The Lost Decade Chapter 11

The Lost Decade Chapter 11

Spring passed and autumn came.
For me, time was nothing more than sunrise and sunset.
Five years later. Manhattan, New York.
I came home from work to the aroma of food, my stomach growling from hunger.
“Mom! What did you make today? It smells amazing!”
I tossed my bag aside and rushed to the table, snatching a piece of crispy, roasted chicken wing and popping
it into my mouth.
“So good!”
An impeccably dressed woman emerged from the kitchen, her hair swept up in a neat bun. She smacked the
back of my hand.
“Did you wash your hands? You’re too old for this. Have some manners.
I let out a sheepish laugh. My dad emerged from the study, smiling as he came to my defense.
“You know her. Nothing makes her crazier than your cooking. Doesn’t matter how old she gets.”
I settled into a chair at the table.
My arm accidentally brushed the old iPhone 3G on the corner of the table.
I couldn’t remember why I’d kept it all this time. I only vaguely recalled that “my future self” had made some important decision back then. That was why I still treasured it.
Occasionally, I’d spot names of old high school classmates in the financial news.
The student council president was now a Marine Corps officer.
The class academic rep had a Ph.D. from Princeton.
And then there was… Wyatt Pierce.
I’d left without a word back then, and now he was the founder and CEO of a top tech conglomerate.
Thankfully, the trajectories of our lives were two parallel lines that would never intersect.

Just as thankfully, those so-called ten years of pain had never happened.
The me right now couldn’t feel an ounce of that hurt.