Chapter 7

With John, the journey home was no longer lonely.

My mother’s grave was high up on the mountain. From there, you could see the distant, undulating hills, with the blue sky and white clouds seemingly within reach.

I placed fresh flowers in front of my mother’s grave, lit candles, and burned paper money.

John knelt down, sincerely bowed three times, closed his eyes, and murmured something.

He had only met my mother once, when she was gravely ill.

That was long after our third breakup.

I had come to understand John’s flirtatious nature and resolved not to get entangled with him again.

Because we parted amicably, we kept each other’s contact information, but we no longer communicated.

In the midst of my busy life, I suddenly received a call from my hometown, saying my mother was hospitalized.

Her illness was severe, and the local hospital wouldn’t admit her, advising me to take her to a big city for examination.

My father was a worthless man, only knowing how to drink and be violent at home. Eventually, his health was ruined by alcohol, and he became a useless person who only knew how to ask for money.

I seriously reflected that perhaps I tolerated John’s infidelity because of the comparison with my father.

Compared to using violence against women, John’s flirtations were insignificant.

I worked hard to earn money and make a name for myself, mainly to give my mother a better life.

She had suffered for too many years.

I hurriedly took leave and took my mother to various hospitals, but without connections, we had to wait a long time for a bed.

Finally, a roommate said she had a distant relative who was a director at a top-tier hospital and helped arrange for my mother to be admitted.

I knew very well that the one with real connections was John.

I didn’t know if he was as dedicated to his other ex-girlfriends, but at that moment, I accepted his kindness.

The director reviewed my mother’s examination report and honestly said the prognosis wasn’t good, advising me to be mentally prepared.

My mother kept saying she didn’t want treatment and wanted to return to her hometown, but I was too afraid.

I was terrified that if my mother left, I’d be all alone in this world.

So I begged the doctors to use the best medication and tried various treatments.

But the results were far from satisfactory.

John probably heard about my mother’s condition from the doctors and proactively messaged me, saying he wanted to visit.

That was our first contact six months after the breakup, and I agreed.

My mother was very happy to see John. She misunderstood our relationship and held John’s hand, talking endlessly.

John responded to her, encouraging her to relax and focus on treatment.

Before leaving, he gave me a card.

I hesitated for a long time but eventually accepted it.

In the face of reality, one often has to bow down.

I didn’t want to admit it, but in moments of vulnerability, I still relied heavily on John.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep my mother.

Her condition deteriorated rapidly, and facing life and death, she insisted on being discharged.

She said if she had to die, she wanted to die at home, not in a hospital.

I had no choice but to hurriedly arrange for a vehicle, keeping her alive with an oxygen tank.

From the big city to the small mountain village, it was a 20-hour drive, and I didn’t dare close my eyes.

When we arrived home, my mother sat on the chair she had sat on for decades at the door, and within minutes, she peacefully closed her eyes.

She was finally free from pain.

And I was finally without a mother.

The funeral was chaotic.

My father did nothing, and having studied away from home for years, I was unfamiliar with the hometown customs.

I wore mourning clothes, but as a daughter, I wasn’t allowed to keep vigil for my mother.

Guests came and went, and my father, knowing my mother was gone and I wouldn’t care for him anymore, publicly questioned how much inheritance my mother left.

My mother did leave me some money, not much, just a few thousand.

But I spent it all on the funeral, leaving nothing extra.

My father wouldn’t listen and grabbed my arm, demanding money.

I knelt on the cold ground, surrounded by the advice of relatives and neighbors, saying to discuss matters after the funeral, and that I had always been a good child and wouldn’t neglect him.

But my father’s brute strength was astonishing, and he broke free, raising his hand to hit me.

At that critical moment, John protected me.

He had betrayed me many times.

But at that moment, he appeared before me like a god.