After arriving in abroad, many things became clearer.
The doctor informed me that my mother's surgery was basically without issues.
The job offers I had applied to started responding, and one of the interviewers, with a fluent accent, asked me:
"Why did you choose to come here?"
"It's beautiful here," I smiled in response. "I like the sound of bell."
Next to my mother's bed, there was an elderly woman, and a young man about my age sat with her.
He always brought the freshest fish and chips, sitting on a bench outside the hospital, eating them all.
His grandmother was very ill.
The time he spent eating fish and chips was the only time he could truly relax in a day.
After finishing, he stood up and waved at me: "I'm leaving now." After he left, I continued sitting there.
I reached out my hand tentatively, letting the white pigeons land on my palm. They were white, and they looked so peaceful, with a fluttering hope.
Just like the state of my heart at this moment.
Before my mother's surgery, I bought two cream cakes from a cake shop.
While waiting outside the operating room, I wanted to keep one cake in the fridge, so my mom could eat it when she woke up. She loved these sweet cream cakes, with a bit of strawberry and mango.
She couldn't eat too much when she first woke up, so she'd take a little bite of each, and I would finish whatever she left behind. I waited eagerly.
Until the doctor came out, his face heavy with concern, and told me that the situation was dire. I froze.
The cake in my hand dropped to the ground with a loud thud, splattering white cream everywhere.
---
My mother's surgery failed again.
I sat numbly in the cold hospital corridor, tears streaking my face, my mind in turmoil, wanting to do something but not knowing what to do.
I knew I wasn't lucky, even a bit unfortunate.
All the major decisions in my life seemed to be going awry, heading towards the worst possible direction.
Holding the cake box, I bent down, rubbing my cheek against the beautiful ribbon, letting the cream smear into my hair.
Mom, this delicious cake, you won't be able to eat it. "...I'm sorry."
Doing it all over again, I still couldn't save your life.
That evening, Thaddeus came after hearing the news.
Seeing me calmly holding my mother's urn, his face full of concern, he carefully advised, "Irene, if you want to cry, just cry it out."
I shook my head. "I don't want to cry." I couldn't cry.
Fate had taken my parents, forcing me into hatred and madness once again. It wanted to kill me, but I refused to give in.
After settling my mother's funeral, I stayed in the country for a few days before returning to abroad alone.
I focused on work, living my life, adopted a large dog, a light brown Labrador, and named him "Lucky," hoping he would bring some luck.
In the evenings, I would take him out, walking past the fountain in the square when I unexpectedly saw the grandson of the elderly woman who had been in the bed next to my mom.
He was still eating fish and chips.
As he ate, he told me, "My grandmother passed away last month." "...I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
He pushed his plate of fries towards me: "Do you want to try one?"
"When you're sad, eating fried food can help lift your mood."
That afternoon, I sat with him, finishing a large plate of fish and chips, and drinking two big cups of cola.
Near the end, I received a call from Thaddeus. I looked at the screen for a while and then hung up.
The young man asked, "Is that your boyfriend?"
I shook my head. "No."
I blocked Thaddeus's number.
He pushed a business card toward me: "Would you mind having my number?"
He said, "I think we're destined to meet."
