Three Breakdowns A Year Was All I Was Allowed Chapter 10

Six months later, the overseas project officially launched.

After the celebration dinner, I walked to the river alone.

My phone was full of congratulatory messages.

Mom called me on video.

She’d started dancing with the women in her neighborhood.

As soon as she saw me, she smiled.

“When are you coming home?”

“Next month.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Chicken pot pie.”

She nodded, then her eyes suddenly reddened.

“If your brother were here, he’d be bragging about you to everyone again.”

My eyes stung.

I looked down and touched the bracelet.

“He always did love to brag.”

Mom laughed.

As she laughed, tears started falling, too.

We cried together for a while, each on our side of the screen.

When she’d cried enough, she wiped her own tears away.

“All right. Get to bed early.”

“You, too.”

After we hung up, I opened Three Ninety-Nine’s chat.

My subscription would expire in three days.

Over the past six months, I’d reached out to him less and less.

First, every day.

Then once a week.

And this month, not once.

I sent: [I might not renew my subscription.]

He replied quickly.

[Good.]

I paused.

[You’re not going to ask me to stay?]

[Why would I?]

[You know now that you can reach out to someone when you’re hurting.]

[And you know you can get through it yourself when there’s nobody to listen.]

I stared at the screen for a long time.

[Thank you.]

[You’re welcome.]

After a while, he sent another message.

[Also, stop calling me Three Ninety-Nine.]

A moment later, a poster for a public lecture appeared.

[Speaker: Professor Martin Whitmore.]

I stared at the photograph for ages.

Then I looked back at the profile picture I’d seen for the past six months.

I was completely stunned.

[Wait… it’s you?]

He replied:

[I take shifts with the nonprofit program.]

[You got lucky. They assigned you to me.]

I burst out laughing.

[I had no idea you charged so much.]

[Then $3.99 is a pretty good deal.]

I laughed until I cried.

I found out later.

Nathan had met with Professor Whitmore, too.

A few days later, I received Nathan’s last email.

[Congratulations on the project launch.]

No apology.

No plea to stay.

I replied: [Thank you.]

Then I closed my inbox.

The day I returned to the States, I went to the cemetery first.

I set the project’s commemorative medal in front of my brother’s headstone.

The wind was strong.

I crouched and showed him the gold bracelet.

“Hey.”

“I have a job now.”

“My own money.”

“And somewhere to go.”

“You don’t have to keep saving for my way out anymore.”

After that last sentence, the tears fell anyway.

I bowed my head and cried for a long time.

Nobody told me.

Which time it was that year.

How long I could cry.

Whether it was worth it.

slowly, the wind dried my tears.

When I stood up, a new work email appeared on my phone.

[Offer to lead the London project.]

Before, I would’ve asked so many people first.

Whether I could go.

Whether I could do it.

Whether I’d regret it.

Now I looked at it for just a few seconds.

Then I tapped [Accept].

Halfway down the hill, I glanced back.

The headstone grew smaller in the shadows of the trees.

I reached up and touched my wrist.

The sun had warmed the bracelet.

For a moment, I had the sudden feeling my brother wasn’t urging me to turn back.

He probably would’ve just said:

“Go on, Claire.”

The road stretched far down the hill.

I put my phone in my pocket.

I walked down, one step at a time.

This time.

The answer was mine alone to know.