A Tattoo That Can't Be Removed - Chapter 12

Dad never woke up.

Fortunately, money wasn’t a major issue at home. Some distant relatives came by after hearing about Dad’s situation, and a few even slipped me some cash. Their sympathetic looks took me back to the days when Mom passed away.

Wei Yan always showed up with food when I was at my hungriest. I had to quit my job to take care of Dad, but he didn’t have to. He should be too busy to bother with his ex-girlfriend.

We didn’t talk much before, and now there was complete silence between us.

He mostly watched me eat in silence. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and couldn’t care less about what he was up to.

“Do you still have money?”

His pale fingers gripped the umbrella handle as he lowered his head slightly to ask me. Shadows were sparse, as the weather had been damp these days.

I didn’t respond, just stared out the window.

My mind was a chaotic mess, and I didn’t want to engage in conversation.

The umbrella swayed within my view, as if he insisted on being noticed.

“I won’t ask you for money even if I’m broke. I’ll sell a kidney.”

“Who would want to give you one?”

He laughed, crouching in front of me.

“Borrow it, pay it back, okay?”

“I’m right here in front of you. There’s no need to sacrifice something unequal for money.”

“…”

When his eyes were still, they resembled a clear sky. I used to fall into those eyes; he could be deceptive.

“Wei Yan, do you not realize we’ve broken up?”

He remained silent, as if he couldn’t hear me.

That period was the hardest for me. Dad never left the ICU, and the doctors’ expressions grew more solemn by the day. It felt like watching him fade away bit by bit.

One day, I stared at the fruit knife on the table, dazed, and almost pressed it against my wrist. It was a relative of a patient in the next bed who shouted at me, snapping me out of it.

When Wei Yan returned, he knew. He quietly put away the knives on the table, acting like nothing had happened.

He usually left at night, but that day he stayed.

Around three or four in the morning, he suddenly pressed his forehead against my wrist.

“At least… I don’t want you to die.”

His voice was thick with emotion, blending into the endless night. I dared not touch his feelings.