6
The anniversary was approaching,
Sarah hadn’t returned, as if she’d never
existed.
His assistant, kindly, suggested retrieving her
body for a proper burial.
But Mark fired the assistant.
“You’re in cahoots with her, still putting on a
show!”
The assistant shook his head and left.
Mark followed him.
The assistant went into a cemetery.
Mark hid in a corner, sneering. He’d see how
long their act lasted.
The assistant stood before two tombstones.
Mark vaguely heard the assistant sobbing,
“Uncle and Auntie, you raised me. I’m so
sorry. I didn’t take good care of Miss Sarah;
she died in a foreign land. If you’re in heaven, please bring her home…”
Mark stopped listening.
He dragged his numb legs, looking at his
satellite phone; his calls remained
unanswered.
The house was filled with Vivian’s luxury
brands, and the scent of roses was gone.
He even threatened divorce if she didn’t
come back for the anniversary.
Sarah didn’t intervene.
That was impossible. Divorce was terrifying;
Sarah wouldn’t allow it.
He suddenly felt lonely, wanting to go home.
The house lights were off, but the bedroom
light was on.
Mark’s heart sank; he nervously opened the
door.
He tried to control his unfamiliar anxiety,
speaking calmly, “You still know how to come
home? You’ve become so bold…”
“Mark, honey?”
Vivian was at Sarah’s vanity, applying cream,
accidentally spilling perfume.
Mark instinctively rushed to help, but couldn’t
stop the bottle from falling.
The perfume spilled, irreparable.
く
“What are you doing here? This is Sarah’s
stuff, who allowed you to touch it?”
Vivian burst into tears. “Mark, honey, I’m
sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“Get out!”
