- 9.
A month later, I was in a meeting at my company when my secretary informed me that an
elderly couple was at the entrance, asking to see me.
My heart instantly knew. I told the secretary to make an excuse that I wasn’t in.
But as I walked to the parking lot after working late, I saw two people squatting by my
car.
“They’re here, they’re here! Old man, quick, get up!”
It was Mom and Dad.
When they saw me approach, they quickly picked up a pile of gifts from the ground and came forward, gripping my hand.
“Ms. Miller, we’re so grateful for what you did for our daughter. If it weren’t for you, she
wouldn’t be alive!”
My mom, standing right in front of me yet completely unrecognizable, started to sob as she spoke, repeatedly caressing the back of my hand. My nose suddenly stung…
Only when I was sick as a child would Mom hold my hand like that.
When Mom’s hand stroked the back of mine, all my pains and fears would vanish.
It was a pity such intimacy had only happened a handful of times throughout my
childhood.
I pulled my hand away, saying coldly, “I simply saw the news that someone needed a rare blood type and went to donate. You don’t need to dwell on it.”
I turned to leave, but the old couple blocked my way.
“Ms. Miller, no words can express our gratitude. We truly don’t know what to give you. Tonight, we’ve prepared some home–cooked dishes at our place. We were wondering if Ms.
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Miller could grace us with your presence and give us some face.”
When Mom said the word “home,” my heart fiercely clenched, as if someone had reached
in and squeezed it.
I lowered my eyes, conflicted for a moment, then looked up and said, “Alright.”
Though I hated them to the bone, that “home” held too many memories.
Suddenly, I wanted to see it again.
To make it easier, I didn’t drive, simply hailed a cab.
But when the taxi stopped, I froze.
Where… where was this?
