The “Strawberry Juice” That Saved My Son Chapter 08

The “Strawberry Juice” That Saved My Son Chapter 08

The temporary morgue was filled with a strange mix of smells.

Mud.

Disinfectant.

And the lingering smell of blood.

It was late at night, and the team had already left.

Only Ethan remained.

He did not go home.

He laid out a sleeping mat beside my stretcher.

Noah slept beside him, his small body curled up tightly.

Ethan did not dare close his eyes.

He stared at the white sheet covering me, afraid that if he closed his eyes and opened them again, this place

would be empty.

He was afraid they would take me away.

Afraid they would send me into the furnace that would burn a person down to a handful of ashes.

In the second half of the night, he finally could not hold on anymore.

His eyes closed.

I drifted over and saw his brows knit together in his sleep.

Broken murmurs came from his mouth.

I tried to enter his dream.

It was our home again.

The sunset shone through the kitchen window.

I wore an apron and cooked noodles.

The water in the pot bubbled.

Hurried footsteps came from behind me.

A pair of arms wrapped tightly around me from behind.

A hot cheek pressed into the curve of my neck.

“Joy… I’m sorry.”

His voice was thick with tears. His body trembled.

“I was wrong. I was really wrong.

“I love you, Joy. I love you.”

I felt the warmth of his embrace.

I could even smell the familiar scent on him, soap mixed with a faint trace of tobacco.

I smiled and freed one hand to pat his arm.

“Ethan, the noodles are going to get mushy.”

“Go wash your hands. Dinner is almost ready.”

He held me even tighter, like a child afraid of being left behind.

His strength was almost enough to press me into his bones.

In the dream, I felt no pain.

I only thought that Ethan was especially clingy today.

“All right. Be good.”

The warmer the dream felt, the colder reality became.

Ethan suddenly opened his eyes.

There was no warm kitchen light.

No smell of food.

Only the cold concrete floor, the sharp smell of disinfectant, and his son sleeping restlessly beside him.

And beside them, the white sheet covering my body.

He sat up stiffly.

He reached out and carefully tucked the sheet around the person who no longer existed.

“Joy, are you cold? The floor is cold.”

I floated in front of him and watched him speak to my body.

“When morning comes, we’ll go home.”

He took a clean field jacket from his bag, spread it open, and held it up to the empty air.

“Look at this one. It’s new. Do you like the color?”

“I think it would look good on you.”

I shook niy head silently and wanted to cover his mouth.

Ethan, stop.

I was gone.

You could not see me.

Two team members came in with hot water and food.

When they saw him, they stopped.

They looked at each other, their eyes full of pity.

They set the food down without a word and left.

Ethan, look at yourself.

How could I leave if you were like this?

I rushed over and tried to shake him awake.

But my hands passed through him again and again.

Noah woke from the noise.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up.

He looked at his father’s empty eyes and at the hand reaching toward nothing.

Noah crawled over and hugged Ethan’s still-bleeding arm.

“Daddy, hurt.”

He lowered his head and copied what I used to do, gently blowing on the wound on Ethan’s hand.

“Noah blows. Hurt goes away.”

Ethan’s whole body shook.

He lowered his head and looked at the son in his arms, at those worried eyes.

Then he finally broke.

He pulled Noah tightly into his arms and buried his face in the boy’s small shoulder.

He cried out loud.

“Noah… Daddy was wrong.”

“Daddy hurt Mommy. Daddy was a bastard…”

Hot tears soaked Noah’s shoulder.

Noah did not understand what “bastard” meant.

He only knew his father was crying.

Crying very hard.

He raised his little hand and patted Ethan’s broad back again and again.

He used the words I had taught him to comfort his father clumsily.

“Daddy, don’t cry.”

“Mommy isn’t mad.”

A child’s words were innocent.

They were also the sharpest.

“Mommy loves Daddy most.”

Ethan held his son and sobbed until his whole body shook, like a child abandoned by the whole world.

I stood in the corner and watched father and son cry in each other’s arms.

The tearing pain in my chest came again.

But this time, I did not cry.

I lowered my head and looked at my hands.

My fingertips were slowly turning transparent, like morning mist about to dissolve into the air.