He spoke slowly, like he was recounting a
never–ending nightmare.
“I saw acid melting your face, you screaming
on the ground, my… urn next to you.
Everyone laughing at you, no one helping.
You’re so beautiful, you hate pain so much…
it must have hurt so badly.”
His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “I
dreamt you ended up in the hospital, unable
to bear your disfigured face, and jumped from
a window one spring day when your scars
itched.”
“I don’t believe it.” Tears streamed down his
く
face. “Tell me it’s not true.”
He looked at me desperately, his eyes
bloodshot, pleading for denial.
I laughed coldly, swallowing the surge of grief
and resentment. “It’s all true.”
He stumbled back, disbelief etched on his
face. He fell to his knees, his proud back
bent, as though broken.
He buried his face in his hands, sobs
escaping him.
“I… I’m so sorry.”
He seemed to have lost his mind, his words
disjointed and frantic. “After I died, I became
a ghost. I saw that Lily hadn’t died. She’d
faked her death, running away after making
enemies in the industry. She was jealous of
our happiness, so she sent me that message,
pretending she was going to kill herself. How
could I be so stupid… We were married for
five years, so happy… we were planning to
く
have a baby next year…
99
His face was contorted with pain. “I ruined
everything.”
He couldn’t distinguish between past and
present, lost in his torment.
I felt nothing, only pity, watching his
breakdown.
I left him there, sobbing and repenting,
without looking back.
15
Mark and Lily broke up for good.
The college entrance exams arrived. Years of
hard work boiled down to a few test papers.
My pen moved steadily, bringing those three
years to a satisfying close.
Mark didn’t perform well, barely scraping by
with a score good enough for a decent
university. He became a cautionary tale
among the teachers.
Lily, true to her past life, shocked everyone by
skipping college altogether, opting to pursue
a career in Hollywood.
And I, the former class dunce, became the
dark horse.
My score qualified me for UCLA.
My parents were ecstatic, showering me with
praise.
We had a huge celebration, relatives beaming
and offering congratulations.
Mark texted me repeatedly, cautiously asking
about my college choices, whether I was
going to UCLA.
I knew he wanted to be in the same city.
My acceptance letter arrived. I got into my
dream program at NYU, two thousand miles
away from Mark’s chosen university.
Life was too short and unpredictable. I
wanted to explore.
I thought I’d finally have peace.
But during my first month of college, I saw
く
Mark outside my dorm.
He looked exhausted, his face etched with
the fatigue of a long journey.
“Jenna, I’m so sorry.”
