CHAPTER 15: CHAPTER 15: FROM NOW ON, HE AND I WILL NEVER CROSS PATHS AGAIN

Timothy paused for a moment, as if weighing the time, and then said, "I’ll be back Friday afternoon. Wait for me for two days."

I let out a little sigh of relief.

At least he agreed.

Though I’d asked the funeral home on the way back, and they’d said it’s best to bury in the morning; after noon is unlucky.

But I didn’t dare ask him for anything more, afraid he’d change his mind.

My child, in two days’ time, would finally get to experience a moment of fatherly love.

Timothy carelessly set the time with me and went upstairs with Serena.

I went back to the guest room, standing by the window, watching Doris being led by Serena and Timothy, one on each side, bouncing and skipping along.

The driver and assistant followed behind, dragging two large suitcases.

Even Doris’s white Labrador went along with them on the trip.

I curved my lips slightly, grabbed the prescription the psychologist had given me, and swallowed the pill.

The bitterness seeped from my mouth all the way into my heart.

...

In the blink of an eye, it was Friday.

During this time, a company called to notify me to come for an interview Friday afternoon.

There was finally a response to one of my earlier resumes.

But I’d already arranged with Timothy to bury our child Friday afternoon, so I had to ask if they could reschedule the interview.

The reply was just as I expected—of course not!

The job I’d waited so long for just slipped away like that.

But I didn’t regret it.

I got up very early on Friday.

After breakfast, I went to the cemetery; actually there were many tedious formalities before the burial.

Since Timothy wouldn’t return till the afternoon and I was afraid he’d be impatient, I attended all the procedures myself, other than the burial.

For instance, saying goodbye to my child; for instance, chanting prayers for her blessing.

But as the time approached noon, the staff at The Xavier Manor said Timothy still hadn’t come back.

I called him, but no one answered.

I looked at the clock. Noon. If he was on a plane, his phone ought to be off.

But his phone wasn’t off; I just couldn’t reach him.

An uneasy feeling crept up in my chest.

He had promised me; he personally said he’d be back Friday afternoon and told me to wait for him.

Would he really come?

I stood quietly in front of the headstone I’d chosen for our child, waiting as the minutes drained away.

Then a staff member came over to remind me: "Ms. Ellison, it’s already half past four—if you don’t proceed now, it’ll be dark soon."

My heart finally turned to ice.

He wasn’t coming.

Before my child entered that pitch-dark world, she still didn’t get to see her father one last time.

"Alright, let’s go ahead and bury her."

I spoke with a choke in my voice, forcing the words out with great difficulty.

On the way back, Timothy called.

I didn’t pick up—I just turned off my phone.

This was the first time I pleaded with him like this since discovering his affair, and the only time I felt we still had any connection left.

But I’d already handled it myself.

From now on, there was no reason for us to communicate.

I thought I’d managed to figure things out and let go, but still I couldn’t sleep that night.

Restless and wide-awake, I scrolled through X, and saw Serena’s latest post: she was squatting on the ground in a pink princess dress, hugging Doris’s white Labrador, puffing her cheeks in a playful pose.

The caption: The dog’s got diarrhea, so we have to postpone coming back. Family, anyone got recommendations for pet hospitals in Aethel?

A post from just minutes ago, already with hundreds of comments below.

Praising Serena’s beauty, praising her kindness, recommending Aethel pet clinics...

I couldn’t tell whether to laugh or cry; how ironic!

In Timothy’s heart, me and his child actually matter less than Serena’s dog.

Turns out, this was why he bailed on me and delayed his return.

I tossed and turned in bed, telling myself over and over again not to dwell on it, but it felt as if a wad of cotton was stuffed inside me, making it hard to breathe.

I wanted to call Jenna, to pour my heart out, but it was so late already.

Besides, if this keeps happening again and again in the future, I’ll have to learn to save myself—my best friend can’t always rescue me.

So, I went back to my desk and opened my laptop.

It was a sudden impulse: to vent the oppression in my heart by writing a novel, to record my marriage to Timothy in words, and through this, also say goodbye to the twenty-five years behind me.

I registered a pen name: Vera Knight.

Just like the endless, sleepless nights I’ve spent these past three years—nights that never seem to end.

Maybe it’s because I used to be a reporter, I wrote plenty of articles, so typing and narrating my experiences aren’t hard for me at all.

I wrote till two in the morning, when sleep finally overtook me, and I went to bed.

...

The next morning, my phone rang and woke me up.

It was my adoptive mother, Mrs. Ellison, calling. She said it’s been ages since I went home, and asked me to bring Timothy to dinner.

"Mom, Timothy can’t make it today, he..."

I hemmed and hawed for a while, not wanting to upset them, so I said, "He’s on a business trip overseas—probably won’t be back in time."

Mrs. Ellison said, "Well, he can’t come, but you can! I miss you, sweetheart."

Thinking it’s been a while since I visited, I agreed.

When I arrived at noon, Mrs. Ellison had already set up a huge spread on the table.

She saw the armful of gifts I brought and smiled, saying, "Silly girl, no need to be so formal when you come home! Hurry and wash up, and call your dad down to eat."

I went to the study and found Mr. Ellison playing chess with himself.

He said regretfully, "Is Timothy very busy these days? Haven’t seen him in ages. I wanted to play a few games with him!"

The way Mr. and Mrs. Ellison spoke of Timothy with such hope made me swallow my words.

This broken marriage—what good would it do to tell them? What could they really do?

They didn’t give birth to me, but they raised me. I didn’t want them worrying about me any more.

So I just said to Mr. Ellison, "Dad, when he gets back, I’ll make sure he comes by to play chess with you."

At the table, it was just me, Mr. Ellison, and Mrs. Ellison.

"Where’s my brother?"

I asked in confusion, "Didn’t see him last time I came, either."

At the mention of this, Mrs. Ellison became animated: "Your brother? He’s dating! Hardly at home these days. I think he just went abroad again a few days ago."

Mr. Ellison didn’t say much, but the smile on his face said clearly enough how pleased he was with his future daughter-in-law.

"Who’s his girlfriend?"

I was happy for my brother as well, saying, "If Dad and Mom are satisfied, she must be wonderful."

Mrs. Ellison laughed. "Why, it’s Serena Sawyer—the famous actress! You’re an entertainment reporter, you should know her, right? She’s as pretty as you."

My heart plunged violently; I couldn’t even hold onto my chopsticks—they fell to the floor.