I didn't hear from Dick, but I found out that I was pregnant.
At that time, I had just started school in the city we both dreamed of, waiting for him to come find me.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was more shocked than happy.
But with a strong resolve, I decided to keep the baby.
And I really did, even though it meant going against everyone else.
I thought: I was already isolated and alone, it was Dick who brought me back. Now, I was just being myself again.
It's okay, everything will pass, and a bright future awaits me.
That time was hard, really hard.
The first time I used the money Dick gave me was when I was six months pregnant.
I accidentally tripped and started bleeding, needing to rest and protect the pregnancy.
Another month passed, and a police officer found me and gave me another bank card.
That's when I learned that to clear his name, Dick had become an informant for the police, working to redeem himself.
Now the situation wasn't over, and I could only wait.
He said, "This is the bonus the police department gave to Dick. He asked us to give it to you and for you to live well."
I believed him, took the money, and continued to wait.
Later, York was born.
I remember once, when we were eating at the pizza restaurant, the owner excitedly talked about naming his grandson.
On the way back, I asked him, "If you ever have a child, what would you name him?"
Dick was taken aback and said, "What nonsense are you talking about? I won't have any children!"
"If it were to happen?" I pressed.
Dick, worn down by my persistence, said, "York. I haven't read much, so I don't know which name is best, but I once heard someone say that 'York' means power, and splendid. I really like that word."
Ye, York, it sounds nice.
I never gave up waiting for Dick.
I would visit the police officer every few days to inquire.
And his answer was always to wait, wait, wait.
So I kept waiting.
Actually, life wasn't that unbearable.
Because I had York, he was my motivation to keep going, he was hope, he was a bright and splendid future.
But in reality, I wasn't a good mother.
I would become hysterical because of York's crying, I would become emotionally agitated because of his disobedience, I would often hold York and cry, and I would cry alone every day.
Dick, what should I do?
I'm so sad!
I held on for eight years.
Later, one day, I unexpectedly found out that Dick had died.
It happened so suddenly, without any preparation.
That pain was delayed.
I lived normally and calmly for five days.
On the fifth night, I stood by the window, wanting to jump.
It hurt so much!
Heart-wrenching pain engulfed me, breaking me down, piercing through my chest.
I couldn't hold on much longer.
But then York murmured, "Mommy."
I suddenly stopped.
Later, the police officer told me that Dick had already died when he first came to see me.
"Why did you hide it from me?"
"Dick requested it. He said that if he died, you mustn't be told."
"Why?"
The police officer looked at me in silence.
I suddenly laughed.
Eighteen-year-old Anne.
What would have happened if eighteen-year-old Anne lost Dick?
Would she commit suicide?
"You're thinking too much, I wouldn't."
The police officer didn't argue with me but said, "I kept thinking that if you didn't come to see me one month, I would tell you the truth."
"But Anne, it's been nine years, 100 months! If you hadn't found out suddenly, I would have taken this truth to my grave."
I scoffed at his words. How could that be? I wouldn't do that!
I felt like I had suddenly put something down, continuing to live and take care of York.
But I started having sleepless nights.
My emotions became increasingly uncontrollable.
Every time York cried because of my breakdown, I hated Dick even more.
I hated Dick to death.
He ruined me.
And I seemed to be ruining York too.
I just wanted to send York away, far from me, far from all these troubles.
Later, I got sick.
The doctor said that as the illness progressed, my memory might be impaired.
I suddenly became hopeful. If I had to forget, I wanted to forget Dick.
Later, I really did forget him, along with York, the only link I had to him.
All my memories started from when I bought myself a piggy bank.
On the last night of my life, I dreamt of a person leaning against the wall, smoking and waving to me, saying, "Little brat, come here, I'll give you an apple to eat!"
