The rain poured heavily, and the night gradually drew in.
The hospital room felt subtly different because of the presence of a small pet.
It was like there were suddenly more warm elents in the cold air, not much, but enough to make the chilly air feel soothing.
Reading, eating, listening to the rain, sitting in a daze.
Unknowingly, the night grew late.
She later didn’t rember how she fell asleep, probably too tired, and after taking so dicine, she leaned on the pillow and drifted off.
She initially thought Jesse Rowan would go out, after all, they hadn’t been intimate since her miscarriage.
Given his nature, he would surely be restless.
Yet, she hadn’t expected that after freshening up, he would sleep in the adjacent room without going anywhere.
The dicine had a bit of a sedating effect, and listening to the rain, Joan Harry turned over a few tis and fell into a deep sleep.
The rain in the night grew stronger and at so point, Joan Harry felt an arm wrap around her waist.
She was very familiar with those hands, too tired to move.
Soon, Joan Harry and his breathing intertwined, like two threads tightly wound together.
In the world, myriad sorrows entangle, impossible to sever, harder to unravel.
Like this cold rain, repetitive and intricate.
...
The day before the Qingming Festival, it was still raining.
The sky was dense and foggy, like a black curtain pressing down, obscuring the daylight.
Though it was dayti, it looked like night.
Landon shrouded in mist hadn’t seen the sun for many days, white smoke enveloped the willows everywhere, and the tender green leaves appeared particularly fragile in the rain.
Jasmine Yale knew that according to routine, Sylvan Cheney would leave for the cetery at around five in the morning.
That night, he would keep vigil there.
Around three or four, Jasmine Yale woke up.
Not wanting Sylvan Cheney to notice anything unusual, she lay with her back to him, eyes closed.
Soon enough, she indeed heard the soft sounds of him dressing.
He was up.
With her eyes shut, Jasmine Yale’s heart rippled with undefinable emotions.
Probably to avoid waking her, Sylvan Cheney went to the adjacent bathroom to wash up and then turned off the light for her.
With the lights out, the room fell into darkness, yet Jasmine Yale couldn’t fall back asleep.
Tomorrow was Qingming Festival.
He wouldn’t be back tonight.
She had never been to the cetery, only knowing that it used to be close to the Cheney Residence and was later relocated to the outskirts.
She couldn’t imagine what the cetery was like, nor did she dare to.
Life and death, the furthest distance in the world.
On such a day, she missed her mother too.
Soon, she heard the sound of a car engine and knew Sylvan Cheney had left the Cheney Residence.
The spacious bedroom felt empty, and she lay alone on the vast bed.
Clutching the blanket tightly, she silently opened her phone.
Her mother’s belongings were all gone, except for that one diary.
The diary was in Cakago, and her phone only held its photos.
Fortunately, Sylvan Cheney didn’t have the habit of checking her phone, allowing her to revisit the photos whenever she missed her mother dearly.
Blurry words, blurry drawings, fragnted photos.
"Mom..." she looked at the photos, tears streaming down like rain.
The pillow was soaked, and she wept uncontrollably.
On the sa Qingming Festival, he had family to rember, so did she.
He could stand watch at the grave, but she... couldn’t.
"Your daughter misses you..." Jasmine Yale choked, "misses you dearly, wants to talk to you..."
She wanted to burn so paper at her mother’s grave because she heard... doing so would bring spirits back on Qingming Day.
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