Chapter 8
-stories of one woman after another entering and leaving his life. Each woman bore a faint resemblance to me, but none stayed for long.
One day, I ran into him on the street. He had a woman in his arms who looked about 70% like me.
When our eyes met, Anthony pushed the woman aside and hesitated as if he wanted to approach me. But I didn’t stop. I ignored him and walked away.
“Celine…” I heard him call out, but the bustling crowd quickly swallowed his voice.
Years later, Anthony adopted a girl. The rumors about women around him dwindled. He named his adopted daughter Celina Leeman and even gave her shares in the Leeman Group. People whispered that Anthony had lost his mind.
In truth, he had. His health deteriorated, and he became seriously ill.
The last day of his life happened to fall on what used to be our anniversary.
“Aunt Celine, Dad wants to see you today,” Celina told me when she visited.
The little girl had been raised well–poised and elegant, without a trace of timidity.
After all these years, my heart had long since let go of the past.
However, I couldn’t bring myself to see him one last time. Perhaps it was my way of finally getting back at him.
That evening, not long after Celina left, Anthony passed away from his illness.
I hadn’t dreamed in years, but that night, I dreamed of him.
In the dream, Anthony lay in a hospital bed, his body frail and skeletal. One arm rested outside the sheets
riddled with needle marks from syringes. His face was ghostly pale as he leaned weakly against the pillows.
The electrocardiogram monitor’s beeping slowed until the line flattened completely. A doctor shook his head, and nurses draped a white sheet over his lifeless form.
I slept deeply that night, undisturbed.
When I woke up, I noticed the jasmine plant on my windowsill had sprouted fresh buds.
2/2
