Chapter 7
When I woke up, Dora and I were floating beside Hannah.
Her face was pale, her body covered with various tubes.
I prayed to the heavens, hoping they could hear my plea and let her live on healthily.
Finally, after four years, she woke up.
Again and again, she tested the waters, but no one dared to tell her the truth.
I guessed what she was thinking.
Because every night, she would cry my name in her dreams, staring blankly at the dark sky.
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It broke my heart.
I despised myself for being so powerless at that moment.
Why did I have to watch her suffer alone?
Until one day, she secretly returned home, only to discover that I was dead.
We were dragged into her dream, watching her mourn for the “me” in the novel.
She thought it was a sad story about a girlfriend watching her ex with another
woman.
But little did she know, it was the love story
of us.
Every time she whispered my name, I answered her sincerely.
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Including that time when she was drunk, and I heard her say, “Luca Bennett, you came to pick me up.”
At that moment, I stood before her, smiling as I told her,
“Yes, it’s time to go home.”
Truthfully, I wanted to cry.
But a soul cannot cry.
The day she left the dream, the sun was shining brightly.
I had been given a brief chance to connect with her, under the condition that I couldn’t stay by her side anymore.
I agreed.
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Seizing the moment, I finally said the words I had held in for so long.
“Hannah, I love you.”
“Hannah, I’ll wait for you.”
In the places she couldn’t see, I’ve been with her day and night for the past four years.
She just doesn’t know.
But it’s okay. One day, she will.
I will wait for her. This is our promise.
When the day comes, I will tell her everything.
Then, with open arms, I’ll say, “Welcome home.”
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My mother never had any children of her
own.
I was an abandoned infant that she adopted.
She told me that the day she found me, it was snowing heavily. I had been discarded in a trash bin, my body still covered in dried blood, my cries weak, like a cat’s mewing, growing fainter and fainter.
She took me, dirty and cold, to the police station.
After some inquiries, they discovered my biological mother was only 17 years old. After abandoning me, she had jumped into the river, ending her life.
From then on, my mother raised me.
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I’ve known this story since I was little. My mom never kept anything from me.
And when I learned the truth, it didn’t hit me as hard as you might think, because I had the best mother in the world.
When I told her I liked a boy, she’d gently hug me and tease me, saying,
“The boy Alexa likes must be a really special person, right?”
From childhood to now, she provided me with a comfortable life, gave me the best education.
Even though she wasn’t my biological mother, so what?
I loved her, and she loved me–that was enough.
