Chapter 7
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My parents apparently gave up searching for me. The family crisis had left them without the money or resources to continue looking.
They sold the mansion, and every penny of their savings went toward medical bills. But Tracy’s life slipped away quickly anyway, her final moments filled with desperate cries of “I don’t want to die“.
Without money, they survived on disability checks, two broken souls huddled together in a tiny apartment that wasn’t even 800 square feet. No one would ever guess they were once the polished CEO and his elegant wife.
Meanwhile, James kept searching for me like a madman. He traveled across half the country before finally spotting me in a picturesque small town on a sunny spring day.
By then, I was married with a child of my own. When I saw him standing there in the middle of the street staring at me, I just looked confused. “Do I know you?” I asked.
“I…” James‘ mouth opened and closed. He wanted to tell me who he was, how my family had practically lost their minds searching for me, and how the whole catastrophe had killed Tracy.
But faced with my calm expression, he couldn’t get a single word
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My husband was the first to notice James staring and didn’t like it one bit. He stepped in front of me, blocking James‘ view. “Hey man, back off,” he said sharply.
My son followed his dad’s lead, planting himself in front of me with his little hands on his hips. “Stay away from my mom!” he declared.
The two of them made me laugh. “Guys, come on,” I gently scolded from behind them.
I picked up my son and looked directly at James. “Excuse me, do we know each other?” I asked politely.
James just stood there, staring blankly at me, then at our happy little family of three. After what felt like forever, he finally mumbled, “No. We don’t.”
Then, he turned and walked away, leaving my husband and me exchanging confused looks.
Three days after our encounter, James was dead.
They found him at the train station, curled up by the entrance. He hadn’t gone inside or bought a ticket. Nobody knew where he was headed or where he’d come from.
The police couldn’t reach any family members, so they donated his body to the hospital. But because James was HIV–positive, he wasn’t suitable for standard medical research. The hospital
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transferred his remains to a specialized facility that studies the HIV virus instead.
I had no idea any of this was happening. I was too busy making my son’s birthday cake with my husband–our little guy was turning three in just a few days.
I was in the middle of smoothing frosting over the cake layers when the sky suddenly opened up outside. My husband smacked his forehead. “The laundry!” he yelped and then scrambled toward the balcony in a total panic.
I couldn’t help but watch him out there, getting soaked while yanking shirts and pants off the clothesline. Something about the scene made me zone out completely. It took me a good minute to recognize the feeling bubbling up inside–this weird, secret happiness.
He rushed back inside with an armful of damp clothes, caught me staring, and froze. A helpless smile spread across his face. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” I said, grinning. “Just thinking how good this life is.”
And how it was only going to get better from here.
B
