The Rain won't Last Forever

In the final month of my life, I took the cherished photos and went to the cemetery to look at the plot.

The cemetery agent warmly escorted me, showing me around to familiarize myself with the future neighbors in advance.

To prevent future conflicts and ensure peace of mind in my new home.

But unexpectedly, I encountered the exhusband who had been visiting here since our divorce three years ago.

And his mother's grave was right next to the plot I had reserved.

When enemies meet, their animosity flares up and my exhusband held nothing back to speak his mind.

"Anyone else can buy this plot, but not you. You don't deserve it."

Feeling helpless, I asked the agent to find me another location.

But the agent looked troubled.

"Miss Enders, cemetery space is incredibly limited at the moment. This is the only plot left."

I was diagnosed with advanced liver cancer, with only three months left to live.

In the first two months, I brought in a compassionate hospice caregiver to help me navigate with my daily needs.

I also reached out to a funeral home, ensuring that my final wishes would be respected. Then, as the final month dawned, the phone rang. It was the cemetery agent.

"Miss Enders, a plot has become available. Are you able to come and see it now?"

I eagerly asked Jack to accompany me out to the funeral home.

Lately, overwhelming drowsiness had taken over my days and bouts of coughing up blood became disturbingly routine.

Each day, I was haunted by the fear that I wouldn’t make it through the month.

I dreaded the thought of slipping away suddenly, leaving my loved ones with the burden of finding me a final resting place.

Jack Hamilton was the professional hospice caregiver I had hired.

He had been responsible for caring for me, a patient with a bad temper, until my final moments.

Beyond soothing the fear of death, hospice caregivers had also offered expert guidance on funeral arrangements, all at no extra cost.

That's why bringing him along to see the grave had felt like the perfect decision.

By the time we arrived at the cemetery gates, it was almost dusk.

The setting sun cast long shadows and every now and then, a few crows flew overhead.

The coolness of early autumn carried a sorrow that pierced straight to the heart.

Perhaps my furrowed brow was too telling, as Jack gently took my hand.

“Death is an end, but it’s also a new beginning. Don’t be afraid.”

I tilted my head in confusion.

“Have you experienced it?”

Jack shook his head.

“So how do you know?”

“Maybe death is just that—an absolute end, with no chance for a doover.”

Life feels truly precious precisely because of the certainty of death.

Noticing I still had the energy to banter, Jack let out a gentle, knowing laugh.

“If there’s no chance to start over, then just sleep peacefully here. I’ll visit you often and if you need anything, I’ll make sure it’s sent to you.”

Jack was a highly responsible and professional hospice caregiver.

He was not only gentle and patient but also quite handsome.

Even though his services were significantly more expensive than others, I was more than willing to pay for the added eye candy in my final days.

However, I wasn’t about to be naively swayed by the charm of a pretty face.

At that moment, the cemetery agent arrived at the door to pick us up.

“Sorry for the wait, Miss Enders. The plot is in the southwest corner. Let me take you there.”

My condition had worsened to the point where walking was nearly impossible.

My limbs had withered to frail, skeletal sticks and my face had turned a ghostly shade of gray.

However, being wheeled there in a wheelchair felt like it lacked respect for the deceased.

After all, handling neighborly relations was always delicate—whether dealing with the living or the departed, it was all the same.

So I asked Jack to help me inside, to properly get acquainted with the future entrance and meet the neighbors.

“You’re in luck,” the agent said enthusiastically. “This plot just became available recently and the geomancy is excellent. I guarantee it’ll bring you good fortune in your next life.”

The agent went on and on about the plot’s supposed geomantic benefits, dropping hints that several eager buyers were already eyeing it and ready to seal the deal.

I wasn’t too concerned about the luck aspect.

After all, with just a month left, there’re no reason to delay when a perfectly available resting place was right here, waiting for me, right?

“I need to finalize the plot urgently—ideally, today.”

The agent, clearly pleased, nodded enthusiastically and quickened his pace.

My legs trembled uncontrollably, making it harder and harder to keep up with the agent. Sensing my struggle, Jack bent down effortlessly and scooped me up.

For a split second, I was taken aback, instinctively clutching his neck for support.

Jack’s smile was wide and carefree.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle. “Your neighbors probably won’t mind.”

I locked eyes with Jack.

It was evident that a true professional had a knack for grasping their client's unspoken needs.

“Miss Enders, this is the spot,” the cemetery agent announced, gesturing ahead.

Jack gently set me down with care.

Nearby, a couple knelt in reverent prayer at a neighboring grave, their curious glances flickering toward us.

I couldn’t help but think that my illness was making me confused—my mind felt foggy and even my vision seemed blurred.

I couldn’t believe it, but the person looked a bit like my exhusband Oliver Mortimer, whom I’d been divorced from for three years and his new partner, Luna Sirius.

Luna stood up first and smiled as she spoke to me.

“What a coincidence, Emma, to run into you here.”

Unfortunately, bumping into kind souls in a cemetery wasn’t exactly fortuitous.

It felt downright eerie.

I pressed my lips together in silence and Jack, sensing the awkwardness, stepped in to break the tension.

“Emmy, do you know each other?” he asked.

Oliver set aside the incense he was holding and stood up, his gaze distant.

“I’m Emma Enders’ exhusband,” he said.

The man barely acknowledging my pale complexion as he approached and scrutinized me with a chilling tone.

“Emma, please don’t disturb my family.”

Even though my mind wasn’t as sharp as it once was and I had forgotten many things, his words triggered a sudden realization. Today was Angela Mortimer’s memorial day.

Oliver was here to honor his mother.

With a resigned sigh, I replied, “I’m not here to cause trouble for your mother.”

Oliver let out a harsh laugh, his eyes narrowing with anger.

“Just as well you know. A murderer has no right to appear before her.”

“Why don’t you get lost already?”

Oliver hadn’t changed at all—when he was angry, he was deaf to any reasoning.

As sudden a sharp pain in my abdomen started making my head spin, I clung to Jack for support, barely managing to stay upright.

Seeing my condition deteriorate, Jack quickly stepped in to clarify.

“You’ve misunderstood. We’re here to…”

Oliver cut him off impatiently.

“Misunderstood?”

He glanced at Jack with suspicion.

“You look unfamiliar—just got caught up with Emma, haven’t you? Here’s a tip: keep your distance. You never know when you might be next in line for betrayal.”

Oliver continued to jab at me with his words.

My already numb heart surged with intense pain, making it hard to breathe.

He let out a cold, mocking laugh.

“Not only did you kill my mother, but now you come here pretending to mourn? It just makes me sick.”

Luna quickly tugged at his sleeve, while I clenched my fists, fighting to keep my composure.

Meanwhile, a hot rush of blood surged in my throat, threatening to erupt.

I didn’t want to disrupt the solemnity of the cemetery, so I fought hard to maintain my composure.

Seeing my head bowed and fists clenched, Oliver’s own hands tightened into angry knots.

Sensing the escalating tension, the agent stepped in swiftly.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m the cemetery agent here to help Miss Enders with her plot purchase. Could you please step aside?”

Oliver and Luna both looked taken aback.

“Buying a plot in this cemetery?”

Oliver stepped forward and grabbed my wrist, forcing me to stop.

“Your grandmother’s far away on Pearl Shore Isle and your parents perished at sea. Who are you buying a plot for?”

I managed to push down the blood that had been rising in my throat, hid the photo I had been ready to place on the gravestone and spoke weakly.

“I just want to set up a memorial for my parents here.”

Oliver’s face, inches from mine, showed no sign of panic or urgency.

Instead, it was a mask of pure hatred and revulsion, his features contorted with fierce disdain.

“Anyone can buy this plot, but you— you’re not worthy.”

Oliver coldly wrenched his hand away.

“I absolutely forbid anyone connected to you from being near my family.”

I let out a bitter laugh.

Moments ago, I had foolishly clung to the hope that he might show a shred of concern or at least ask about my arrangements.

Even a simple, polite inquiry would have sufficed, given our shared history.

But it was clear now—after everything, only hatred was left between us.

Jack suddenly stepped away from me and grabbed Oliver by the collar.

“Enough! Oliver, I’ve put up with you for far too long.”

Jack’s imposing stature and commanding voice carried a powerful authority.

He roared, “I don’t want to get physical in front of your mother, but understand this: we don’t need your permission for anything we choose to do.”

“Don’t get too full of yourself, exhusband.”

Without Jack's support, I felt my frail body on the verge of collapsing, my head pounding with a dull ache, swaying like a zombie.

Come on, you big fool, come back and help me out!

I couldn’t understand why everything became so complicated as soon as Oliver got involved.

All I wanted was to leave in peace.

With a weary sigh, I took a step forward and lightly patted Jack’s arm.

“Let’s forget it. Let’s go.”

I weakly turned back to the cemetery agent who had brought us to check out the plot of land.

“Sorry, I no longer want this plot. Are there any other available ones? Preferably as far away as possible.”

At my mention of "as far away as possible," Oliver’s face visibly darkened.

Meanwhile, the agent's expression grew increasingly troubled.

“Miss Enders, with the cemetery space being so tight, this is the only plot left that hasn’t been reserved.”

I hadn’t signed a contract with the agent yet.

I definitely didn’t want to be haunted by Oliver’s grimace every year on Angela’s memorial day.

If I ended up buried next to his mother, who’s to say he wouldn’t one day smash my headstone if he felt like it?

With no visitors, my grave would just become a neglected, sad ruin.

After Jack dropped me off at home, he stayed silent, lost in thought.

I leaned back against the mattress.

“What’s wrong? Are you troubled about something?” I asked.

Jack seemed to snap back to reality.

He responded, “No, I was just reflecting on today’s events. How about we check out other cemeteries tomorrow?”

I patted him reassuringly with a light smile.

“No problem. I can hold on, no doubt I can last another two months. I refuse to believe I can’t find a single plot in that time!”

As soon as I finished speaking, Jack's eyes turned red.

He paused, holding the peeler.

The man then muttered under his breath, “Liar.”

I was born on a tiny island, miles and miles away from Nightfall City. The islanders had fished for generations and my parents followed in that long tradition. Our life was simple and rhythmic—up with the dawn and to bed with the twilight.

That day, the weather was nothing short of perfect. The breeze was gentle, the sun was radiant and the sky stretched out, endless and clear. The sea shimmered under the sunlight, sparkling like countless tiny, scattered jewels.

As usual, my parents prepared their fishing gear, set off in their old, sputtering boat and waved cheerfully as they departed.

They were in high spirits, excited about the recent bounty of fat mantis shrimp, which promised a good price.

Little did anyone know, the storm would arrive so swiftly and fiercely.

The waves were too violent; no one on the island dared risk going out to search for them.

I clung desperately to my grandmother, feeling utterly powerless.

I prayed fervently, over and over, for the heavens to spare my parents.

Yet, fate has a way of mocking our deepest wishes.

It was in that moment that I first truly grasped the cold reality of fate.

Perhaps some things are predestined, beyond the reach of our efforts to change.

After my parents died, I developed a deepseated fear of the sea.

This fear led me to reject the option of a sea burial after cremation, opting instead for the most traditional burial.

I feared the bottomless depths, where the darkness swallowed all life.

That night, after returning from the cemetery.

I had another nightmare.

In my dream, I was drowning in deep water, struggling to breathe as my chest was crushed with pain and my limbs grew weak.

Beneath the surface, two shadowy figures, their faces indistinguishable, were pulling at my legs, preventing me from surfacing.

I woke up in a cold sweat, the metallic taste of fear lingering in my throat.

Jack hurried to my bedside, reaching out to me with concern.

“Emmy, open your mouth.”

I obediently did as I was told, letting the dark blood I had been holding back all day spill into his palm.

Jack carefully cleaned his hands, then came back to my side, his voice tinged with sorrow.

“Why have you been holding it in?”

I offered a sheepish smile and turned away, unwilling to explain.

But with the night growing darker, sleep eluded me.

Jack sat quietly by my bedside, illuminated only by the dim yellow light of the lamp.

Lately, I often woke up in the middle of the night, coughing up large amounts of blood and my sleep was restless.

So he stayed by my side, always within reach as soon as I opened my eyes.

He truly was a remarkably professional person.

It was worth every penny I spent to buy a bit of peace of mind before the end.

Perhaps it was because I couldn’t sleep or maybe my curiosity about him was too strong, but I decided to strike up a conversation.

“Jack, why did you choose to become a hospice caregiver?”

He was young, with the kind of looks that are popular on screen these days.

No matter how you look at it, his tall, striking figure seemed more suited for modeling or a career as a rising star.

Jack was silent for a moment before he began to speak.

His deep, gentle voice took on a misty quality in the night as he unfolded a sorrowful story.

“On my birthday, my mom had ordered a birthday cake from the store and asked my dad to pick it up after work.”

“But it was a torrential downpour that day—rain pouring heavily, thunder crashing and trees being uprooted by the wind.”

“Because of that, my dad got into a car accident on his way to the bakery and died on the spot.”

The young man's voice caught and he sighed deeply before continuing.

“My mom blamed herself for everything. She thought if she hadn’t asked my dad to pick up the cake, none of this would have happened.”

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

“But she could have easily blamed me instead, couldn’t she? Yet she didn’t. Instead, she bought paraquat, a highly toxic herbicide, when I wasn’t looking, planning to end her life in a joint suicide with my dad.”

Jack’s eyes reddened as he struggled to keep his voice steady.

“But paraquat doesn’t kill immediately. It slowly and irreversibly damages the heart and lungs, giving enough time for regret but no chance to undo the damage.”

“She held on in the ICU for seven days. There was one miraculous moment when she regained her senses and grasped my hand, crying nonstop.”

“She said she regretted it—that she shouldn’t have left me alone.”

“But it was too late.”

“By the time she was about to leave this world, she couldn’t speak anymore. She took a piece of paper and tremblingly wrote me a final message.”

I held back my tears and asked him, “What did she write?”

Jack lifted his gaze to meet mine, clearly taken aback. He quickly shifted to a more playful tone.

“Well, a dying person doesn’t exactly have the energy to write clearly. It was so messy that it was barely legible.”

He continued, “Fortunately, a family later helped sponsor me, allowing me to finish my education. After graduating from college, I heard that hospice care had a decent salary, so here I am.”

“There isn’t really any special reason.”

I had thought Jack took this job because of his parents, but it turned out to be such a mundane reason.

Still, this was the first time he had opened up about his past to me.

I wiped away the tears at the corners of my eyes, slowly extended my hand from beneath the covers and gently patted his head, stroking and rubbing it.

“You’ve done so well, Jack, taking care of yourself all this time.”

Jack went still, a trace of irritation in his voice as he grumbled.

Yet, beneath my hand, his head tilted closer, drawn to the warmth of my touch.

I couldn’t help but smile. He was such a disingenuous kid, pretending to resist when he clearly reveled in the affection.

Unable to sleep, I lay there awake and Jack seized the moment to probe into my life.

“So, the man you saw today—your exhusband—what made you marry him in the first place?”

“The man we saw today, your exhusband—why did you marry him in the first place?”

I was taken aback.

“Why else would I get married? I loved him, so I married him.”

Jack shot me a disdainful look, as if silently criticizing my judgment.

“No, you have to believe me, he wasn’t always like this. There was a gentleness about him that made it impossible not to love him.”

Jack interrupted me.

“And now? Do you still love him?”

His question sent me deep into thought.

Did I still love Oliver?

If marriage had been because of love, did that mean divorce was due to its absence?

I thought, in the end, I wasn't really in a position to answer that question.

I first met Oliver when I was twelve and back then, he was still my older brother.

Angela Mortimer, on the other hand, was my adoptive mother.

After my parents passed away, my grandmother, having spent all her savings on a serious illness, was unable to support me.

It was during this time that Oliver’s mother offered to take me in, as a way to repay a past act of saving her life.

At that time, the Mortimer Family—three of them—had come to the island for a cheerful family vacation.

Angela couldn’t swim and was swept away by a wave while playing by the sea. My mother risked her life to rescue her and that’s how their bond began.

At the time, I was too young to remember much about it.

I only knew that gifts would occasionally arrive during holidays.

When news of my parents' death reached her, Angela came to the island herself.

“Emmy, don’t worry. I will take care of you as if you were my own child. Come with me.”

She was a remarkably kind person and almost without thinking, I placed my hand in hers and followed her.

It was my first time leaving the island, my first glimpse of a bustling city and my first encounter with Oliver.

The young man sat quietly by the window, absorbed in a book—clean and radiant.

He reminded me of the summer sea glistening under the sun, captivating and mesmerizing.

I felt a flutter in my heart. But still, I addressed him obediently.

“Brother.”

He closed the book, revealing a pair of charming teeth and smiled warmly.

“Long time no see, Emma.”

My foster mother enrolled us both in the same middle school and later, the same high school.

Oliver introduced me to all his friends and that’s how I met Luna.

Life with the Mortimer Family was, in fact, quite pleasant.

Angela, my foster mother, worried I might face hardships. So, she gave me a generous allowance—more money than I had ever seen.

I divided it into three parts: one third went to my grandmother, another was donated to secure some blessings for my parents in the afterlife and I kept a small portion for myself.

Despite this windfall, I remained as frugal as ever.

The wealthy kids at school couldn’t hide their disdain for me, the newcomer from the countryside. They would huddle in groups, snickering about the "fishy smell" they claimed I had and would dramatically pinch their noses whenever I walked by.

They would often gather in groups, remarking on the fishy smell they claimed I carried and would deliberately pinch their noses whenever I walked by.

Unable to hold back any longer, I grabbed a bucket of dirty mop water from the restroom and threw it all over them.

Just as their fists were about to land on me, Oliver appeared out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around me and shielding me from every blow.

He ended up with some bruises, but I was unscathed.

When Angela came to pick us up from school, Oliver and I stood in the hallway, laughing and joking, completely unbothered by our punishment.

I realized then that I had feelings for him.

What began as innocent affection during our growing years soon blossomed into something deeper as we spent more time together.

Even though I knew he treated me well only because of our adoption, because I was what he called his sister, this despicable emotion still grew increasingly uncontrollable.

Until he kissed Luna.

On the day of our high school graduation, our class organized a dinner party and played a game of Truth or Dare.

Oliver drew a card that required him to spin the wheel and kiss the designated girl on the cheek for ten seconds.

When the wheel's pointer landed on me, Oliver's embarrassment was visibly apparent.

"Emmy is my sister. It’s totally inappropriate for a brother to kiss his sister."

So he walked over, his ears turning a deep shade of red.

He leaned in with his cool, fragrant body and kissed Luna, who sat next to me with an expectant look on her face.

In those ten seconds of surrounding uproar, my heart shattered completely.

For the first time, I experienced the feeling of getting hopelessly drunk.

I wanted the alcohol to numb this heartache that made it hard to breathe.

Oliver, with a furrowed brow, carried me into the car and drove me home.

"Oliver, do you like Luna?"

He placed me on the soft bed in my bedroom, gently withdrawing his arm from beneath my neck.

Emboldened by the alcohol, I grabbed his collar and steadied my voice to ask him.

I wanted an answer.

Oliver didn’t reply. Instead, he reached out and smoothed my furrowed brow.

"Call me brother," he sighed.

"Be good, Emmy and get some sleep."

I refused to let go, gripping his hand tightly.

"Oliver, do you really not like me at all?"

The bedroom was dark, with only some dazzling moonlight spilling in by the window, casting a beautiful, hazy glow on him.

He remained silent, eerily quiet. Even if he told me he didn’t like me at all and only saw me as a sister. I would give up all my hopes immediately. But he didn't.

I ran out of patience. I pulled his body forcefully and pressed my alcohollaced lips to his cool ones.

It was a moment of madness.

Since that kiss, Oliver had been avoiding me, refusing to see me.

He hated me.

I was determined to stay out of his sight.

Thus, when the time comes, I chose a university far from Nightfall City, putting as much distance between us as possible.

He and Luna stayed behind to continue their studies.

For four years, I avoided coming home, dodging any chance of awkward encounters with him.

During the holidays, I took on various odd jobs, sending the money I earned to my grandmother and buying small gifts to send to my adoptive mother.

I thought I had forgotten him—forgotten his voice, forgotten his face.

So, I set my burdens aside and enjoyed a carefree college life.

In my sophomore year, I started dating Hudson Eagleton, who had been pursuing me. He was nothing like Oliver. Hudson was sharp and charming, a real hit with the girls. With him, I never had to wonder if he loved me because he constantly proclaimed it.

I told my adoptive mother about my relationship and she was thrilled, constantly saying she wanted to meet my boyfriend.

After two years of dating Hudson and nearing graduation, I decided to bring him back to the Mortimer manor.

I hadn’t anticipated that Oliver would be there as well.

He appeared more composed than I remembered, dressed in a crisp white shirt and silverframed glasses.

I did my best to dodge his gaze, nervously greeting him with a stilted "brother."

He simply nodded in response, his silence as heavy as ever.

At the dinner table, my adoptive mother chatted with Hudson about many things.

When she asked about our future plans, he smiled warmly.

"Don’t worry, Auntie. I’ll take good care of Emmy. After graduation, I’ll marry her."

My adoptive mother was overjoyed, her face beaming as she held and stroked my hand, tears welling up in her eyes.

“That’s wonderful, Emmy. Your parents can finally rest easy,” she said.

Everyone at the table shared in the happiness. The only one who remained silent and brooding was Oliver, nursing his drink in solitude.

What could possibly be bothering him?

I’d heard from high school friends that he and Luna had been together for years and were very much in love.

He shouldn’t be this downcast.

With Hudson invited to stay the night, I retreated to my room to unwind.

The night deepened and a sense of quiet settled over the house.

A soft knock echoed from outside the door.

Oliver, reeking of alcohol, stood in the doorway.

Wearing just a spaghetti strap nightgown, I asked him softly, “Brother, is something wrong?”

Without answering, he quickly stepped inside, pressing the door shut behind him and trapping me in his cool, fragrant embrace.

“Emma, do you really like that man so much?”

“Enough to ignore me for four whole years?”

I was taken aback. Wasn’t he the one who had avoided me?

Wasn’t he the one who had hated me?

But my heart raced like a drum, leaving me unable to find my voice.

Did I love Hudson? I wasn’t sure.

But being with him gave me a sense of security.

I never had to doubt whether he cared for me because he patiently told me over and over again.

I supposed that feeling secure was a kind of love.

I nodded gently and his eyes quickly dimmed as he asked me.

"Then, do you still have feelings for me?"

"Is there even a trace of emotion left for me?"

A wave of deep, dense sorrow surged through my heart.

Did I still like him? I suppose I did.

From the very first moment I saw him again, I knew I could never forget him.

But if I spoke up now, everything would change.

So I chose silence, just like on that reckless night four years ago.

Unable to wait for my answer, he wept as he gently cupped my face in his hands and kissed me with abandon.

"Emmy, love me. Continue loving me."

"Please."

Then, a longsuppressed desire surged through me, dragging me into a hellish abyss.

I was pregnant. My adoptive mother, in tears, lashed out at him with a fierce reprimand. Oliver, bruised and kneeling, promised he would take responsibility.

So he married me.

There was no engagement party, no wedding—just a marriage certificate.

I had betrayed Hudson and he had betrayed Luna. We were both wretched.

After the wedding, life settled into a dull routine. I ended things with Hudson and moved back to the Mortimer family home, living with my adoptive mother while I carried the baby.

Oliver hired a nanny to look after me and visited from time to time, but I had no clue what occupied him the rest of the time.

Until I saw in Luna’s social media posts that he was out shopping with her.

I thought this was the punishment I deserved for my greed, so I had no right to question him. I planned to give birth to the baby and then return Oliver to Luna.

They were the ones truly in love.

My health, never the best, made the pregnancy especially difficult. The baby’s position was unstable and I endured endless morning sickness and deep, unrelenting fatigue.

When I collapsed again at six months pregnant, it came with no warning.

This time, I awoke in a hospital.

Oliver was at my bedside, his face etched with a deep, haunting despair.

That was when I found out—the baby was gone.

My adoptive mother had a heart attack and also passed away.

I still can’t make sense of it.

Why did Hudson suddenly burst into my room while I was resting?

Why did he force himself on me, causing the miscarriage?

It was as if my adoptive mother was still there, calling me to get up as usual.

When I pushed open the door, I saw myself beneath Hudson, my legs surrounded by a pool of blood.

Her heart condition wasn’t good and this scene frightened her terribly; the onset of her symptoms was sudden and severe.

Oliver sat nearby, his eyes bloodshot.

“Emma, do you really like that man so much? Are you willing to sacrifice our child for him?”

I hurriedly tried to explain.

“No, I didn’t.”

But how was Hudson able to waltz into the house so easily?

How did he manage to dodge my adoptive mother and find the exact room where I was resting?

Why did he have those text messages I sent him about our date?

Every piece of evidence pointed straight to me—it was me who had betrayed them.

In the face of such damning proof, all my explanations felt utterly hollow and helpless.

He furiously tossed a divorce agreement at me, his fists clenched tight.

“I was outrageously wrong, costing my mother her life.”

“Emma, I’ll grant you your freedom. Just don’t ever show your face to me again.”

Jack drove me to a cemetery in the eastern suburbs.

It wasn’t as tranquil as the one I had initially wanted, but there were no other options at the moment.

To make matters worse, the weather was unforgiving.

Halfway through the drive, the sky opened up and rain began to pour.

I watched as Jack’s face grew ghostly pale, his hands shaking on the wheel.

It hit me—his father had died in a car accident during a downpour.

Jack must have a profound fear of storms; I could really empathize with that.

I suggested we pull over and find a nearby café to ride out the storm and kill some time.

Unfortunately, we bumped into Oliver and Luna once more. I glanced around and saw we were in a bridal shop.

“Congratulations!”

I genuinely congratulated Luna. Her face lit up with a wide, delighted smile.

“Thank you, Emma. Are you and your boyfriend here to look at wedding dresses, too?”

She emphasized the “too,” her clear eyes sweeping over Jack standing next to me.

Before I could respond, Oliver approached.

His gaze darkened as he looked at Jack’s hand resting on my waist, his tone sharp.

“I thought you were going to marry that guy. Didn’t expect you’d have moved on to someone else so quickly.”

I didn’t want to engage in the conversation.

Jack’s hand, still firmly resting on my waist, only tightened.

I looked up, waiting to hear what he would say.

“Yeah, we’ll invite Mr. Mortimer to celebrate at our wedding another time.”

I sighed at his childish need to spar and gave his sleeve a gentle tug.

“Alright, Jack.”

Oliver lowered his head, adjusting his glasses, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Sorry, but I’ve reserved this place exclusively for my wife’s fitting today. We can’t accommodate you. Please leave.”

Jack, seething, pointed a finger at Oliver.

“You!”

I placed a hand on Jack’s arm to calm him.

“Sorry, Mr. Mortimer. We just needed to get out of the rain.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

“What you want to do is none of my business, but I don’t want to see you in this store.”

“Not even for a minute.”

At that moment, a shop assistant stepped forward to intervene.

“I’m really sorry, but the store is closed to the public today. Please leave.”

As Jack prepared to argue further, I looked straight into Oliver’s eyes.

“Oliver, do you really dislike me this much?”

He responded with steely resolve.

“Yes.”

“If my mother hadn’t brought you back then, none of this tragedy would have happened.”

I forced a bitter smile.

“Even if what happened back then had nothing to do with me, even if I truly was—”

Oliver abruptly cut me off.

“Enough!”

His expression was strange, his hands hanging limply at his sides and he remained silent for a long moment.

“Emma, no matter what your reasons were for the past, the fact remains that my mother died because of you. I truly don’t want to see you again.”

“Not for even a minute.”

It hit me—I knew how much he hated me, knew he didn’t even want to look at me. Why would he want to hear my side of the story?

I nodded, my heart heavy.

“Okay, I understand.”

Anyway, he wouldn’t have to deal with this annoying presence much longer.

I reached out and nudged Jack’s side.

“Jack, let’s go.”

He looked at me with concern, his hand brushing my forehead. I was running a slight fever.

“But we don’t have an umbrella. You’ll get soaked.”

I managed a weak smile.

“It’s fine. It’s just a little rain. I’ll be okay.”

Rain in this season comes and goes unpredictably, never lasting too long.

“Let’s just sit in the car and wait for the rain to stop. We should have enough time.”

However, waiting in the car might not sit well with Jack.

But for now, it’s the only option we have.

Oliver stayed in the bridal shop for a long time, his gaze repeatedly drifting toward the oldfashioned car parked across the street.

Even when the shop manager reminded him several times to check the fit of the wedding dress he had ordered three years ago, he was lost in thought.

The rain intensified, showing no sign of letting up.

The car outside appeared especially forlorn amidst the storm.

He recalled the hand Jack had rested on Emma’s waist earlier and an inexplicable frustration stirred within him.

He grabbed his suit jacket and prepared to leave.

“This style is absolutely stunning. Oliver, thank you for arranging so many for me.”

Luna admired the wedding dress Oliver had customordered, her fingers eagerly tracing the glimmering rhinestones.

Yet, the subtle hints of a wedding in her words made him frown in irritation.

“You’re misunderstanding. This isn’t for you.”

Oliver impatiently snatched the umbrella from the shop assistant, oblivious to the fleeting flash of malice that crossed Luna’s eyes.

He walked slowly toward the parking lot, deliberately passing by the oldfashioned car and instinctively glanced toward the passenger window.

What he saw was a sight he would never forget for the rest of his life.

Jack was frantically holding his hand to Emma’s mouth as she lay with her eyes shut tight, blood pouring out of her mouth uncontrollably.

Oliver's heart felt like it was being gripped by an invisible hand and pain surged through his entire being.

He immediately dropped the umbrella and dashed through the rain toward them.

“Why are you just standing there? Drive to the hospital now!”

Jack froze at his shout, but his hands shook uncontrollably on the wheel.

The relentless downpour outside felt like a wall of suffocating pressure closing in on him.

“I... I can’t. I really... I can’t do it…”

Oliver rushed to the driver’s side, flung open the door and yanked Jack out of the car.

“Get away!”

Jack was left in the pouring rain, watching helplessly as Oliver drove away with her.

When he opened his eyes again, he was met with blinding white.

I woke up in the hospital and a familiar figure sat beside me. I instinctively called out.

“Jack, water…”

A pair of clean hands quickly brought the glass to my lips and a calm voice said,

“Take it slow.”

I jolted awake, my mind clearing suddenly.

“Why are you here?”

Oliver’s smile was tinged with bitterness.

“Not your little boyfriend. Are you let down?”

I didn’t respond and he kept talking, his voice rough.

“What’s going on with you? Why were you bleeding from the mouth out of nowhere?”

It dawned on me then that he must have been the one who brought me to the hospital.

“It’s a stomach ulcer. Sorry for wasting your time.”

His voice grew cold as he clenched his fists.

“Emma, do you think I’m that easy to fool?”

“Does a stomach ulcer really cause this much bleeding?”

I turned away, closing my eyes to avoid him, while he picked up his phone and began dialing.

“I’ll call your grandmother and have her come take care of you.”

I struggled to sit up, trying to push his hand away.

“No!”

He pressed my flailing hands down with a look of frustration and muttered,

“Be good.”

Then, as if suddenly realizing how soft he sounded, he hardened his expression.

“You have no ties to the Mortimer Family anymore. I’m only calling your relative out of basic humanity, so don’t be ungrateful!”

It felt like a knife had plunged into my heart, leaving me frozen in shock.

“My grandmother, she…”

“She’s no longer here.”

I let my head fall in defeat and he hesitated with the phone in his hand, his voice dry and his expression stiff.

“When did it happen?”

My eyes burned with unshed tears, the pain too much to hold back.

"Three years ago, the day after my miscarriage."

He stood there, mouth slightly open, unable to speak for a long while.

I gave a selfdeprecating laugh.

“Doesn’t Mr. Mortimer remember? You rushed to divorce me and had me sent away, just like today when you called my grandmother to pick me up.”

“But she was over seventy, in poor health. Can you imagine how panicked she must have been when she heard about my miscarriage and divorce?”

I closed my eyes, trying to suppress the rising tide of anger.

“She rushed to see me, but unfortunately, she missed a step and fell, never getting up again.”

Oliver took a long time to force out the words, his phone slipping from his hand.

“How could this…”

“I didn’t mean to…”

Sometimes I wonder—if I hadn’t left with Amelia back then, if I hadn’t selfishly fallen for him, would all of this have been avoided?

He would have had a loving mother, a partner and lived a life of happiness and ease.

And I would have stayed by my grandmother's side, watched the sunsets on our little island and savored the old lady’s homecooked meals.

Two burning tears finally broke free, streaming down my cheeks.

I fought to stifle my sobs, my eyes locking with his in a desperate plea.

“So, Oliver, please, just go. Let’s not see each other again.”

“Would that be alright?”

Jack explained to the doctor that my stomach ulcer was a longstanding issue and then he took me back home.

Since then, I haven’t seen Oliver again.

The reason? I was slipping into longer and longer periods of unconsciousness.

But when I woke, the sharp, piercing pain made life almost unbearable.

Today, however, the weather was perfect and I felt surprisingly energetic.

I begged Jack to take me outside for a walk.

Since I could no longer walk on my own, I had to depend on him to push me in a wheelchair.

It had been forever since I felt this relaxed.

The crisp early autumn breeze caressed my dry cheeks, calming the turbulence within and wrapping me in a serene sense of peace.

“Jack, I’ve made up my mind. Just cremate me and scatter my ashes in the sea.”

His eyes were red and his voice was choked with emotion.

“Why are you talking about wanting to return to the sea again? Didn’t you used to hate the ocean?”

The truth was, when I was younger, I saw the sea as the most breathtaking sight on earth.

Sunlight would sparkle on the waves, turning them into a glittering trail of jewels.

The salty breeze carried the familiar scent of the ocean straight to my nose—a fragrance I used to cherish.

But after my parents died, my feelings changed and I began to loathe it.

The ocean itself wasn’t at fault, nor were the fishermen who set out to make a living.

It was an accident, a pure, unforeseen accident.

Yet, I had to find some rational excuse to make sense of it.

So, I ended up hating the sea.

I let my resentment spill over onto everything connected to it, simply because I couldn’t change or accept what had happened.

I gave a faint, bitter smile.

“There isn’t a cemetery I like anyway. Reuniting with family in the sea wouldn’t be too bad.”

Jack emerged from behind me, knelt down in front of me and rested his head in my lap. He wrapped his arms around me, his voice soft and tender as he said,

“Alright, I promise.”

I couldn’t help but smile, my hand instinctively reaching out to gently stroke his head.

“Aren’t you being all sweet and cuddly?”

Jack gave a dismissive sound and buried his head, ignoring me.

I slowly felt a warm, moistness spreading on my lap.

After a long moment, he finally spoke.

“Thank you, Emmy.”

Just then, fine droplets of rain began to fall from the sky, pattering softly.

Jack quickly pulled out the umbrella he had prepared and shielded it over my head.

I stretched my hand out of the umbrella and used my hand to catch the cool droplets on my palm. It'd be the last cool sensation that I'd feel in this world.

I then said to him with a smile.

“Jack, believe me, the rain won't keep falling.”

Oliver’s Epilogue:

I didn't meet Emma for the first time when I was fifteen years old. It was much earlier.

I met her on the day my family went to Pearl Shore Isle for a trip.

Emma was the daughter of a fisherman on the island. She had gorgeous tancolored skin. Her hair tied into little pony tail and her eyes were exquisite like two black grapes. She looked different from most children in the city.

I immediately noticed her the moment I arrived at the island.

Emma was sitting alone on the edge of the beach and played with the sand.

There were none of the beach toys that city children would bring along into the beach. Meanwhile, the island had a lot of awesome pile of stones, bamboo baskets and broken fishing nets.

I was very curious about the things Emma was stacking up, so I boldly joined her to play at the beach.

That was the first initiative I ever made in my life.

Emma was not surprised by my arrival, nor did she reject my presence. Instead, she touched my face with her little sandcovered hands and praised me sincerely.

“Wow, you're so handsome! Pretty like the aquamarine!”

Her eyes were shining and she stared straight into me.

Her exaggerated expression seemed to show that Emma had discovered a new world and that made me blush.

I asked her stumbling.

“What is... aquamarine?”

She clapped her hands and sand dropped as she stood up. Her little finger pointed to the sea in the distance.

“There, look, don't you see that's the aquamarine?”

The sun was pouring on the vast blue sea and the sea breeze was gently blowing, setting off layers of fine waves.

Countless golden spots of light seemed to be jumping around on the sea. From a distance, the dots of lights truly looked like brilliant gems, shining on the sea.

Yet, Emma's brows suddenly frowned when she looked into the distance.

“Hey, I think someone is drowning over there!”

Emma quickly left me and ran elsewhere.

“Mom! Mom! Someone has been swept away by the waves again! Go and have a look over there!”

I locked myself up.

I forced myself to forget Emma's painful tears that day. Her expression was so broken.

Just like when she woke up after losing her child to a miscarriage three years ago.

It was early autumn when that happened. Thought coldness might be normal during that time, I felt the chill crawled up and spread to all over my body. It caused me to dream every night, dreaming of Emma.

A few days later, I received a call from Jack.

“If you want to know the truth about three years ago, come to Sunset Funeral Home.”

The phone call had been abrupt and disjointed, but I couldn’t shake off the growing unease.

The truth? What truth could there have been?

Emma had loved Hudson. Even if I had forced her to marry me, her heart would still have belonged to Hudson.

She would have gone so far as to endanger the lives of our child and my mother, all for the sake of revenge against me.

That chill of dread had spread through my entire body again, making me tremble uncontrollably.

I couldn’t restrain myself. I had stumbled and run to my car, speeding all the way, but it had still been too late.

The incinerator at the crematorium had already been activated and the flames had danced across Jack’s sorrowful face.

“Emmy is gone.”

His words struck like a needle, piercing my heart and causing my legs to buckle. I had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing.

I must have looked a sight at that moment—neither crying nor smiling.

Doubts in my heart grew larger with the mounting anxiety and I could only open my mouth, trembling.

“Gone? Gone where? Where else could she go?”

His gaze silently shifted to the burning incinerator. The crackling and hissing noises inside constantly jangled my nerves.

Could he be implying that Emmy was in there?

That was impossible!

Absolutely impossible!

I went frantic, lunging at him and grabbing his collar tightly.

“Jack, I don’t have time for your games. Get Emma out here! Now!”

His face remained eerily calm, unnervingly so.

“She’s already dead. Latestage cancer. There's no saving her.”

I let out a cold laugh.

“Latestage cancer? What latestage cancer? The day you picked her up from the hospital, you kept telling the doctor it was just her stomach ulcer problem! You must be lying to me!”

She had been perfectly fine just five days ago—how could she have suddenly died?

I felt all my strength drain away in an instant, my entire body wracked with a crushing pain that felt like countless needles were being pulled out and driven in.

Tears finally fell uncontrollably after he handed me a pile of Emmy's medical reports.

“Oliver, I don’t want to lie to you. Just look for yourself.”

Shaking, I took the stack of medical records, as thick as a pile of overdue paperwork and began to read each page carefully.

“Latestage liver cancer, latestage liver cancer, latestage liver cancer…”

These words repeated relentlessly, burning into my eyes.

“This can’t be… How could this happen?”

I didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it. I lost all my strength and collapsed to the floor.

Jack carefully pulled out a yellowed notebook from his bag and handed it to me.

“Oliver, I found this diary among Emmy's belongings. It might hold the truth about what happened three years ago.”

“But the choice to know the truth is up to you.”

He extended the diary towards me, but I hesitated to take it.

The truth? What truth?

What if the truth was entirely my fault, if she spent her last moments resenting me for destroying the life she might have been happy with?

What then?

I could no longer distinguish what it was that I really wanted to know.

My hands hung at my sides for a long moment, but I finally gathered the courage to take the old, worn diary.

I flipped through a few pages in haste and the handwriting was unmistakably Emmy's.

Tears had already filled my eyes and as I looked at the familiar words, they kept dripping onto the pages.

I drove to the bridal store and stayed until it closed, deep into the night. I watched as a shadowy figure sneaked up to the second floor, searching for something.

The flickering flame of a lighter danced in front of the figure. As I got a closer look, I realized it was Luna.

Just as she was about to set the wedding dress on fire, I turned on all the lights. The harsh glare of the fluorescent bulbs illuminated her panic, making it all too clear.

Luna quickly put away the lighter and asked in surprise. “Oliver, why are you here? What are you doing?”

What she didn’t know was that this store was mine. I had opened it three years ago, for Emmy.

A few days ago, the store manager told me that Luna had been hanging around the area, acting suspiciously but never coming inside.

So I intentionally left a window open tonight, lying in wait for her to make her move.

“If I hadn’t been here, how would I have known you wanted to burn this wedding dress?”

It was the wedding dress I had designed for Emmy three years ago, adorned with rhinestones that sparkled like the ocean on the day we first met.

Gleaming, dazzling.

Luna stammered, unable to form a coherent response.

My anger erupted uncontrollably. I lunged at her, gripping her throat and forcing her down to the ground.

“It was you, spreading rumors about me being with you, photoshopping pictures and posting them online to make Emmy believe it.”

“It was you, bribing the nanny to give Emmy sleeping pills and using the opportunity to steal her phone card and contact Hudson.”

“It was you, encouraging Hudson to come to Nightfall, conspiring with the nanny to kill my son and my mother!”

“So it was all you! Everything was because of you!”

Tears streamed down my face as I roared, my grip tightening with every word.

Luna’s neck veins bulged and her limbs flailed desperately, seeking any chance to breathe. Her hands clawed at my face wildly, sharp nails cutting into my skin.

With rage burning in my eyes, I tightened my grip, like a demon escaped from hell.

Her face flushed a furious, deep red and her eyes began to swell with angry veins. Yet, even as she was gasping for breath, she managed to speak in a broken voice.

“You… if you don’t like… me… why… did you… still kiss me…”

When her breath finally stopped, I yanked my hands away in shock.

All the absurdities, all the tragedies—it was all because of me.

It was my fear of truly facing my love for her that had caused all this.

Trapped in the role of a sibling, unable to escape, I stubbornly destroyed everyone around me.

If I had walked toward her that day with determination, if I hadn't deliberately ignored her because of a single kiss….

Would everything have turned out differently?

I deeply regret lying to Luna that day when she came to the store, telling her it was my wife.

All because of my childish desire for revenge.

What was Emmy really thinking when she sincerely congratulated me?

I picked up Luna’s discarded lighter, set the wedding dress ablaze and sat down in tears, opening Emmy’s diary.

“I loved Oliver for thirteen years; I can’t forget him.”

“So I let him hold me tight while drunk, not pushing him away that night. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”

“I became the most loathsome intruder in their love story, shattering his bond with Luna and betraying the innocent Hudson.”

“So all their revenge against me is what I deserve. It’s the best punishment for me and I have no right to blame them.”

“But why did Angela have to die? Why did it have to cost the lives of my child and their grandmother?”

“It’s so painful…”

“I don’t deserve to live.”

I was sobbing uncontrollably.

My trembling hands turned through the pages of her increasingly disjointed and scrawled notes.

Every page was filled with her selfloathing and hatred.

Only on the secondtolast page did she write:

“God, do I really not deserve to live?”

Tears blurred my vision as the flames grew, consuming everything around me.

I turned to the last page of the diary.

Apart from a few torn scraps, it was empty.

What did Emmy write in the end?

I figured I’d soon find out when I could ask her in person, after death.

Jack's Epilogue:

I first met Emma when I was ten years old.

After my parents passed away, I had no choice but to live with my aunt. But my aunt’s financial situation was dire; she simply couldn’t afford to take care of me. We endured those impoverished days, day by day.

Then, a welfare organization reached out to me. They told me that a generous benefactor had donated money to support my education.

Her name was Emma Enders.

I was overjoyed, envisioning her as a kindly aunt or a benevolent elderly lady. Every time she sent a donation, she always included a note:

“Keep going, Jackie. Take good care of yourself.”

It was the kind of caring only a true elder could express.

A few times, I considered calling her to let her know I had just scored first in my class again.

But the welfare organization said they didn’t have her phone number and couldn’t get in touch with her.

But the donations continued to arrive on time each month.

I thought, if she didn’t want to take my calls, I would wait until I was older and find her myself. That was how I ended up in Nightfall.

I never expected that the mysterious benefactor would turn out to be a girl close to my own age.

By then, she appeared completely frail, on the brink of death. She dragged her weakened body from one organization to another.

After some inquiries, I discovered that she was looking for a hospice caregiver.

I thought, this might be my only chance to repay her.

So, after twelve years, I finally stood before her.

“Hello, I’m Jack Hamilton, the hospice caregiver you requested.”

After Oliver set himself on fire, I took away Emmy's ashes. But I didn’t keep the promise to scatter them in the sea right away.

Instead, I traveled across the country with her ashes. I wanted her to see more of the world's beauty, so I selfishly kept her by my side.

We watched sunsets together and greeted sunrises side by side.

Over the course of a year, we traveled everywhere, from mountains and rivers to lakes and seas, with Emmy’s presence making the journey complete.

I brought her back to Pearl Shore Isle, the place where she was born and raised, yet filled with countless regrets.

On a clear, windless morning, I took her ashes to the seaside.

“Emmy, I’m sorry I’m late. I’m taking you home.”

I raised my hand and the salty sea breeze whisked away the last traces of her presence from my fingertips, like a delicate veil drifting out of reach.

It soared towards freedom.

A hooded figure stood at a distance, tears streaming down his face, afraid to approach.

His face, hidden beneath the hood, was scarred from burns, his eyes both murky and clear.

I looked up and forced a pained smile, choosing to ignore him.

A raindrop the size of a bean fell from the sky, seeming to land right in my eye.

Then came another gentle drizzle.

The small boat moored at the seaside dock rocked in the wind and rain, its thick ropes creaking against the wooden piles.

I stretched out my hand to catch the cool rain.

I remembered the scrawled, crooked words she had left me at the end of her diary:

“Jackie, the rain won’t last forever. Live well.”