The “Strawberry Juice” That Saved My Son Chapter 01

The “Strawberry Juice” That Saved My Son Chapter 01

Forty-eight hours after the earthquake hit, I stopped breathing beneath the rubble.

In a narrow pocket under the debris, my three-year-old son survived by licking the blood that seeped from my wounds.

My husband, Ethan Reed, roared impatiently through the walkie-talkie.`

“Everyone in the city is out here handling disaster relief, and you’re choosing this moment to disappear? Do you even understand what matters right now?”

Noah heard his father’s voice and cried into the walkie-talkie in his small, trembling voice.

“Daddy, Mommy fell asleep. She said she would take me home soon.”

“I listened to her and drank all the strawberry juice. Why is she still sleeping?”

The other end went dead silent.

Then Ethan’s voice came through again, almost breaking as he screamed for the excavator to move faster.

I looked at my son, who was finally about to be saved, and smiled in relief.

Ethan, congratulations.

This unwanted Mrs. Reed of yours had finally disappeared, exactly the way you wanted.

***

The excavator’s roar moved closer.

I floated in midair and looked down at myself.

My body was trapped under an enormous concrete slab.

My upper body had been crushed out of shape. Only one arm was still frozen in place, shielding the tiny space beneath me. The back of my hand had been torn open by rebar until flesh and blood blurred together.

That was the last barrier I left for my son.

Ethan stumbled toward the ruins.

“Hurry! There’s a child down there!”

His voice had changed completely from shouting.

The rescue workers carefully pulled Noah out through the narrow gap.

His whole body was covered in dust. His little face was filthy, but the red around his mouth was so bright it hurt to look at.

Ethan rushed forward and snatched him into his arms.

He ran his hands over Noah’s body, checking his arms and legs, making sure he only had a few scrapes.

Only then did the tight line of his shoulders loosen.

The next second, the panic on his face turned into rage.

“Joy! Where the hell did you go?”

“Our son was buried under rubble for two days and two nights. He was scared out of his mind. Where were you?”

The rescue workers around us stopped what they were doing and looked over with strange expressions.

I drifted in front of him and reached out, desperate to cover his mouth.

I wanted to tell him to stop shouting.

I was right under his feet, barely ten feet below.

But my hand passed through his face.

He could not feel me.

Noah flinched from his shouting and clutched Ethan’s collar with both tiny hands.

“Daddy, don’t yell at Mommy.”

Ethan gave a cold laugh. Then he ripped the walkie-talkie from Noah’s hand and smashed it against the ground.

The plastic shell cracked open.

So did my heart.

We had bought that walkie-talkie when we were still deeply in love.

We had been curled up on the couch watching a disaster movie. On a whim, we ordered a pair.

Back then, he said that even if the whole world lost signal, even if the earth ended, we would still use them to find each other.

So I had kept mine in my bag all these years.

But now, he had destroyed the last connection between us with his own hands.

“I shouldn’t yell at her? She left you here and ran off. What am I supposed to do, praise her?”

“Or maybe she never came to pick you up at all. She always does this. One fight, and she disappears on me.”

“Daddy, Mommy didn’t run away.”

Noah grew anxious. Tears washed through the dust on his face and left muddy streaks behind.

“Mommy really is sleeping.”

“She gave me lots and lots of strawberry juice and told me to drink it like a good boy.”

Ethan froze.

He lowered his head and stared at the dried dark red around Noah’s mouth.

His brows pulled tight.

He took out a wet wipe and scrubbed hard at the corner of Noah’s mouth.

“What nonsense is this? Does she usually feed you this kind of junk?”

“Your mouth is full of coloring. It’s filthy.”

The aftershock came without warning.

The ground began to shake violently, and the section of rubble they had just opened collapsed again.

Ethan’s first instinct was to shield Noah in his arms. He stumbled backward and scrambled to safety with the child pressed tightly against his chest.

I watched broken concrete crash down and seal the narrow opening that had almost led to me.

The last bit of light that could have reached my remains disappeared.

Maybe that was better.

At least my son would not have to see me.

Ethan shoved Noah into the arms of the medic who hurried over. His voice was full of disgust he could barely hold back.

He turned to the deputy captain beside him and ordered, “There are no more signs of life here. Come with me to the east side. As for Joy…”

He paused, then spoke with contempt.

“Leave her. She’s clever enough. She probably hid in some shelter long ago.”

“Daddy…”

Noah, still in the medic’s arms, suddenly reached out and grabbed Ethan’s sleeve.

“Daddy, Mommy didn’t run away.”

His small voice was urgent. He tried hard to put the words together.

“Mommy really is sleeping. She told me not to bother her. She was sweating a lot…”

Ethan frowned. He pulled out another tissue and wiped the “stain” from Noah’s mouth with too much force.

“Stop making things up.”

He did not take a three-year-old’s words seriously.

He turned and strode toward the next collapsed area, throwing himself back into the rescue work.

I floated in the air, watching his determined back.

I wanted to cry.

But no tears would come.