After that incident, we didn't meet again for a long time.
I spent my days at the company, working as usual.
What surprised me, however, was that Russell Huynh had indeed come to work at the company.
But, he was just as annoying as he looked — full of himself and difficult to deal with.
Every time he saw me, it seemed as if he wanted to roll his eyes to the heavens, acting as though he was my boss.
He'd always coldly throw out a challenge: "If you have the guts, fire me."
But I really didn't have the guts. After all, the company still depended on him to make money.
I reminded him, "Alden and I are no longer involved."
He sneered, "Yeah, it won't matter when he dies either."
I froze for a moment. Alden was sick? Had his stomach problems gotten worse?
"Is he… alright?" I asked, concerned.
"Disappointed? He's still alive."
Russell's cold words irritated me greatly.
One day, after finishing work, I made time to visit Ms. Bradshaw, my mother's best friend.
She was still the same, holding me tightly and asking me how I was.
Of course, the conversation eventually turned to marriage, and once again, Ethan Shaw and I found ourselves caught in the crossfire.
We had both reached our thirties, and over the years, there had always been subtle attempts to match us together.
But, we had grown up together, so we were like siblings — there was nothing romantic between us.
After dinner, Ethan asked me a question that sent me into a spiral of confusion.
"Brooks, you can clearly confirm that we're just siblings, but what about Alden?"
"If you really hate him, then why are you still with him? How can you do those intimate things with someone you dislike?"
I had thought about this question, but I never had an answer.
After I left five years ago, all I could see in my dreams were the images of Alden crying at the airport, begging me to tell him whether I had ever loved him.
I'd wake up in the middle of the night, my heart aching with a dull pain.
It was the only time in my life that I had acted badly, and I couldn't help but feel guilty.
When I was with Alden, maybe he was just too good to me, to the point where I couldn't tell if I hated him or loved him.
I had asked myself why I even got involved with him. Why did I lead him on, step by step, knowing that I wasn't someone who easily gave my heart away?
Maybe it was because Alden had such a perfect face, and he cared for me so much. Because of that, I allowed myself to selfishly enjoy his admiration.
I didn't like him, and I certainly didn't want them—the mother and son—to take everything from me.
Now, it seems karma has come full circle. After Mary drove my mother to death, she had always wanted to have a child with my father. Unfortunately, she never got her wish. Now, she rests in peace, while my father spends his remaining years in a wheelchair.
Speaking of which, after returning to the country, I rarely saw my father. In fact, since my mother passed away, our father-daughter bond had become very thin.
With a stepmother came a stepfather.
Besides giving me money, we had little interaction.
On a whim, I decided to visit him.
He seemed to be in decent spirits, though his legs were unsteady. A young caregiver was there, massaging his shoulders and legs, their relationship seemed rather close.
I chose to ignore it; some men only become tame when they're stuck in a corner.
I walked straight up to the second floor. In the past, Alden and I had our room there, while my father and Mary stayed on the first floor.
My mother had overdosed on sleeping pills, and she never woke up beside me.
Since then, I've never been able to sleep with the lights off.
At that time, Alden used to say sleeping with the lights on wasn't good for the body. He'd always wait until I fell asleep, then quietly turn off the lights. When nightmares would wake me in the middle of the night, he'd gently pat my back to calm me down. Then, at dawn, he'd quietly return to his own room.
Thinking back, those days—having someone beside me—my heart always felt calmer.
His room hadn't been lived in for a long time. Thick curtains were drawn, and the furnishings were exactly the same as five years ago.
The wardrobe was filled with books, and the drawers contained many of my old sketches.
On the desk was a slightly worn-out copy of The Kite Runner. I casually flipped through it, and surprisingly found a piece of colored paper:
"Brooks Velez's Wish List Before 30."
It was written in a bold, flourishing script, and there were many things listed:
[Become a famous artist, hold a grand art exhibition]
[Make a lot of money]
[Travel around the world]
The final item read: [Marry the person I love, have a cute baby]
I couldn't help but laugh. The dreams of youth, though far-fetched, were always sweet and precious.
I wonder what Alden thought when he saw this wish list of mine all those years ago.
