Chapter 22
He slowly changed shoes, scanning the living room.
Throw pillows lay haphazardly stacked on the sofa as if she’d just leaned there yesterday. An unfinished gray knitting project sat on the coffee table–the scarf she’d always promised to make him.
Everything remained frozen since his departure, yet nothing felt the same.
Alexander walked to the balcony. Spider plants had withered, only a corner cactus stubbornly survived.
He recalled her saying: “See how it’s like you? Stiff… yet secretly growing thorns to protect itself.”
He used to laugh at her nonsense. Now, pricking his finger on a spine, the sharp pain couldn’t touch the ache in his chest.
Slumping against the railing, he slid down until his forehead met cold tiles.
Memories surfaced: Her first cooking attempt – burnt eggs – while she beamed: “Doesn’t that burnt smell mean
home?”
Winter snow days: Her pulling him into clumsy living room dances. Slipping, tumbling onto the carpet laughing, the air sweet with warmth.
A long–lost smile finally touched Alexander’s lips.
In a mere instant, everything dissolved like vanishing foam.
He slowly rose and walked to the bedroom.
In the photo frame on the nightstand, Rita smiled with crescent eyes. He’d taken that picture last year on her birthday,
she held up a lopsided cake, saying: “Alexander, we’ll be together forever.”
rever…”
He murmured the word, then tasted thick metallic bitterness in his throat. Alexander abruptly turned aside, coughing blood onto the beige tiles.
Pulling a handkerchief, he wiped his mouth with the calm of brushing off dust.
The late–stage gastric cancer diagnosis still sat in his pocket. Three months at most, the doctor said. Back then, he’d thought this might bring him closest to Rita in this lifetime.
Kneeling slowly, he buried his face in her pillow. The faint scent of her shampoo lingered there.
“Rita…” Tears choked his voice as they fell on the pillowcase, blooming dark stains. “Wait for me…”
“Over there… could you… give me another chance?”
Wind rushed through the window, billowing the curtains but unable to stir the heavy silence and hopelessness filling the room.
He knew he didn’t deserve forgiveness. Yet nothing remained for him now.
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Chapter 22
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In these fleeting days, his only purpose was waiting–waiting to meet his girl while bearing the weight of his sins.
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