Chapter 3
The birthday candles burned out, their flames flickering one last time before going dark.
I dipped my fork into the frosting on the cake and put it in my mouth.
The cream was sweet and soft like a cloud, but all I could taste was bitterness.
The system said, “Host, time is almost up.”
The clock hands were about to pass twelve.
Bennett had just posted a photo on Instagram–Dylan’s smiling face on the golf course.
The caption was brief, but it couldn’t hide his affection for Dylan: [Spent today practicing with Dylan. He’s made great progress, and I’m proud of him.]
After thinking for a moment, I took a picture of the birthday cake and posted it on Instagram too.
The caption read: [No matter what, I’m grateful for you. Not every parent loves their child, but every child is born loving their parents. I will always love you. Goodbye, Dad.]
The clock hands finally passed twelve.
Wearing my birthday hat, I quietly stopped breathing
11:24
My soul drifted out of my body at that moment,
air.
Outside the window were the lights of other people’s homes; inside was my body gradually growing cold in the lonely darkness.
I asked the system, “Why can’t I leave yet?”
The system’s electronic voice was low and pleasant: “Because this isn’t the end yet.”
As if to confirm the system’s words, ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door.
No one answered, because the only person who could open the door–me—was now lying on the couch, no longer breathing.
The knocking grew more urgent and louder.
“Stella.” Finally, Bennett’s voice rang out. “Open the door! I know you’re home.”
I floated in mid–air, watching Bennett.
He stood there in his suit, frowning as he pressed the doorbell over and over again. When he decided the doorbell wasn’t loud enough, he switched to pounding on the door.
I know it’s childish, but I couldn’t help hoping.
I hoped Bennett would break down that door. I hoped he’d see my body.
11:24
Even just a tiny bit would be enough.
But what I hoped for never happened.
Bennett knocked on the door for a long time, then stepped back, his expression growing colder and colder.
He pulled out his phone, opened our chat, and hit the voice message button. “Stella, you think this is funny, don’t you?
“Who was that Instagram post for? Me or everyone else?
“What’s wrong? You figured playing the victim in front of me wasn’t working, so now you want the whole world to see and have everyone blame me? Is that your plan?
“Let me tell you something—I’ve provided you with plenty of food and clothes. I don’t owe you anything.”
After sending the voice message, Bennett turned and walked
away.
He got into the elevator, still frowning.
Maybe Bennett looked too intimidating, because little Chloe Walker, who got on the elevator after him, stood next to him for a few seconds before bursting into tears.
Chloe was being held by her grandmother Gianna Walker, wrapped in a blanket. She was probably sick and needed to go to the hospital in the middle of the night.
Bennett quickly softened his expression. “I’m sorry, I’m upset:24
something else. Did I scare you?”
His voice was so gentle. Watching him, I thought, “So this is what Dad’s like when he’s comforting a child.”
After all, he’d never comforted me like that, not once in my
memory.
Actually, Bennett was a really caring, good person.
Every Christmas, he anonymously donated money to poor children in rural areas. His company provided excellent benefits and extra leave for pregnant employees. Even when he met strange children on the street, he showed them the utmost patience and kindness.
But when it came to his own daughter, all his gentleness seemed blocked off, leaving only coldness and impatience.
Bennett quickly calmed Chloe down.
He helped call a car for Chloe and Gianna. While they waited, Chloe, despite her fever–flushed face, even started chatting with him.
She asked, “Do you have kids?”
Bennett replied, “Yes.”
Chloe asked again, “How many kids do you have?”
Bennett paused.
4/6
11:24
The car arrived. Chloe pulled a piece of candy from her pocket and placed it in Bennett’s palm.
“This is for you,” Chloe said with a smile. “Your daughter must be so happy.”
She waved at Bennett, then was carried into the car by Gianna.
The car drove away quickly. Bennett stood there, holding that piece of candy.
He remembered what Chloe had just said: “Your daughter must be so happy.”
I watched him pull out his phone, open my Instagram, and scroll up and down.
What are you looking for, Bennett?
Are you searching for traces of whether I was happy?
Don’t bother looking, because you won’t find any.
My Instagram only showed the last seven days of content, so all he could see was that birthday cake photo with the caption: [No matter what, I’m grateful to you. Not every parent loves their child, but every child is born loving their parents. I will always love you, and goodbye, Dad.]
He exited Instagram, and our WhatsApp chat was empty. I hadn’t replied to him.
5/6
11:24
This wasn’t normal.
In the past, it was always me messaging him without getting replies. There was never a situation where he messaged me and I didn’t respond.
After hesitating, Bennett opened his phone app and entered my number.
But the next second, his phone rang.
The caller was Violet. “Bennett, you need to come home. Dylan seems to have a fever.”
