Thaddeus's parents both died the night they were rear-ended by a truck. He had been overseas on a business trip at the time.
The cold wind bit at my skin as I received a call from the hospital, politely informing me: "Sorry, we don't know these two."
"You could try contacting their son."
Barefoot on the cold floor, the air conditioning's heat blowing over my head.
I looked out at the sparkling city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows. When I was a child, I looked forward to Christmas.
My dad, mom, and many relatives would sit around the table, eating and chatting about the year's events.
I would receive countless gifts, be held in my mother's arms, and watch Christmas tree in the yard. My father would hold my hand and bless me:
"Little one, may you always be safe and happy."
I hadn't felt the warmth of family for almost five years.
Every Christmas, I buried myself under the covers, sleeping from 8 p.m. until noon the next day. It was like in my dreams, I could forget all the sorrow.
The pain of losing parents... Now, it was Thaddeus's turn.
---
I went to work as usual, dealing with clients and business partners.
Thaddeus's assistant called, hesitantly asking, "Madam, can you come see Mr. Sinclair? He's in a really bad state, he keeps calling your name..."
I paused for a moment, looked down at the notes Thaddeus had made for me on the file, and sighed. "Send me the address, I'll come over soon."
The assistant quickly agreed.
Thaddeus had drunk a lot, and the room smelled strongly of alcohol.
He sat on the floor with his legs bent, holding a pillow. I recognized it.
It was a gift his mother had embroidered for his eighteenth birthday.
He reached for a bottle of liquor beside him, but I stopped him: "Don't drink anymore." I handed him a bottle of water:
"Drink this if you're upset." It works the same.
He looked at me, his gaze slowly moving from my fingers to my eyes. He froze, calling softly: "Irene..."
"Yeah."
"My parents are gone. They were burned beyond recognition. I couldn't even bury them properly."
"Yeah, I know."
I sat beside him, patted his shoulder: "Do you want to sleep?"
Tears rolled down from his eyes. He choked up and said, "I know my parents weren't good people, but they were good to me. They're still my parents."
"Irene, are you happy they're dead? Now we both have no parents..."
He lay down, resting his head on my lap, murmuring quietly:
"Irene, I only have you now. You can't leave me, please." I let him hold my hand.
I quietly stared at him, my hair falling by my face, not responding.
I didn't doubt Thaddeus's love for me.
But it seemed he had never considered whether the so-called undying love he had was actually what I wanted.
For the next seven days, he pushed all his work aside, following me around like a dog following its master.
Whenever I showed any sign of distaste, he helplessly pressed his palm into his hand, his grip so strong it drew blood.
I wrapped his wound with gauze, hesitated, and asked him, "Do you want to see a psychologist?"
"Will you go with me?"
His eyes held a longing, cautiously looking like a dog afraid of being abandoned.
"...Sure."
I petted his head.
My pinky inadvertently brushed his ear, cold to the touch.
He didn't have any sensual intentions. He just stood there, looking clean and innocent, but something about it gave me a feeling of unease.
"How did we end up here?" I whispered.
No one answered.
In the empty office, only our shallow breaths mingled, entangled in the stillness.
