Chapter 12
It was the landlady, an elderly woman who had always been kind to me and often reminded me of my grandmother. She lived upstairs and opened the door with wide eyes, asking, “Who are you? Where is Peaches?”
The soundproofing in this building wasn’t very good. It couldn’t contain the emotions of four people arguing loudly. She valued quiet, and during my time here, there had rarely been any noise.
Upon hearing her question, the four people. inside suddenly fell silent, as if someone had choked their voices. After a long pause, my mother spoke.
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“We are Peaches‘ family. She has passed away, and we’re here to sort out her things.”
The landlady was stunned and disbelieving, eventually breaking into tears. As she went upstairs, she murmured through her sobs, “What a wonderful girl, how could she have
been so unfortunate…”
I have never been particularly fortunate. From birth until now, it’s always been the
same.
Interrupted by the landlady’s arrival, they could no longer argue and began to silently pack up my belongings. There was nothing much to pack. I left this world with nothing.
I had only one thing weighing on my mind,
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but Mom wouldn’t even spare a thought for
- me.
In the end, my mother sat by the sofa, flipping through the medical records. It was dusk again. The blood–red light of the setting sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow in the room. Car horns could be
heard from outside.
Her movements slowed, and her expression grew distant. Was she remembering something? Perhaps that evening by the roadside, when she had held me close, and I had pushed her away slightly. She had withdrawn her love with an impatient gesture.
She was always so stingy with her affection towards me.
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“Is this my fault?”
my mother’s voice was rough as she closed the record. “She was always difficult, not close to me. Among the three children, of course, I preferred the one who was closer to me.”
No. Mother, you’re wrong. You’ve got the cause and effect mixed up.
When I was first brought back home, I instinctively sensed your coldness and kept testing the waters. Delilah offered to help with the housework, and you smiled and said, “What can a child do? Go and rest.”
I offered to wash the dishes, and you eagerly agreed. But when I broke a plate,
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you scolded me for being clumsy, poking my forehead.
“Mom,” I said again, my voice hoarse, speaking words they couldn’t hear. The fragmented sobs in my tone were impossible to conceal.
“Mom, you brought me into this world, and I didn’t understand anything.”
“The way you loved me, I loved you in return.”
My love was a mirror reflecting yours. Everything. The cold sarcasm and the hysterical outbursts I learned were all from
you.
In this family, your significance to me was different from everyone else’s. I spent ten
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months in your womb, connected by blood. That connection lingered even after my birth,
an unbreakable thread.
So that even when I was miles away, it still tugged at me, faint but persistent. Even after I died, this invisible force drew me back, and my soul returned to you.
I tried to convince myself that the world was vast, life was broad, and I need not be trapped by an unhappy family. I went to see the mountains, the sea. I put away my sharp edges. I took my medication regularly.
But when I passed through certain cities, and saw a little girl in a theme park, clutching a red balloon and holding her mother’s hand, I would still freeze, watching her.
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Just like in elementary school when my desk mate proudly told me about a little girl. She had failed a test, and her mother had scolded her. She ran away from home, and when her mother found her, she held her and cried, saying she was afraid of losing her and promised not to scold her again.
At that time, I didn’t understand. Only loved children could have such moments.
So, once again, when I was locked in the storage room for a time–out by my mom, I suddenly pushed open the door and ran away. I had left home. Sitting on an old swing in the park, I gazed at the sparse stars in the night sky, rehearsing in my mind what I would say if Mom came looking for me out of worry.
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After all, she was my mom. I didn’t want her to be too sad. I would tell her to be a bit
kinder to me in the future.
But I waited until midnight. The clouds covered the moon, and the sky began to drizzle. Even the Moon Goddess seemed to urge me to go home. Soaked through, I returned to the house.
The entire house was eerily quiet. Everyone was asleep. Who would come looking for
me?
I knew they wouldn’t care. In their eyes, I was just an omega who would be of no consequence even if I disappeared.
The next morning, as I walked out with my backpack, Mom was sitting at the dining
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table, eating breakfast. She said coldly.
“You came back, huh? I thought you were going to stay away forever. We wouldn’t have an extra mouth to feed from then on.”
Only loved children dare to be spoiled, to have the right to act petulant, I never escaped the strange cycle of childhood.
Since I was five, I had been tumbling aimlessly through a world without guidance. I could easily get along with anyone, yet received no concern from my family. I asked my mom many times why. I practically begged her for love.
I didn’t need her to love me the most. Just
a little bit would suffice. Like she did with
Abelard and Delilah.
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You’re capable of love. Why couldn’t you
show it to me?
Why?
There was no answer. As night fell, she turned to the next page.
Before she could even take a look, Alpha Gabriel called again.
“Sorry, Luna, your daughter still has some belongings here. Could you please come by and collect them when you have a moment?”
Mom and Abelard went out together. Streetlights flickered on outside.
She walked for a while, head bowed, and
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suddenly asked Abelard, “Do you think
Peaches hated me?”
“No, no, she wouldn’t.” Abelard was visibly startled, and after several seconds, he managed to say in a strained voice, “Mom, after all, you gave birth to her… Like that beta Colin said, she was calling for you before she died. How could she possibly… blame you?”
He fell silent abruptly.
Abelard was eighteen now; he wasn’t a child who didn’t understand. He had never liked me much, though his dislike was less obvious and direct than Delilah’s malice. Most of the time, he stood silently behind Delilah, supporting her. But a child’s behavior is simply a reflection of the authority held by the adults in the family. Without our parents‘
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tacit approval, Abelard and Delilah wouldn’t have dared to target me so.
I followed them back to the Silver Blade Pack
for the second time. Alpha Gabriel handed Mom a bag of belongings.
Inside were a set of keys, a pack of tissues, a phone with a cracked screen, and a bloodstained, broken gemstone necklace. Tucked within the bag was a crumpled card.
“Happy Birthday, Mom.”
Moonlight streamed through.
Mom stared blankly at the gemstone necklace and the smudged writing on the
card.
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After a long while, water misted in her eyes, gazing into the eyes that had always been either cold or intensely emotional.
On the seventh day after my death, in my twentieth year, my mother finally shed a tear for me for the very first time.
