The Fridge That Rot, The Promise That Rotted Too Chapter 11

The Fridge That Rot, The Promise That Rotted Too Chapter 11

I looked at her reddened eyes, my voice low.

“Don’t keep blaming yourself.”`

“I never blamed you.”

The hospital room was so quiet that even the wind outside seemed far away.

I watched her, letting the words I’d hidden for so long finally spill out, little by little.

“You got into a great school. Mom and Dad were so happy, so you must be really smart.”

“Go to school. Live your own life.”

“Don’t keep thinking about staying home, and don’t feel like you have to make it up to anyone.”

“Just keep moving forward for yourself. That’s enough.”

I paused, then added quietly:

“See more of the world. Walk more roads.’

“See the places I never got to see.”

After that, I looked toward Dad outside the door.

The folding bed was small, and he lay there with his legs bent because they didn’t fit.

These past days he’d stayed at the hospital so much that the smell of alcohol had faded, but he

looked like he’d aged ten years.

I watched him for a long time before finally speaking.

“Dad, stop drinking.”

He didn’t respond. Only the hand hanging off the bed twitched slightly.

“Drinking hurts your body, and it makes Mom and Serena worry.”

“Take care of yourself. Eat properly. Sleep properly.”

“Mom won’t eat. You have to stay with her.”

“And when Serena goes to school, you have to watch over her for me.”

As I spoke, my nose began to sting.

But in the end, I still managed a small smile.

“Take care of yourselves.”

Finally, I thought of Mom.

Mom had spent her whole life worrying about others.

She worried about Dad, about Serena, about me.

But now she couldn’t even take care of herself.

I said softly:

“Mom, you need to eat.”

“Don’t cry so much. Don’t keep exhausting yourself.”

“Sleep on time. Take your medicine on time.”

“Let someone walk you home. And keep living your life.”

When I finished, the hospital room was still silent.

No one woke. No one answered.

But that heavy weight in my chest-it seemed to finally lift, little by little.

I looked down at my own hands, so thin they were nothing but skin and bone. I thought of a long

time ago.

Back then I would whine and ask for hugs, and pester Dad to buy me dresses.

I remembered that red dress.

It had been my favorite.

Thinking about it, I smiled softly.

If I had another chance, I’d want to be an ordinary kid.

-(–)

One who could eat by herself, turn on the lights by herself, pour herself a glass of water.

That way, Mom and Dad wouldn’t have had to work so hard.

Outside the window, the sky slowly lightened.

Dad woke first.

He sat on the folding bed, staring blankly into the hospital room for a long time without moving

It was like he’d had a long dream, or maybe like he’d suddenly remembered something.

Serena slowly opened her eyes too. She reached up to wipe her face and felt cold tears on her skin

She froze for a moment, and her eyes reddened again.

Across the hospital, Mom also woke in the early morning.

She stared at the pale ceiling, her expression empty, before slowly sitting up.

The next morning, Dad brought Serena to Mom’s hospital room.

Mom was sitting on the bed. The bowl of porridge in front of her had already gone cold.

A nurse was about to take it away, but Dad took it instead.

He scooped up a spoonful and raised it to Mom’s lips, his voice rough:

“Eat a little.”

“Don’t keep going like this.”

Mom looked at him, and tears slid down her face.

She didn’t speak. She just took the bowl, lowered her head, and finished the porridge one bite at a

time.

Serena stood to the side, clutching a freshly printed deferral application.

She walked over and placed the paper gently on the bedside table.

“Mom, I’ve applied to defer for one semester.”

“I’ll go to school once you’re better.”

Mom looked up at her and slowly reached out her hand.

Serena’s nose stung, but she took it.

No one said “I’m sorry.”

No one said “It’s okay.”

Outside, the wind and snow were still raging.

But inside the hospital room, it didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

None of them mentioned that night.

But from that day on, they began trying to eat, to sleep, to take care of each other, and slowly, they picked their lives back up.

Because sometimes, you don’t need an answer.

Just saying the words out loud is enough.

A gust of wind stirred the snow on the ground.

I grew lighter and lighter, and with no regrets left, I slowly dissolved into this cold, cold world.