Chapter 16
I think, maybe, he’d mistaken me for his sister.
His words, I realized, weren’t meant for me, but for the sister who, years ago, had chosen to end
her life rather than let him spend money on her illness.
But then, the hand I was holding suddenly turned and, weakly, squeezed mine in return.
I heard his voice, fading and strained, still finishing what he needed to say:
“No mistake.”
“Claire, I’ve never–not once–confused you with anyone else.”
“I just mean, Claire, you have to keep living. Promise me that.”
A wave of sorrow washed over me, but I found I couldn’t cry anymore.
These past weeks, I’d worried that his surgery would go wrong.
I used to hide out in the hallways, quietly wiping away tears.
And now, faced with the reality of his death, with hope gone, there were simply no more tears left.
After Frederick passed away, I found myself locked in a legal battle with his father–a man who’d never raised Frederick or his sister but now saw a chance to snatch up the inheritance.
He wanted money.
I hired private investigators and lawyers, dug up all the evidence of his fraud and crimes, and had him sent to prison.
Afterward, as I sorted through Frederick’s belongings, I found a photograph tucked inside his wallet a picture of him and his sister.
I took that photo, and his ashes, and set out to fulfill the promise I’d made to him.
I spent over half a year in Norway.
I turned off my phone, hired a guide, and went exploring.
I watched the polar night and the northern lights, followed fifteen thousand kilometers of coastline.
I saw Sognefjord–the “Forest of Norway“-a place Carmen Austin had once read about in books, the fairy–tale land she had dreamed about her whole life.
One day, while my guide glanced at the urn in my hands, he asked gently. “Was he your husband?”
I shook my head. “No. He was… someone who meant more to me than just a lover or a friend.”
1/4
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Chapter 16
It was more than half a year before I returned to Cabinda.
The day I landed, I switched on my phone and immediately received a call from Norway.
A stranger’s voice introduced himself:
“I’m a psychologist. I’ve been trying to reach you for the past six months.
About half a year ago, a Mr. Austin entrusted me with a significant sum, asking me to help you with your psychological recovery.”
I stepped out of the airport, standing at the edge of the bustling street.
He continued, “It’s such a large sum–I almost feel guilty accepting it.”
“Please, let me know where you are, so I can continue your treatment.”
To be honest, he was an excellent therapist.
Maybe, as he said, he’d simply been paid too much and couldn’t rest easy.
He even came to Cabinda to provide continued therapy for me.
He was dedicated, checking in on my whereabouts and health every single day.
Sometimes, the pain of the past would still twist in my chest.
ut at least, gradually, I stopped climbing to rooftops, stopped wading into deep water, stopped reaching for handfuls of medication.
Cabinda is a small place.
Soon enough, I started running into Jasper Green every now and then.
He looked worn out, shadows deepening around his eyes.
It had only been half a year, but he seemed to have aged many more.
When he saw me, he panicked, darting across the street to catch up.
He nearly got hit by a car–horns blaring, brakes screeching–but he just stumbled on, desperate, disheveled.
When he finally reached me, he stood there, trembling, at a loss for words.
I waited a while, but when he still hadn’t spoken, I turned to leave.
Suddenly, he blurted out, “Claire, would you come home with me for dinner?”
I thought for a moment, then replied calmly, “No, thank you. I have to work this afternoon.”
I’d found a job.
My therapist said that keeping busy might help with the depression.
Jasper hurried after me. “Then–maybe tomorrow…?”
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Chapter 16
I looked at him in silence, and he trailed off.
After a long moment, he managed a weak, awkward smile.
“That’s all right. Maybe next time, okay?”
He knew perfectly well that it wasn’t my schedule that kept me away.
I heard him speak again, voice trembling, full of regret.
“Sorry. I–I didn’t do a good job looking after you like Mom and Dad would’ve wanted.”
I answered softly, “It’s all right. I’m doing okay.”
Honestly, after all this time, I couldn’t say I still hated him.
He was hurting too. I knew that.
I just wasn’t ready to go back to the past with him.
As I left, I caught a glimpse of Jasper’s red–rimmed eyes, the tears that spilled over, and the way he turned away, unable to meet my gaze.
Back at my apartment, late at night, I got a call from a hospital in London.
They told me that the heart I’d been searching for so desperately–a suitable transplant–had finally been found.
The donor was an orphan, ‘someone who’d received help from society all his life. After a fatal car accident, he wanted to give back, to donate his heart. And it was a perfect match for
Frederick Austin.
I sat on my bed, staring out at the darkness beyond the window.
After a long moment, I whispered hoarsely, “Thank you, but it’s no longer needed.”
On the other end, the caller hesitated, then asked, “Did you already find another match?
“I heard that Mr. Austin was in Norway… Did he get a transplant there?”
“I suppose it must be true.”
I was silent for a while, then managed, “Yes.”
She sounded sincerely happy for me. “That’s wonderful. I’m sure the surgery went well, too?”
“It went very well,” I replied.
She said a few more words, but I barely heard them.
I hung up.
I walked to the window and opened it.
The world outside was blanketed in snow, the weight of it bowing every branch.
3/4
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Chapter
In the silent night, the sound of brittle twigs snapping seemed piercingly clear.
Time had slipped by–it was deep winter once again.
In that blurry, snow–filled world, I almost thought I saw him again.
My hair blew across my face, and the wind brushed it aside.
He stood there in the distance, calling out to me with a bright voice:
“Hey, Claire! We promised, remember? Let’s keep living. Together.”
(The End)
04:50
