Regrets After the Split: Does It Matter

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I sometimes wonder when Aaron will finally tire of this tedious game of “winning over his mother.”

He has been stuck in this small town–one without an aquarium, amusement park, or big shopping mall–for nearly three months now.

Perhaps the deep–rooted notion that “what you can’t have is the most precious” is ingrained in everyone, even children. The colder I am

toward him, the more he clings to me.

He often has a look of melancholy on his face.

When I gently hold Doris’s hand.

When I bend down to adjust Doris’s dress.

When I secretly present the little dessert I have specially prepared for

Doris from the kitchen.

But whenever I look at him, he would quickly sweep away the

loneliness and flash me a smile that echoed Doris’s.

People’s affections always change with their feelings. When I cherished this child, even the slightest bump or bruise he got would leave me feeling upset for a long while.

But now, even though I know he is putting on a brave face, I feel

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nothing. I even find myself thinking, why doesn’t he just leave? Having him around is really quite bothersome.

I don’t hate him; I just… don’t like him anymore.

Early summer arrives, and after the final exams, summer vacation.

begins.

That day, I run my café as usual, and Aaron doesn’t show up at all until I close up in the evening.

I think he has finally grown bored of the game and decided to embrace his true identity as a wealthy heir.

But as I head home in the evening, I spot him sitting on the steps at the entrance of my little yard, holding a beautifully wrapped cake box, looking well–behaved.

Charles is there with him, too.

Next to them are several gift bags.

The striking looks of the father and son draws amazed glances from passersby, but they are completely focused on each other.

“Dad, when will Mom be back?” Aaron asks.

“Soon,” Charles replies.

“We specially came to celebrate her birthday and brought so many gifts. Will Mom be happy?”

“She will be.”

Upon hearing this, Aaron pressed his lips together, a hopeful smile spreading across his face.

He is dressed in a smart little suit, clearly put together for the

occasion. However, because of the muggy weather, and because he

might have been waiting for too long, I can see a slight sweat on his

brow.

Or maybe he isn’t hot at all–just a little too excited.

I stop in my tracks, watching from a distance.

But Doris doesn’t pause for a moment; she walks right up to the two of them and chimes in, “You’ve got it wrong; Mom’s birthday isn’t today.”