I returned to the villa again.But since that day, I could no longer feel her presence.
But I gradually began to remember many things. My mother disapproved of Eve and feared I would end up with someone like her again, so she went out of her way to set me up with Elara.
That day, after having a few drinks with friends, I came home to find her suddenly in my room, looking like a rabbit soaked in the rain, her eyes red.
Despite knowing nothing, she dared to come and undo my buttons.
At that moment, I thought, 'My parents want her to be with me, and here she is.'
She must have been terrified that night; she kept trembling, and later, she began to cry. Eventually, I proposed to her.
Her expression was a mix of surprise, hesitation, and doubt—joy was conspicuously absent. So, I thought she didn't want to marry me. That's why I uttered the words I now regret so deeply—they physically hurt every time I recall them.
The next day, I went to the study to sort out some important papers and found a thick sketchbook in the corner of the shelf.
Before I met Elara, my childhood was lonely; I spent most of my time alone drawing.
After she arrived, I used the sketchbook as a diary, recording things related to her. In college, I stumbled upon this sketchbook and casually added a few more entries.
As I was about to put it back, I noticed some fresh handwriting on the back cover: "I'm sorry." It was Elara's handwriting. My hands began to tremble. Had she seen it? Did she commit suicide because of this diary?
I was always expected to behave in a certain way. I felt the girl my family adopted had taken away their attention and love.
Although I resented her presence, I still had to act like a caring, protective brother. My parents didn't allow me to show anger or selfishness; even as a child, breaking a toy would earn me their disappointed looks.
Later, I met Eve, who shared similar burdens. Her mother favored sons, and her brother had leukemia; she had herself kept by a married man to pay for his treatment.
After a call home, she expressed disgust and muttered it would be better if she were dead. When she saw me, she was shocked and at a loss for words.
Eventually, her brother died, she was freed from that man,but school rumors spread like wildfire. The photos of her checking into hotel with that man were spread everywhere.
She claimed he was her uncle, but no one believed her. As a woman already stigmatized, any slight association with a man sparked rumors. This time, I was the man in the scandal.
When my mother learned it and angrily accused me, I suddenly grew tired of it all.
When she said she would rather have me be with Elara, I laughed and said, "If you like her so much, marry her yourself."
My mother slapped me. Elara, who was behind me, wanted to speak but didn't dare.
"How could my parents, living so far away, know about my affair with Eve?"
I asked coldly, looking down, "Are you using my parents to pressure me?"
Elara hurriedly explained it wasn't her. It was just a professor who knew my mother at school.
But I didn't apologize to Elara; at that time, I really didn't want to see her.
A new man, Richard Damen from the medical university, had appeared by her side. I'd never seen her so interested in another man.
They ate lunch together every day.She happily brought him snacks, and even asked me which brand of razor men usually use while shopping online.
When I asked why she wanted to know, she stuttered that it was for a roommate.
But I saw her give Damen a razor along with a bag of fruits and even touched her own chin in front of him, suggesting he groom himself.
That moment of shock and anger even surprised me. Maybe the days of reluctantly caring for her against my better judgment had worn away my resistance.
From the moment she cried over that dead cat and clung to me, I realized I wasn't as bothered by her as I thought. She was the only place I could breathe in this house.
But she never knew how a childish boy could speak so contrary in his heart. She believed until her death that I hated her and loved Eve.
What was she feeling when she wrote those words? All the pain I had hidden, all the details of how I hurt and failed her, her solitary suffering from cancer and her impending fear of death came rushing over me.
I knelt on the ground, holding that diary.
I curled up like a child and began to sob uncontrollably.
