C08
It felt like an eternity before I finally heard his trembling voice, thick with emotion.
“I was wrong…” Clive choked out. “Darren, please… let me stay with her.”
Darren stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then, with a cold sneer, he snapped, “You? Acting all devoted
now? You make me sick.”
Without another word, he shoved Clive aside, grabbed the bag he had packed for me, and pushed my wheelchair
forward.
Once we were in his car, he reached over, his hand shaking slightly as he gently brushed my hair back.
“Courtney…” His voice was raw. “Do you really not want to live anymore?”
I looked at him–this grown man, red–eyed and unable to hold back his tears–and my heart ached.
I tried to lift my hand, wanting to wipe his tears away, but after everything that had just happened, I felt completely drained.
“Darren… I’m so tired,” I whispered. “I want to go home.”
He wiped his face roughly and rolled down the window. Seeing Clive rushing over, he didn’t hesitate to shout, “Clive, you pathetic coward! Get out of the way–I’m taking her home.”
However, Clive didn’t move. Instead, he pounded on the window, his desperate eyes locked onto mine.
“Courtney… You’re going home? Come back to our home, okay?” His voice cracked.
I turned my face away.
That luxury apartment–the place where we had spent years resenting and hurting each other–was never my
home.
Home was somewhere else. It was the orphanage, where the younger Clive used to stand in front of me, protecting me from the world.
By the time I woke up, we were already there.
Darren had taken me under the old tree in the orphanage yard, where a small mound of earth had been freshly
raised beneath it.
Clive also followed at a distance but was too afraid to come closer as if worried we’d send him away.
“Dash is buried here,” Darren murmured. “Now, he’s finally with her mom.”
C
I stared at the little grave, and just like that, the tears came. I cried until exhaustion took over, then let my eyes
drift shut.
After who knew how much time had passed, a soft breeze brushed against my skin, and for a moment, I swore I could see two cats playing in the tree, just like they used to.
Then I felt a blanket settled over me. The scent was familiar.
Clive.
10:30 AM
Trapped in a Marriage Fueled by Revenge
Clive.
“You know…” Darren’s hoarse voice broke the silence.
“She wanted to buy a burial plot.”
I didn’t move, but I listened.
“I spoke to the agent. She specifically asked for one with a view of the orphanage… and a clear sightline to NeoXtreme.” His voice cracked slightly. “Even in death, she wanted to be able to see you.”
His laugh was bitter.
“Clive, do you have any idea how jealous I am of you?”
The only response was the sound of muffled sobbing–Clive, his tears finally breaking free.
I slept for a long, long time after that, and when I woke up, I was back in the hospital.
The sharp scent of disinfectant filled the air, making me want to cover my nose. But I couldn’t move. My body wouldn’t respond.
I knew. It was getting worse.
Somewhere close by, I heard Clive’s voice, thick with tears.
“Courtney, wake up, okay? Darren told me everything about you… Was it true? Tell me, please…”
After a pause, I then heard his voice cracked further.
“Courtney, how can you be so cruel? You dumped me once, and now you’re planning to leave me again?” His breath hitched. “I’m not that useless kid anymore, the one who left just because you told me to.”
I didn’t respond. But at that moment, I missed him. Not the man he was now–the one I had fought and suffered with. I missed the boy he used to be. The one who studied tirelessly, who collected bottles for months just to save up enough money to buy me a bunch of little cakes.
He had smiled so proudly back then, saying, “Courtney, I didn’t know which one you’d like… so I bought them all.”
But the truth was, I had never eaten cake before that day. So any one of them would have been my favorite.
But he had said, “I hope you never settle for less. I want you to pick the one you love most.”
That same boy used to wait for me in the rain, holding an umbrella that was always broken on his side. Every time we made it home, I was dry. He, on the other hand, would be scolded endlessly by the orphanage director.
“Kids from poor families can’t afford to get sick,” he would say.
