2
Zoe coughed once during a meeting.
I looked up at her. “Get out.”
Zoe was stunned. Everyone in the meeting looked at me in surprise.
She hurriedly apologized and left the meeting room, covering her mouth.
I turned my attention back, gesturing for the employee on stage to continue the presentation.
Zoe was hiding in the break room wiping away tears. I walked over silently and poured her a cup of coffee. “Mind your emotions at work.”
Zoe reached out to take it, looking a bit flustered as she spoke. “Thank you, boss.”
I was about to leave with my coffee when I suddenly heard her say, “I’m not crying because of what happened in the meeting.”
She said hoarsely: “I just remembered the last time I spoke to Vivian. She bought me medicine, telling me it would help my cough get better faster.”
“She must have been in a lot of pain then too.”
“Boss, do you know? During that car accident, when Vivian saw you help me out of the car, her expression was very sad. It was the kind of sadness only women can understand.”
“I guessed she must have misunderstood. She always thought that after the accident, the first person you wanted to save was me.”
I was stunned for a moment.
At that time, Vivian’s legs were pinned under the deformed hood against the steering wheel. Her whole face had gone pale.
Zoe was moaning in pain in the back seat. I got out of the car and helped her out first.
She was terrified, unconsciously clutching my clothes tightly.
I comforted her for a few words before she seemed to wake up and let go.
Lasked a passerby to call the police and ambulance for us.
3:02 PM
<
Then I went to check on Vivian’s condition. She was stuck very tightly. I tried to recline the driver’s seat to make space for Vivian to pull out her legs, but the seat adjustment button was broken. I could only clear the glass shards embedded in her wounds first while waiting for rescue.
She was usually very afraid of pain, but at that moment she didn’t make a sound.
She just kept staring at my broken arm, saying she was fine, really fine.
But later when we got to the hospital and she saw Ryan, she cried out in pain with red eyes.
At that moment I understood, in her heart, I might not be as trustworthy as Ryan.
Zoe said softly, “But I know you helped me out first because you wanted to recline the seat to make space for her, right?”
I didn’t answer.
That night, I saw a news article on my phone: How painful is suicide by drowning?
Someone in the comments shared their personal experience. They regretted it halfway through, struggled, but there was no turning back. It was very desperate, that feeling of wanting to breathe but inhaling water into the lungs, the airways burning with pain…
I couldn’t finish reading.
After that day, I started having insomnia night after night. When I couldn’t sleep, I would cook, clean, iron every piece of clothing until it was perfectly smooth.
Mom was surprised to see a table full of dishes when she got up early.
She tasted a bite, her eyes reddening slightly. “It tastes just like Vivian’s cooking.”
I picked up a piece of braised pork and put it in my mouth. The familiar taste filled my mouth, but a wave of grief surged in my chest, as if triggering deeply buried memories.
Before this, I had never cooked.
Why could I make dishes that tasted so similar to hers?
I suddenly realized, everything I was doing were things Vivian used to do.
Each of these were her habits when she couldn’t sleep.
