Chapter 11
“What about the seafood soup?”
“When my kids were suffering from heart complications, when their fevers wouldn’t go down, when I was over- whelmed with hospital work and so exhausted from caring for them that I fainted-where were you then? Did you ever think of buying them a single meal? All you ever cared about was that bowl of seafood soup for Mandy!”
“You believe everything Mandy says. She told you I would interfere with the surgery, so you wouldn’t even let me into the ward? She said I mustn’t check the surveillance footage because it might worsen my mental illness, and you believed her, forcing me to stop investigating?”
“Use your brain for once. Think about what she said. For the sake of our children, shouldn’t you have checked the surgery playback? If you had, you would have realized something was wrong. Did you check? No, you didn’t!”
“It’s not that you were fooled by her-you’re just too afraid to check! You’re scared that once you know the truth, you’ll never be able to face me or the children again!”
My voice was hoarse, and I shouted with all the strength I had left: “Even now, you still can’t admit that you’re just a wretch, that you fell for her! You protected her so much that even my children’s lives were lost!”
Theodore knelt on the ground, tears streaming down his face, looking like a soulless wreck. He kept choking out apologies. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Luna, I’m sorry for the kids… I was really wrong…”
I no longer had the heart to look at him. I turned around, stood up, and prepared to leave.
He lunged forward and clung to my calf, crying out, “Please… before I go, let me see them one more time… just once, just one look…”
I shook him off, my voice cold and devoid of any warmth: “In your dreams.”
“You don’t deserve it.”
I signed the papers on the spot and dismissed him from the hospital.
To be honest, keeping him at the hospital as punishment and sending him to Africa disgusted me.
Letting him stay in the hospital I built with my own hands would be an insult to this institution.
Later, I heard that after he was dismissed, he tried to commit suicide, but ended up calling 911 himself and was saved.
After that, he drifted alone to Africa, went to a local hospital to work as an aid doctor, saying he wanted to “atone for his sins.”
A year later, someone told me he contracted a malignant infectious disease there and died in a shabby foreign hospital
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Before he died, he asked the local embassy to help bring his ashes back, hoping to beg me to have his ashes buried next to our children.
I replied with just two sentences.
“I’m sorry, I have nothing to do with him. I do not accept his request.”
I called the person in charge of handling his ashes and instructed, “Scatter them.”
I no longer cared how they dealt with Theodore’s ashes.
This retribution had finally come to an end.
I stood before my children’s graves. The wind lifted the Batman flags they loved, and sunlight shone quietly and brightly on the tombstones.
I whispered, “Mom has avenged all your grievances for you.”
“From now on, no one will ever disturb your peace again.”
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