The Forgotten Love ✔

16 Dannie

Dannie POV.

I constantly avoid recalling the past, but the door to the past is like Pandora's box. Once opened, endless troubles will appear.

David keeps saying, "And our child, if I had found you earlier..."

I interrupt him, "And then? Should I give birth to him?"

I took a deep breath, "He is the product of an affair, you know that, right? Should I give birth to him and let others call him an bastard?"

The air suddenly becomes quiet.

The child is innocent, I am guilty.

Because of my sin, I killed him.

I've been thinking about this a lot these days. I thought I had calmed down, but because of David's appearance, I lost control again.

I take a deep breath, calming myself down, "Sorry, I'm not complaining to you. It's me who wanted to sleep with you, I take the main responsibility."

I no longer look at him, and turn to open the door, "But I have to say, our encounter has brought too much pain. So we should not meet again, and you should not come to me again, okay?"

David left.

The following week is very busy for me. Sometimes I bump into Sarah in the supermarket, say a few words, and then leave, saying I am busy drawing.

Friday night, there is a knock on my door. I don't want to open it for some reason, but when I hear the voice outside, I recognize who it is. I quickly put down the brush and walk towards the door.

I open the door, and a bunch of golden oranges suddenly appear in front of my eyes, and then a grimacing face pops out from behind the bag. I'm scared and take a step back.

"Am I that terrible?" Asher walks in, puts the oranges on the table, and mutters, "I grew them at school and brought them home to eat. My mother said I should bring you some too."

Sarah is his mother.

I thank him, and Arthur waves his hand to say you're welcome, then unceremoniously pulls a dining chair over and sits down, facing the backrest. His arms hang on the backrest, dangling back and forth, and he asks, "I heard that you haven't gone out for a week. What are you doing in here?"

I pour him a glass of water, put it on the table, sit in front of the easel, "Painting."

"Still that painting for the breakfast shop?" Asher persuades me, "That female boss doesn't understand these things, maybe she thinks your painting is like elementary school art class homework, so you don't need to take it so seriously."

I use a freshly washed brush to apply a low saturation light yellow to the omelette, "The human eye can discern beauty."

Asher chuckles, picks up an orange from the table, and leisurely peels it, "I didn't expect you to be a painter, I thought..."

Hearing what he says, I become curious. I set down my brush, turning my head towards him, "You thought what?"

Asher is also looking at me, but seems startled by my sudden gaze, he quickly looks away, his voice softens, murmuring, "I thought you were... a star."

After a while, I realized Asher was complimenting me.

I smile, "I'm not a star."

"Then why are you hiding here?"

"...I'm not hiding."

"I don't believe you." Asher pops a piece of orange into his mouth, "Those who live in this small town, besides the elderly, are either hiding from debts."

I smile,"If you say so, then okay."

Arthur asks again: "Do you owe others money, or do you owe others love?"

"Boy, why do you talk so much?" I laugh at him.

"Okay, okay, I won't ask anymore. Just go about your business, I'm going home." He gets up.

I stand up, escorting him to the door.

He's already entered the garden, but for some reason, he turns back, "I'm not a boy, I'm already 20."

"Okay, grown-up, goodbye." I elongate the word grown-up.

I tease him, but he seems genuinely satisfied, even pretending to clear his throat like an adult, saying, "Next weekend, I'll bring my guitar over, sing you the new songs I've written."

I'm stunned for a moment.

Asher reaches the garden gate, then turns back again, "My mom says there has been a suspicious car from out of town around here lately, be careful alone at home, don't open the door to strangers."

His tone is like instructing a child.

I silently want to laugh, but still remember his words. The next morning, I go out to find a locksmith.

The security in the small town has always been good, so after Anthony finished renovating the house, he didn't put a lock on the yard gate.

I'm going to install one just to be on the safe side.

Almost as soon as I step out, I sense footsteps following behind.

It's Saturday again.

David came over from New York, his eyes are red, looking like he hasn't slept.

He walks briskly beside me, repeatedly asking questions like, "What are you going to do today?" "Where are we going?"

I don't answer.

He hasn't remembered a word of what I said last week.

I enter a hardware store, quickly arrange a time with the owner, then turn back home.

"A locksmith?" David follows me as I walk, asking, "Is your door lock broken? May I try to fix it for you?"

I remain silent.

When the locksmith arrives and takes out a square, heavy lock from his toolbox, David suddenly understands.

As the locksmith clinks the lock onto the gate, David next to me asks, "Is this... to keep me out?"

Isn't it obvious yet?

The only person who casually comes in and out of my house is David.

His expression becomes a bit awkward, but his awkwardness comes and goes quickly.

Soon he flashes a smile, "It's okay, I can wait for you outside in the yard."

I'm stunned, amazed by this man's peculiar logical ability.

After the locksmith leaves, I close the iron gate, turn around, and hear David say from behind, "Goodnight."

I go back inside, take a shower, and then go to bed.

Will I still dream tonight? I close my eyes and tell myself that I'm not the only one in the world facing this kind of problem, many people are doing just fine.

It's okay.