quickly to read.

“Of course. Another time, then.” He smiled, and it was kind, understanding. “The interviews. Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Fine. Just..um…I need domestic help. For the boys.” Why was she telling him this? She was already moving toward the street, scanning for a taxi. “I’m sorry, I really have to run.”

“A taxi will take forever at this hour. Let me drive you.” He gestured toward the parking lot. “I’m free until my four o’clock.”

“No!” The word came out sharp, and Mary saw his slight recoil. She softened her voice, forced a smile. “No, thank you. Really. I need to walk to clear my head.” She was already backing away. “Thank you for the invitation. Truly. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She turned and walked quickly toward the street, hailing the first taxi she saw with an urgency that felt ridiculous even to herself. As the cab pulled away, she didn’t look back. If she had, she would have seen Ming standing exactly where she’d left him, his expression thoughtful, his hands relaxed at his sides, the brown bag casually hanging from his fingers. She would have seen him lift one hand in a small wave, as if she might still be watching through the rear window.

She would have seen him smile.

The agency was a narrow storefront wedged between a bubble tea shop and a pharmacy, its window display featuring sternly worded certificates and a single plastic plant. Mary checked the address on her phone and pushed through the door, bracing herself for the smell of disinfectant and desperation that seemed to permeate such places.

Instead, she found a small, clean room with mismatched chairs and a reception desk staffed by a bored-looking young woman picking at her cuticles.

“Hello. I’m Mary Thomas.”

“Hello. Are you here for an appointment?”

“Yes, I have interviews for domestic help.”

“Yes, welcome, welcome. May I get you something to drink? Water? Tea? Please sit.”

“Thank you. I would really like a glass of water.”

“Yes, just one moment.” Mary sat. The young woman disappeared through a door at the end of the hallway. She came back quickly with a bottle of water.

“Here you are. Please enjoy. I have you scheduled for three interviews. After you have rested a moment, I will take you to the interview room.”

“Thank you.” Mary took a few moments to drink a few sips of the water, then stood. She smiled at the young woman. “Ready.”

“Please follow me this way.” The young woman smiled and led Mary to a back office. The room was spacious and furnished like a small living room with a couch, armchairs, a coffee table with tea service, end tables, potted plants and lamps. A beautiful large mountain scene calligraphy was framed on the far wall. The room smelled wonderful. A light fresh citrus scent. An incense atomizer hid discreetly in the corner as a wall hanging. What a wonderful idea for interviews, Mary thought. Very comfortable, less intimidating.

“Please have a seat. May I serve you tea?”

“No thank you.”

“Very well. Please help yourself at any time. I will go and get your first candidate. Please make yourself comfortable.” The young woman left quickly, quietly closing the door. Mary took a few deep breaths and waited. She perched on the edge of an armchair, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.

A gentle knock, the door opened, and the first candidate came in nervously. She was a beautiful young woman who looked barely out of her teens, who admitted she’d never cooked anything more complicated than instant noodles and thought “light housework” meant tidying her own room. Mary dismissed her politely, thanking her for her time.

Another gentle knock and the second candidate entered. She was a brusque woman in her fifties who spent the entire interview criticizing Mary’s neighborhood and implying the pay was beneath her. Mary was terrified of her. Her voice was stern as she rapidly fired her requirements for her room. Mary politely thanked her for her time and dismissed her when she was able to get a word in.

Mary was mentally drafting a new classified ad when the third gentle knock came and the third candidate walked in.

She was small and compact, somewhere in her mid-sixties, with steel-grey hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun and the kind of face that looked like it had never learned to smile. Her eyes swept over Mary once, assessing, and her mouth settled into a thin line that could have meant anything.

“Mrs. Zhang?” Mary stood, offering her hand.

Mrs. Zhang took it briefly, her grip firm and dry. “You are the professor.” It wasn’t a question.”

“Yes. Please, sit down.” Mary resumed her seat, suddenly aware of how young she must look to this woman, how provisional. How drawn and tight her face must appear after the morning she’d had. “The agency sent over your information. You have excellent references.”

Mrs. Zhang made a small sound that might have been acknowledgement or might have been dismissal. “I have worked for thirty years. I know children. I know cooking. I know cleaning.” She paused, her eyes sharp on Mary’s face. “You look tired.”

Mary’s hand went instinctively to her cheek. “I’m fine. It’s been a long day.”

“Hmph.” Mrs. Zhang’s mouth pinched, but her eyes softened almost imperceptibly. Then, unexpectedly, her hand dipped into her pocket and emerged with something small wrapped in tissue paper. She placed it on the table between them like a negotiation tactic.

Mary stared at the small bundle.

“Open,” Mrs. Zhang commanded.

Bewildered, Mary unwrapped the tissue to find a few white rabbit candies. She looked up, confused.

“For you.” Mrs. Zhang’s expression remained stern, but something warm flickered beneath it. “Sweet takes away the bitterness. You have bitterness today. I see it.”

Mary’s throat tightened. “I... thank you.”

Mrs. Zhang waved a dismissive hand. “I keep them for children. The boys I will pick up from school?” She nodded. “They will get rabbits too. Sometimes stars, if I find the good ones. Candy is for after homework, before dinner. Not to spoil appetite. Just enough.”

Mary looked at the little bundle of candy in her palm, then at the fierce woman across from her. “You keep candy in your pockets. For children.”

“I keep candy in my pockets for everyone who needs it.” Mrs. Zhang’s voice was gruff, but her eyes were kind. “You needed it first today. Your face is too tight. Too pulled. Children feel that. They worry when mothers worry. So you eat the rabbit, and later you smile when you see them. Yes?”

Mary blinked rapidly, the fluorescent lights suddenly too bright. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

“Good.” Mrs. Zhang stood, businesslike once more. “I will need keys. I start tomorrow. Three o’clock? I will collect boys, bring home, start dinner. You tell me what they like, what they don’t like. I do not argue with children about vegetables, but I am clever about hiding them.”

Mary stood too, still holding the candy. “They like noodles. Leo, the younger one, will eat almost anything. Theo is pickier. Sometimes he’ll pretend not to like something even if he does, just to be contrary.”

“Ah.” Mrs. Zhang nodded sagely. “The testing one. I know this type. He will meet his match.” She adjusted her jacket, preparing to leave, then paused. “One more thing. I do not do drama. I do not do gossip. I come, I work, I go home. Your business is your business. My business is your boys and your dinner and your home. Understood?”

“Understood.” Mary felt lighter than she had all day. “Mrs. Zhang… Thank you. For the candy. For... for seeing it.”

Mrs. Zhang’s mouth didn’t smile, but her eyes did. “Eat the rabbit, Professor. Then call me Aunty. Everyone does.”

She was gone before Mary could respond, the door clicking softly behind her.

Mary sat back down, alone in the room. She unwrapped the candy, tears prickling at her eyes. She put the candy in her mouth, sighed at the sweet lovely taste, and felt something loosen in her chest. When she pulled out her phone to text Sam, her fingers moved more lightly.

Found domestic help. She keeps candy in her pockets for children, snd gave me one too. I think I love her”

Sam’s reply came instantly: A candy fairy with a cleaning schedule??? When can SHE marry me? Hey, you ok? Today I know you wanted space, but you are ok, right?

I’m okay. I’ll tell you about it when I get home. Thanks for picking up the boys”

“The heathens are fine. Come home I ordered dumplings.”

“How many dumplings?”

“About 100 so hurry before Gabe eats them all” Mary laughed, a real laugh.

“Ok I’ll see you soon. I’m calling the taxi now.”

After passing a set of keys to the young lady at the desk and signing the work contract, mary left the agency. Her taxi was waiting. Mary smiled in the taxi, watching the city slide past the window. She didn’t think about Ming, standing alone in the afternoon sun. She didn’t wonder what flickered behind his eyes when she’d said no. She thought about how her stress level was going to subside.

But across town, Ming sat in his office, replaying the brief encounter from this afternoon. Another time, perhaps. She had said that. Twice. An invitation wrapped in a refusal. He understood patience. He understood the long game.

He pulled a small notebook from his drawer, its leather cover worn smooth from years of use. Calmly, he wrote three words: Friday. Gallery. Yuelan. He underlined them twice, the pen pressing hard enough to dent the page beneath.

Then he picked up the phone, his mother could get him six tickets instead of two.

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Purpose

Purpose Character List

Dorie Snow/雪多丽

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December 28, 2025

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Purpose

Purpose Chapter 1

Dorie Snow/雪多丽

·

October 29, 2025

To distract myself from pure academia, I stated writing short stories. This is an easy read fluffy romance without a lot of polysyllabic words and philosophy. Perfect for writing in-between. When I was a teen, I loved Harlequin Romances, so in the spirit of that here we go, story one.

Read full story

White Rabbit Musings is my labor of love. This publication is reader supported. All articles will remain free domain, with the exception of Purpose, which for professional reasons has to be behind a paywall. However, if you would like to support my work, please consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a book. Thank you so very much for reading. I appreciate your time.

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Chapter 23

Purpose Chapter 24

The door clicked shut behind Sam, and the silence that filled the apartment was a living thing, heavy with the emotional aftermath of the morning’s failure. Mary stood in the sudden quiet, listening to the muffled sounds of her boys getting ready. The thump of a shoe falling, a shushed argument, the splashing of water in the bathroom. Normal sounds. The sounds of a life she was supposed to be in control of. The boys knew without saying it out loud, mom was hurting.

She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes until she saw stars. Stupid. Stupid. The word hammered in her skull. She hadn’t just startled; she had fractured right in front of her best friend. She had let him win a small victory from six hundred miles away, letting his ghost reach into this safe place and make her flinch. Sam’s stricken face, the hot coffee on the floor, made her feel ashamed. That was the real mess she’d made.

She couldn’t afford this. Couldn’t afford to be her.

Moving with a sharp, angry efficiency, Mary began to clear the breakfast dishes. The clatter of ceramic was too loud, a jarring counter to the gentle morning light. She scraped the remnants of congee into the compost, the motions violent. The kitchen needed to be cleaned. The day needed to be ordered. She needed to do something.

After hurried, too-tight hugs for the boys, she held Theo a second longer than necessary, breathing in the warm, sleepy smell of his hair. She ushered them out the door with a weak smile and a wave. The boys gave her a worried look as the elevator doors closed, but she forced a brighter smile.

Alone, the silence returned, sharper now.

Mary went to her closet, throwing it open with more force than necessary. Her eyes found a soft, draped cardigan in a muted sage green. Safe. Comfortable. Invisible. She grabbed it, then flung it onto the bed in disgust. No. That was the old Mary. The Mary who flinched.

She wanted armor.

Her hand passed over the safe, soft fabrics and landed on a structured blazer in a deep charcoal. It was all sharp lines and professional intention. She pulled it out, along with a crisp white blouse and tailored trousers. The uniform of someone in control.

The shower was scalding, a punishment and a penance. She scrubbed her skin until it was bright pink, rubbed raw, as if she could wash away the morning’s humiliation. She didn’t allow herself to linger, to grieve. She dressed with the same grim purpose, the blazer’s fabric a firm, constricting reassurance against her shoulders. Her hair was twisted into a severe, low knot. No time for make-up, for softening the hard lines of her reflection. The woman in the mirror looked pale, eyes too large, but the set of her mouth was grim. It would have to do.

She grabbed her bag, the worn leather a familiar weight, and left the apartment without a backward glance.

The walk to campus was her ritual of forced normalcy. She counted her steps. She noted the way the light fell through the newly green leaves. She focused on the rhythm of her own breath, a meditation she’d learned in a support group. In through the nose, hold, out through the mouth. She repeated the colors of the rainbow. Red, Orange, Yellow…By the time she reached her building, she had constructed a fragile shell of composure around herself.

The office was a sanctuary, a mundane routine, necessary. The hum of the fluorescent lights, the distant clack of computer keys, the faint smell of old paper and coffee. She hung her bag on her chair, her movements deliberate. Then, she looked at her desk.

Empty.

No coffee cup. No neat little bundle of breakfast bread. Just the pink feminine controlled chaos of her workspace.

Mary’s stomach did a strange, small dip. Disappointment. Tears stung her eyes. It was a foolish, dangerous thing to feel. She had told herself it was just a kind gesture from a friendly colleague.

She had rationalized it, compartmentalized it. But seeing its absence felt like a confirmation. A small, selfish part of her had begun to count on that small anchor in her mornings. And now, on a morning when she desperately needed something steady, it was gone.

Good, she told herself firmly. It’s for the best. Less complicated.

She gathered her mug and a packet of oolong tea. She needed something soothing, something warm to calm the ragged edges. She headed for the break room. As she stepped back into the main walkway area, the low thrum of normal activity was ruptured by a sharp, angry voice.

“…not how this works, and you know it, Aaron!”

Mary froze. Eric was standing by his desk, his face flushed an ugly red. Across from him, Aaron’s face was frowned in tension, his lips pressed into a thin, white line, his eyes glittering with barely contained fury. The air between them was electric, charged with something that made the few other early arrivals at their desks go utterly still, eyes fixed on their monitors.

Mary averted her gaze immediately, clutching her mug like a shield. She skirted the perimeter of the room, heart thudding a familiar, anxious rhythm against her ribs. Whatever that was, she wanted no part of. She had enough battles of her own to fight today.

The break room offered no relief from her thoughts, only the hiss of the hot water dispenser and the sterile gleam of tile. Mary dunked her tea strainer mechanically, watching the water bloom pale amber. She needed to focus. Wednesday meant two classes back-to-back, which meant two unavoidable collisions. One was a much needed discussion with Carley.

The first class started without any difficulty. Mary could lose herself in the questions and excitement of her students, delivering her lecture on Greek social hierarchies. The questions came fast after Mary assigned a three-page essay with quotations from the text readings. But the second class was not going to be as hands off. Today was discussion-based. The students had prepared a Plato based debate. Her first class passed quickly. She packed up and went to her office, by passing the cafeteria and Sam’s worried gaze. She waved her off by motioning to her computer bag and retreated to the empty office area. She quickly made tea and sat down at her desk.

Mary re-read Carly’s file while sipping her tea. After their uncomfortable meetings yesterday, she knew she had to confront this problem before it escalated. Taught part-time while finishing her thesis on contemporary feminist movements in urban China. Well-regarded by students. Ambitious. The kind of student she admired. She made a mental note to ask why they had not been assigned to each other. The tea was too hot. Mary drank it anyway, letting the burn ground her. When her lunch was over, she quickly evaded the professors coming back by taking the back stairs out of the building.

Standing at the podium of her second class, Mary arranged her notes. She was engrossed in reading when she felt the familiar prickle of scrutiny. She looked up before grabbing her notes, made eye contact with Carly as she walked in and sat down. Mary gave a tight smile which was met with eye rolling and a defiant look away.

The seminar classroom had been too warm when she first entered. Mary turned the air conditioning dial lower knowing that the students might get heated while arguing. She did not want to add to the atmosphere. She felt constricted in her blazer, adding to the stress she felt knowing the end of class was going to have a confrontation. More students started to trickle in. Mary made her way over to the last seat on the far side of the semi-circle. The students arranged themselves in their groups in the loose semi-circle seating arrangement. Carly had claimed the seat directly across from Mary.

Today’s practice debate was based on Plato’s Republic. Each team had been required to prepare an opening statement, closing argument, debate points with quotes from the assignment question board, and appoint two spokesmen, an opener and a closer.

Mary clasped her hands on her lap atop of her notes and grading sheet. The charcoal blazer’s sharp shoulders and constricting fabric made her very uncomfortable. She took a moment to take off the blazer, did a brief readjustment in her chair and began class.

“Alright. Let’s begin with the affirmative team’s opening statement. You have four minutes.”

The debate launched with a clumsy enthusiasm that Mary usually found endearing. Two students fumbled with notecards. Another spoke too quickly, words tumbling over each other like a small child explaining something serious. Mary made small ticks on her grading sheet, noting who had prepared and who was bluffing.

But her attention kept snagging on Carly.

The young woman sat with her arms crossed, her jaw set in a line that suggested she was chewing on something bitter. When her teammate, a nervous boy named Patel, stumbled over a quote from Book V, Carly’s eyes flicked to Mary with something that looked like accusation.

Mary kept her face neutral.

The debate spiraled through its motions. The opposing team’s second speaker landed a decent point about the philosopher-king’s inherent contradiction. The affirmative team’s rebuttal was weak. Carly, who was slated as the closing speaker, sat motionless through most of it, her notes untouched on the desk in front of her.

“Closing statements,” Mary announced, glancing at the clock. Five minutes left. “Affirmative team.”

Carly stood slowly. She did not look at her notes. Her voice was flat, mechanical, reciting words she had memorized but did not believe.

“The just city is possible only when each class performs its designated function without envy or ambition toward the role of another. Therefore, the philosopher-king is not a contradiction but a necessity. The guardians must rule because only they can see the Form of the Good.”

She sat down.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. The other students exchanged glances. That had been competent, technically correct, and utterly hollow.

Mary nodded slowly. “Thank you. Before we end, I want to offer a quick reflection. to help you prepare for the next debate.” She looked around the circle, letting her gaze land briefly on each student. “Plato argues that justice is harmony. Each part of the city, and each part of the soul, doing its proper work without interference or resentment. But what happens when someone is prevented from doing the work they were meant for? When the guardian refuses to guard, or the merchant envies the ruler?”

Carly’s jaw tightened.

Mary continued, her voice gentle but not soft. “Disharmony. Resentment. The city fractures from within.” She let the words settle. “Think about that as you revise your closing statements. Some of you delivered the words without believing them. Your audience can always tell.”

The bell rang.

Students packed their bags with the usual relieved chaos. Mary busied herself with her notes, waiting. She counted to thirty in her head.

Carly slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door without a single glance backward.

“Carly.” Mary’s voice was quiet but carried. “A moment.”

The other students filtered out, curiosity flickering across a few faces. The door swung shut. They were alone.

Carly turned, her posture rigid. “Yes, Professor?”

Mary set down her notes and walked to the front row of desks, leaning against the edge of one. She gestured to the chair beside her. “Sit. Please.”

After a beat of resistance, Carly dropped into the seat, not beside Mary, but one desk over, as if maintaining a perimeter.

Mary folded her hands in her lap. She had rehearsed this conversation three times during her lunch period, but now that she was here, the words felt clumsy and inadequate.

“I’m going to speak plainly,” Mary said. “Because I think you’re someone who appreciates plain speech.”

Carly said nothing.

“Yesterday. Today. The meetings we’ve had. There’s something going on with you, and it’s affecting your work. More importantly, it’s affecting you.” Mary tilted her head. “I’m not asking you to confide in me. But I am asking you to tell me if I’ve done something to offend you.”

Carly let out a short, humorless breath. “You haven’t done anything.”

“Then help me understand.”

The young woman stared at the whiteboard, where Mary had scrawled Justice = Harmony in dry-erase marker. Her throat moved in a swallow.

“I wanted to be your research assistant,” Carly said finally. The words came out tight, controlled, like she was squeezing them through a small opening. “I’ve wanted to work with you since my first year. Your work on community-based feminist methodologies…” She stopped. Shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Mary said quietly.

“Clearly it doesn’t.” Carly’s voice cracked on the last word. “Because I wasn’t chosen. And I had to find out by reading a departmental email like everyone else. No one talked to me. No one told me I wasn’t good enough to my face.”

Mary let the silence stretch. She understood, suddenly, the shape of the wound. Not rejection, but the manner of it. The facelessness of it.

“The students were selected by a committee,” Mary said carefully. “Not by me individually. I want you to know that.”

Carly’s head turned. Her eyes were bright, but she wasn’t crying. “You didn’t have a say?”

“I had a say. Not the only say.” Mary chose her next words with precision. “And I argued for you, Carly. I specifically requested that you be assigned to my research team.”

The younger woman blinked. Something flickered across her face, surprise, then disbelief, then something softer that she quickly suppressed.

“Then why?”

“I don’t know.” Mary spread her hands. “The committee makes decisions based on a lot of factors. Balance of methodologies. Distribution of faculty mentorship hours. Things that have nothing to do with your ability or my preference.” She paused. “I wanted you. I still want to work with you. That hasn’t changed.”

Carly looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap. “It feels like a punishment.”

“It feels like one,” Mary agreed. “But it isn’t. And I’m sorry you found out the way you did. That should have been handled better.”

The admission seemed to disarm Carly more than any argument could have. She sat back, her shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch.

Mary hesitated. She could feel the other question pressing against the inside of her teeth. The question about Aaron, about the closed-door meetings, about the hostility that seemed to predate the research assistant decision. But she didn’t have the words. Didn’t have the proof. Only a gnawing instinct that something was wrong.

So she set it aside.

“Carly,” Mary said, softer now. “I’m going to keep advocating for you. But I need you to meet me halfway. The hostility…the way you’ve been looking at me like I personally betrayed you. That’s making it harder for both of us to do our work. Can we clear the air and start fresh?”

Carly was quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded, a short, tight motion.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words scraped out reluctantly. “For the attitude.”

“Thank you.” Mary stood, gathering her notes. “Come to my office hours on Friday. We’ll talk about your thesis direction. I have some ideas that might interest you.”

Carly stood as well, slower. She hesitated at the door, her hand on the frame. “Professor?”

“Yes?”

“Was there something else?” Carly’s gaze was sharp again, probing. “You looked like you wanted to ask me something. Before.”

Mary’s heart gave a small, traitorous stutter. Tell her. Ask her about Aaron. Just say the words.

But the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t know what she was accusing, or even what she suspected. Only that something was off. Only that Carly’s anger seemed too large for a research assistantship rejection.

“Nothing,” Mary said, offering a small, tired smile. “Just glad we talked. I’ll see you Friday.”

Carly studied her for a beat too long, then nodded and disappeared into the hallway.

Mary stood alone in the empty classroom, the scent of dry-erase markers and old carpet filling her lungs. She pressed a hand to her stomach, where something restless and uneasy had taken up residence.

She had handled the debate. She had confronted Carly. She had done her job.

So why did she feel like she had just failed a much more important test?

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Purpose

Purpose Character List

Dorie Snow/雪多丽

·

December 28, 2025

Thanks for reading White Rabbit Musings ! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Read full story

Want to start at the beginning?

Purpose

Purpose Chapter 1

Dorie Snow/雪多丽

·

October 29, 2025

To distract myself from pure academia, I stated writing short stories. This is an easy read fluffy romance without a lot of polysyllabic words and philosophy. Perfect for writing in-between. When I was a teen, I loved Harlequin Romances, so in the spirit of that here we go, story one.

Read full story

White Rabbit Musings is my labor of love. This publication is reader supported. All articles will remain free domain, with the exception of Purpose, which for professional reasons has to be behind a paywall. However, if you would like to support my work, please consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a book. Thank you so very much for reading. I appreciate your time.

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Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Ming watched Mary walk into her building, a silent figure retreating into the yellow light of the lobby. He didn’t start the engine until the inner glass door had swung shut behind her, a full minute later just in case she reappeared, just in case she needed him. The car held onto her scent, a faint, floral rose scent clung to the passenger seat. He inhaled deeply, committing it to memory. He knew the rose and peony, but something elusive was beneath. If he could find that perfume, he would buy the whole shelf. There would be time for that. Time to learn every preference, every secret tremor.

A calm satisfaction settled over him. The evening had been a success beyond his wildest imaginations. The fear in her eyes, which usually flashed like a startled deer’s. But now it had softened into something closer to wariness. Dare he think it? A flicker of ease. She had laughed once, a small, breathy sound he’d replayed in his mind the entire drive home. Progress. These were all good things. He must be a patient, he reminded himself. He knew when to advance and when to retreat. Sun Tzu taught him that. Not only in war, but in life as well. Being overconfident loses the battle and most likely the war.

He drove home with a smile that felt unfamiliar on his face. His fell into his nightly ritual immediately when getting home. An hour of reading, a cup of hibiscus tea for circulation, his meticulous order of washing up, putting the house in order. The tasks felt less like routine tonight, and more like a celebration. As he lay in the dark, the phantom scent of rose seemed to weave through his sheets. Tomorrow, he would begin his search for the perfume. He wondered before drifting off to sleep what other cosmetics she liked. Today had been a promise, a promise he held onto firmly.

Sam woke to the rich smell of dark roast coffee and the sizzle of oil in a pan. Sunlight streamed through Mary’s living room windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The evidence of last night’s ice cream and video game battle was gone. The apartment had returned to live in family tidy. Stretching, Sam pushed the heavy afghan aside and found a full French press waiting on the dining table.

In the kitchen, Mary was a whirlwind of uncharacteristic energy. Sam knew from experience, Mary hated mornings. And she never hummed cooking breakfast. Mary hummed a tuneless song, hips swaying as she scrambled eggs with tomatoes and mushrooms. Sam paused in the doorway, mug in hand. She had never seen her friend like this. Mary wasn’t just awake, she was bright.

“You sound obnoxiously happy,” Sam said, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t tell me alphabetizing Lao Tzu did this. I’ll have to officially revoke your cool card.”

Mary spun around, a small yelp escaping her lips. The wooden spoon clattered against the stove top. Sam jumped, sloshing hot coffee onto the floor.

“Oh, God, Mary, I’m sorry. I forgot.” The words were out before Sam could stop them. The easy morning vanished.

Mary stood frozen, her knuckles white around the edge of the counter. For a terrifying second, the woman in the kitchen was a stranger to her. Mary’s eyes wide with pure animal panic, body braced for a blow. Then, slowly, recognition flooded her features. The tension drained from her shoulders, leaving a deep weariness in its wake.

“Sam. Good morning.” Her voice was too bright, a thin pretense. “It’s… it’s fine. Let me get that.” She moved robotically, grabbing a towel to clean the spill, focusing on the simple task to hide her embarrassment. Mary hated she still reacted to someone walking into a room. Her cheeks flushed bright red, her eyes stung. She finished cleaning up and turned back to the stove.

“Breakfast will be ready soon. Extra spicy eggs for you. Do you mind checking the rice cooker? See if the congee is ready?” Mary smiled a strained smile at Sam. Sam nodded, kicking herself mentally for scaring Mary. She did as she was asked.

“Ready!” Sam called over her shoulder. Mary turned off the stove top, took bowls and a platter out of the cupboard. Silently they finished preparing breakfast.

The humming did not return.

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Chapter 22

The certification class passed in a blur. The materials were laid out with precision on each table, labeled and ready for use. Mary read the labels fascinated. Foam wedges, slender Teflon spades, and adjustable book cradles that looked like skeletal hands waiting to receive a treasure.

Ming’s lecture was interesting and filled with knowledge. He spoke of pH levels, of the acids in skin that could etch into cellulose over decades, of the reverence owed to silent paper. “Your hands are your most sensitive tools,” he said, his gaze sweeping the room. “Clean, careful, and conscious. The gloves you see in movies are for Hollywood, not for history.”

After the demonstration, he led them all to the small sink in the conservation annex. They washed their hands in unscented soap, drying them on lint-free towels, a …

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Chapter 20

Chapter 21

The walk from the university passed in a blur of chatting and giggling. Mary and Sam dissected every possible candidate for her mysterious benefactor, their theories growing more outlandish with each block, until they arrived at Mary’s doorstep breathless with laughter.

They took off their shoes and placed their bags on the entryway shelving when the front door burst open. Wes and Gabe tumbled inside, their full force energy freezing mid-air as they saw their mother and Sam waiting in the hallway. They looked instantly, guilty.

“Hey, boys,” Sam said brightly, breaking the silence.

Their eyes darted between their mom and her friend, a silent conference. “Mom,” Wes began, his voice tinged with confusion. “I thought you had that meeting tonight.”

“I do,” Mary said, ushering them fully inside. “That’s why …

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Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Two hours later, Mary and Sam packed up their things, returned their books to the silent, watchful desk of Mrs. Wen, and stepped out of the archives’ hushed cave. The late afternoon sun felt like a release after the building’s stuffiness. They walked across the quad, then across the pathway to the Humanities’ building.

“Are you going straight home?” Sam asked, her tone deceptively casual as she squinted against the light.

“Yes. I’ve got the first certification class tonight. I need to hurry home, feed the boys, and turn right back around.”

“Do you need help? I’m free tonight. I could supervise homework. More accurately, referee it.”

Mary laughed, the sound carrying her relief. “You are impossibly brave. That would be a huge help. I still don’t have a sitter lined up. Interviews are tomorrow. Yo…

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Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Time dissolved in the alcove. Mary held the book, her gaze locked with his, and Ming felt a shift deep in his chest. Something had changed. He felt it. He saw it in her eyes. The anxious energy that usually vibrated around her had stilled into something potent and calm. She felt safe, at ease, with him. The realization was so profound it nearly undid him.

A distant, familiar voice called, “Mary?”

Sam. The real world was returning.

Mary didn’t jump. She didn’t even look away immediately. Instead, she offered Ming a small, private nod. An acknowledgment of the interruption, and a silent promise that this, whatever this was, remained untouched by it. It was the most confident gesture he’d ever seen from her.

And then, she gave him one of her bright smiles. Ming caught his breath. Heavens, she was beautiful when she smiled. He answer…

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Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Ming took a step closer, closing the space between them in the quiet alcove. Mary froze, not by fear, but by a sudden shift in the atmosphere. The nervous flutter in her chest and the heat in her cheeks was still there, yet her usual coil of anxiety, the one that tightened at unexpected encounters: simply… dissolved under the quiet weight of his gaze.

Something about his presence felt intrinsically safe. It was a wordless, instinctive knowing, a signal from a part of her mind much more adept at recognizing danger than this strange, quiet calm. She was accustomed to listening to those alarms; their silence now was more disarming than any threat. She didn’t feel on guard. She felt… she gave a slight, almost imperceptible shake of her head. She had no name for what she felt.

He watched the subtle play of emotions across her face, the b…

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Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Mary slid her key card through the reader, and the archive door unlocked with a soft click. Still giggling from their banter in the hallway, she and Sam stepped across the threshold. As the heavy door sealed behind them, the world outside vanished, replaced by an absorbing quiet. The air was cool with the distinctive scent of old paper, leather bindings, and controlled humidity. Mary inhaled deeply, a smile touching her lips.

“Mm, I love that smell.”

“That’s because you, my dear, are nothing but a bookworm.”

“I can’t argue. You nailed it. I could live here,” Mary murmured.

Sam opened her mouth to retort but was cut off mid-breath by a stern, clear voice.

“你好。”

Both women turned toward the main desk. A middle-aged woman sat behind it, impeccably dressed in a tailored brown suit. Her salt-and-pepper hair was drawn into a severe bun at the na…

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Chapter 15

Purpose Character List

Chapter 16

The morning flew by; Mary’s morning class was full of animated students. Her Tuesday lecture class just as animated as her Monday sessions. Questions ricocheted around the classroom. She was excited with the engagement, loved every minute of it. Before she realized it, the bell was ringing. She would stay for a short classroom after hour, this class only met once a week for two and a half hours. Then it was time to meet Sam.

Over a hurried lunch in the busy canteen, their conversation was its familiar, comforting banter. Sam, with a mischievous glint, resumed her gentle teasing about Mary’s “secret admirer,” sending her into such a fit of laughter that her cheeks ached. Still flushed and smiling, they walked arm-in-arm up the employee stairs. They headed immediately for the afternoon’s all-staff meeting in the conference room.

The room filled q…

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Purpose Character List

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Mary arrived on campus late, a consequence of her own making. The excitement of her first afternoon in the archives had created a restless energy, keeping her awake past one a.m. She lost track of time as she sketched new outlines for her dissertation. This morning, the boys had been grouchy, their slow, grumbling start, taking the buffer of time she usually carved out for herself. She was desperately hoping tomorrow’s interviews would have good results in finding a helper.

By single-parent standards, her home was normal. The apartment lived in cultivated chaos. Mary was, however, perpetually hard on herself. A dish in the sink, a basket of unfinished laundry, toys scattered on the living room floor; each was a quiet reminder she did not do enough. She had been conditioned young: a clean home was a good hom…

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Chapter 13

Purpose Character List

Chapter 14

“Right on time, as usual. Don’t you ever get tired of being the perfect one?” Jing’s voice was light, teasing, as she spotted her brother waiting by the entrance.

“Be nice,” Ming shot back, a familiar grin softening his features. “Or I am just going to keep my brilliant gift ideas to myself.”

“Fine, fine.” Xiao Jing closed the distance and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, squeezing. “It’s good to see you, you know.”

Ming laughed, his dimples deepening as he looked down at her. “I missed you too, you menace,” he said, gently prying her off. “Now, behave.”

“Never!” Her eyes sparkled behind her wire-rimmed glasses, a hidden signal that her polished exterior; the navy pantsuit, the sleek bob, the professor like composure, was just an act. Underneath it all was the same rambunctious sister who had once set the kitchen curtains on fire with a …

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Character Reference list

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Ming rounded the corner of his neighborhood at an easy, practiced pace. He had run an extra mile that morning in a futile attempt to clear his mind. Sleep had been impossible the night before. A faint pang of guilt had surfaced over not returning the kerchief immediately. Now, in the light of a new day, he knew he wouldn’t. It was a tangible link to her. To her scent, her voice, the very essence of her presence. He glanced at his watch and broke into a sprint for the final stretch to his home, frustration leading to his steps.

He took his time in the shower. Under the strong stream, he willed the water to refresh his body and cleanse his thoughts. Instead, his mind replayed the same vivid fragment. Her flushed face, the rose-pink of her cheeks, her wide, sparkling eyes. He recalled the subtle, soft fragrance of r…

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Purpose Character List

A little note about cultural significance. In Chinese culture and society, the last name goes in front of the given name. You are introduced last name first. You will see this throughout the book.

As characters are presented, they will be added to the list.

Zhao Family

• Dr. Zhao Ming -professor of Chinese history -University Research Library curator

• Dr. Zhao Yŭxuān - Zhao Ming’s father professor of Chinese literature

• Dr. Zhao Xiù- Zhao Ming’s mother - professor of music

• Dr. Zhao Jing- Zhao Ming’s younger sister - professor of Chemistry

• Hua Xuan- Zhao Ming’s ex-wife - professor of Chinese literature

Thomas Family

• Maraline “Mary” Thomas - Philosophy professor - Western/Eastern Conceptualization

• Westley Thomas - Mary’s oldest son

• Gabriel Thomas - Mary’s youngest son

Illinois Characters

• Nate Thomas- Emergency Room Doctor-Mary’s ex husband

• Emily- Homemaker -Mary’s best friend in Illinois

• Mary’s mother and brother are mentioned but not given specific names or roles.

University Philosophy Department

• Director Yuelan Mu - Head of the philosophy department- Western Philosophy

• Samantha Wren - American - philosophy professor - Metaphysics

• Eric Stoke- American- philosophy professor - Greek philosophy

• Aaron Gutzman- Canadian- postmodern theory philosophy

• Carly Mitchell- American - Philosophy intern

• Kim Rong - Philosophy intern

University History Department

• Director Wei Gang - Head of the history dept -Chinese History

• Anna Scott - New Zealander- History professor Paleolithic societies

• Drake Phillips American- History professor- post-Colonial Asia

• Leo McNair -Canadian - History Professor-Modern European History

• Li Hong - History intern

• Zhong Yi - History intern

University Archive Staff

• Zhao Ming - Director

• Wen Xuan - Head librarian

• Dr. Yu Jian - Preservation specialist - Retired Chinese Literature Professor

Thank you for reading and following the story of Mary and Ming!

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Director Mu led Mary to her office. She sifted through a mound on her desk and produced a single printed list.

“Here, I believe you will find someone reliable. I specifically requested a bilingual candidate from the service, but I’m afraid they don’t have anyone available at the moment.”

“Thank you, I appreciate this more than you know. It will let me breathe easier, knowing the boys have someone at home when they get out of school.” Mary took the offered list, her eyes scanning the names.

“How are you all settling in?” Director Mu’s voice softened. “The boys… they like their new school?”

“We’re managing. I think they like it well enough so far. No emergency calls from the administration, which I take as a big victory.” Mary offered a small, tired smile. “They haven’t made close friends yet, but it’s only been a couple of weeks. I’m sure…

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Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Ming stood at the head of the conference room, his posture radiating a calm authority that commanded the room’s attention. He peered over the wire rims of his glasses, his gaze methodically sweeping over the assembled group.

“Thank you, Director Mu,” he began, his voice even and clear. “There are a few essential points I must address before we discuss schedules. First, remember the archives are a preservation environment. No food or drinks are permitted, even in sealed containers. If you do not hold a current manuscript preservation certificate, you must request assistance from the librarian or from me to handle any text. For those wishing to obtain certification, I will be conducting a seminar next month, every Tuesday and Thursday from five to seven p.m. You can earn a novice certification upon completion.”

As he spoke, his eyes traveled …

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Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Mary walked casually toward the Humanities building, unhurried, enjoying the scenery and the cool, fresh air. Snow would come soon, and these beautiful afternoons would fade. As she rounded the corner to her building, a contented sigh escaped from her. She headed straight for the canteen.

Sam was already there, waiting in line. She waved eagerly, Mary crossed over quickly to greet her.

“Hey! Thanks for holding our spot.”

“So, how was your first class?”

“Really good. It’s nice to be back in a classroom. How about yours?”

“I’m not sure my amazing wit landed,” Sam said with a grin. “Lots of stone faces.”

“What did you open with?”

“A joke about existential crisis and universal failure.”

“That would probably scare me, too.” Mary laughed.

“Meh, Metaphysics is the…”

“First philosophy,” Mary finished for her. “I prefer my crises of societal belonging. Y…

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Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Mary checked her appearance in the mirror a second time. As expected, the humidity had already coaxed rebellious tendrils of hair from her bun. A nest of nervous knots tightened in her stomach. Time to go. Before leaving the bathroom, she fished out the little lavender sachet from her purse, clutching it as she drew a few deep breaths and began her mantra. “Red, orange, yellow...” she whispered, the colors of her mantra for calm. “...You have taught many classes. You are prepared, you can do this. 加油!”

She left her office thirty minutes early, a necessary precaution against her notoriously terrible sense of direction. The walk from the Humanities building to the classroom was, on a map, a short and simple one. Mary had practiced it during her campus tour, her mind consciously memorizing landmarks, a gnarled oak, a blue bench, snack h…

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Chapter 8

Ming watched Mary leave the canteen. More accurately, she had fled. A blur of motion swallowed by the crowded doorway. His calm demeanor was a mask of disciplined control. He turned back to face Director Mu. She shook her head gently, her eyes meeting his. A silent agreement was reached between them, as tangible as a signed contract. No words were needed.

Protect Mary.

—-

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Chapter 6

Gentle warning, if you have followed the story so far, you know Mary is a domestic abuse survivor. This chapter highlights what a flashback and panic attack can look and feel like. If you struggle with PTSD, anxiety, or panic attacks this may be difficult to read. Please take care of yourself and know I won’t be offended if you cannot read.

Purpose chapter 7

The Humanities building, a square, baroque fortress housing the History, Social Sciences, and Philosophy departments: rose four stories high. The university had assigned an unique architectural theme to each subsection of its campus. For Humanities, the theme was a romantic metaphor for the creation of civilization itself. The grounds were drawn with hints of great battles and long-lost dynasties, romantic flourishes, winding gardens, and the campus’s largest collection of flowering trees. Cobbled paths leading the scholar to…

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