I thought I would always be a protected little girl, but when the accident happened, I didn’t even have the right to react.
I handled everything like a walking corpse and even sadness came very late. During that time, Diego was the one who stayed by my side the whole time, running around for me and crying with me when I broke down.
He said he felt sorry for me and he would protect me for my father.
I thought he loved me.
Up to now, it was just that I was too miserable and pitiful at that time, which aroused his protective instincts.
Just like his fondness for Hillary over the years.
He always thought he was some kind of righteous messenger to protect what he thought was the vulnerable.
But back then, I couldn’t resist his warmth.
So I fell, deep, completely obsessed, until I died.
This night was very long, very long.
In Diego’s self–imagination, I was still that arrogant, selfish and willful girl.
He thought I would jump out and laugh at him in countless unexpected moments, like I did in the past and I fooled him.
However, I really learned my lesson this time.
How was I going to resist and argue when even my bones had burned?
Whatever.
At daybreak, he stood up, holding his coat.
He was heading towards the cemetery.
It was drizzling and when he arrived at his destination, the entirè cemetery was shrouded in fog.
He hesitated a bit.
I suddenly remembered that he has been afraid of ghosts since childhood.
Unable to hold back his fear, he seemed to be cheering himself on.
“Zara, are you intentionally torturing me in this way? Well, it was you who pushed me further and further away. When I’m completely disappointed in you, I won’t show you mercy.”
He mustered up his courage and walked step by step.
I, however, who was following him, suddenly felt hot all over, like something pulling me.
Soon, his footsteps stopped on the blank tombstone.
The picture the assistant sent him was here. There were still traces of excavation under the
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tombstone.
He simply squatted down and started digging with his bare hands.
The urn was quickly dug out. He suppressed the resistance in his body and opened the urn gently with trembling hands.
After preparing himself mentally for a long time, he opened the urn, but what he saw was not ashes, rather a bunch of fancy little objects.
I also took a closer look. There were pearl necklaces, plastic bracelets, miscellaneous items and a crumpled Polaroid photo.
I actually had no memory of these things.
During the period before my death, I had been torturing and suffering from mental disorders. Seeking death was just a way to get relief. After my soul left my body, I didn’t know much about other things.
Just looking at it, I inexplicably felt a sense of familiarity.
It seemed, in that correctional center, I was struggling to survive by relying on these tiny things.
The pearl necklace was a gift from Diego for my 18th birthday and the plastic bracelet was something he bought for me at a stall on our first date.
That Polaroid photo was a souvenir of our first kiss.
In the painful and desperate times, I clung tightly to the good old days, trying to draw warmth from them to support myself.
I sighed with a bitter smile.
At that time, I was really suffering from mental disorders and forgot who caused the pain. Relying on the source of pain, I naturally led to a dead end.
Diego also realized something. He picked up the items one by one and carefully examined them, his expression somewhat moved.
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