Eve coughed during the meeting.I looked up at her and said, "Leave."
Eve froze, and everyone at the meeting turned to me in surprise.
She hurriedly apologized, covered her mouth, and rushed out of the conference room.
I shifted my gaze back, signaling the employee to continue the PowerPoint presentation.
Eve hid in the break room, wiping away tears. I walked over silently, poured a cup of coffee for her, and said, "Keep your emotions in check at work."
Eve reached out for the coffee somewhat awkwardly and said, "Thank you, boss."
As I was about to leave with my coffee, I suddenly heard her say, "I'm not crying because of what happened in the meeting."
Her voice hoarse, she added, "I just remembered the last time I talked to Elara. She bought me medicine and told me it would help my cough get better faster."
"She must have been in pain then too."
"Boss, do you know? During the car accident, Elara saw you helping me out of the car. She looked very upset, the kind of sadness only a woman can understand."
"I think she misunderstood, always believing after the accident that the person you cared about the most was me."
I paused for a moment.
At that time, Elara's legs were pinned under the twisted car body with her entire face pale.
Eve was moaning in pain in the back seat; I got out and helped her first.She was frightened, unconsciously gripping my shirt.After a few calming words, she let my shirt go as if awakening from a dream.
I asked a bystander to call for an ambulance.
Then I went to check on Elara. She was tightly trapped. I tried to recline the driver's seat to free her legs, but the seat adjustment was jammed. I could only revoved the glass shards embedded in her wounds while waiting for help.
She usually hated pain, but then she was silent.
She kept staring at my broken arm, insisting she was fine, truly fine
But when she saw Dr. Damon at the hospital , she cried out in pain.
That was when I understood, perhaps in her heart, I was not as trustworthy as Dr. Damon.
Eve said softly, "But I know you helped me out first to recline the seat and make space for her rescue, right?"
I did not respond.
That night, I read an article on my phone about how painful it is to commit suicide by jumping into the sea.
Someone shared their personal experience in the comments section—regretting, struggling, but with no way back, feeling desperate, the burning pain of breathing seawater into the lungs... I didn't finish reading.
After that day, I began to suffer from chronic insomnia, spending nights cooking, cleaning, ironing every piece of clothing meticulously.
In the morning, my mother was surprised to see a full table of dishes.
She tasted one and her eyes reddened slightly, "It tastes like Elara made it."
I picked up a piece of pork, the familiar flavor filling my mouth.But a surge of sorrow swelled in my heart, triggering memories buried deep in my mind.
Before this, I had never cooked.
How could I recreate a taste so similar to hers?
I suddenly realized that every action I took was something Elara had done during her bouts of insomnia.
