My Wife Threw Me into a Pit of Leeches for Her Assistant Chapter 09

My Wife Threw Me into a Pit of Leeches for Her Assistant Chapter 09 The Dream

That night, I drove up to the cemetery.

Snow was falling again, a thin white layer dusting the headstones.

I crouched down and placed a bouquet of white lilies at my parents’ graves. In front of my son’s, I set down a little stuffed bear.

“Mom, Dad, son-I came to see you.”

My voice was soft. “The one who hurt you… she’s dead now.”

The wind blew through the cemetery, sending snow flurries off the pine branches.

I stood up and looked at the three headstones.

Five years had passed. I could finally stand here without breaking down like I used to.

My phone buzzed. It was Grandpa.

“Chester, come home for dinner. I made that soup you like.”

“Okay.”

I took one last look at the headstones and turned to walk down the mountain.

The Brooks’ house was glowing with warm light.

Grandpa sat at the dinner table, a huge spread in front of him.

When he saw me walk in, he smiled and waved me over. “Come on, the soup’s still hot.”

I sat down, picked up the bowl, and took a sip.

“Good?”

“Yeah. Really good.”

Grandpa looked at me, his eyes a little red.

Five years ago, his grandson had been covered in blood and wasted down to skin and bones. Now I was sitting across from him in a sharp suit, looking healthy and full of life.

“Chester.”

“Yeah?”

“If only your father could see you now…” His voice caught. “That’d be something.”

I set the bowl down and took his hand.

“Grandpa, he can see me. He’s up there watching.”

Grandpa nodded and wiped his eyes. “Come on. Eat. Eat.”

Outside, the snowfall was getting heavier.

Inside, the warm yellow light reflected in the window, showing the silhouettes of two people- one old, one young-sitting together over dinner.

That night, I had a dream.

I was standing in a vast white space. I couldn’t tell if it was snow or fog.

Three figures appeared in the distance, slowly making their way toward me-Mom, Dad, and the little one.

Mom was wearing her favorite floral dress. Dad stood beside her, holding the hand of a toddler –maybe two or three years old. The little boy looked like me, with round eyes and dimples when he smiled.

“Chester.” Mom’s voice was soft. “We’re fine. Don’t you worry about us.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

The little boy ran over and wrapped his arms around my leg.

I looked down and saw him looking up at me with a smile. “Daddy.”

I crouched down and reached for him, but my hands passed right through his body.

He just kept smiling. “Daddy, don’t cry.”

That was when I realized I was crying.

“Chester,” Dad said, stepping up and patting my shoulder. “Go on back now. Your grandfather’s waiting.”

I wanted to say something, but their figures were fading-getting lighter, farther away-until they vanished into the white light.

My eyes flew open.

Outside, the sky was already bright.

The snow had stopped. Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains and fell across the foot of the bed.

I sat up and touched my face. It was dry.

“Mr. Brooks?” The butler’s voice came from outside the door. “Your grandfather wants to know

if you’re up. He says he’s heading to the office today and wants you to drive him.”

“Coming.”

I threw off the covers and stood up.

The Brooks Group’s new headquarters in Valdoria was finally completed.

At the ribbon-cutting ceremony, I stood on stage before reporters and partners from around the world.

“Mr. Brooks, what’s the secret to your success?”

I smiled but didn’t answer. Instead, I instinctively glanced at the scars on my wrist.

The reporters had no idea what those scars were.

They probably thought it was a car accident, or some random mishap-something they could brush off with a few words.

Only I knew the truth. Those scars were proof that I survived.

“Mr. Brooks?” The reporter pressed again.

I pulled my sleeve back down and looked up.

“No secret,” I said. “It’s just that some people wanted me dead. So I had to stay alive.”

Polite laughter rippled through the crowd. No one got what I really meant.

I smiled too, my gaze drifting past the crowd toward the mountains in the distance.

That was where the people I loved most were buried.

“Mr. Brooks, one last question-do you have any regrets?”

I was quiet for a moment. “Yeah.”

The reporters leaned in.

“There were things I never got to say, and people I never got to love the way I should have.”

I paused. “So now, for those of us still here, we have to love the people we still have.”