Chapter 10

Perhaps because I had shared my own family story so openly, I found myself willing to speak.

“My mother passed away,” I said hesitantly. “And my father, like yours, severed ties with me.”

That year, at my mother’s funeral, a sea of black-clad mourners filled the hall. The officiant delivered a lengthy eulogy, but my mind drifted. I remember looking at my mother’s photograph—her gentle smile seeming to reach out to me—and I smiled back.

The next instant, my father’s hand struck me to the ground.

“Your mother is dead!” he roared. “How dare you smile?”

Every eye in the room turned to me as if I were a monster. Terror gripped me. Tears welled, but I bit my lip, not daring to make a sound.

The first year after her death, my father sat in the living room at night, poring over her letters and photographs. By the second year, he had packed them into boxes and pushed them into a forgotten corner. By the third year, he had remarried.

My new stepmother dragged the boxes into the yard, declaring she would burn them. I desperately salvaged what I could, clutching my mother’s camera to my chest. The flames left their mark on my skin. That camera became all I had left of her.

Later, my half-sister was born. The family’s attention shifted entirely to her. I grew up like a shadow, turning eighteen without anyone noticing. I enrolled in medical school. On move-in day, my father handed me a thick envelope.

“You’re an adult now,” he said. “Don’t come back.” I nodded and counted it—thirty thousand dollars. The price of severing our blood ties.

At university, professors and classmates praised my aptitude for medicine, noting my composure. This became my trademark strength in practice.

I let out a small sigh. These memories, buried so deep, had never been shared before. Joseph’s brow furrowed, the usual mischief vanishing from his expression. His voice carried an unusual gravity.

“Zoey, don’t you realize? You were only five years old.”

I froze. “What?”

“Laughing and crying are a child’s birthright,” he said softly. “You’ve been holding yourself back because no one ever let you be a child.”

His gentle words hit me like lightning. After the funeral, my father had stopped speaking to me. When my sister arrived, my needs were always secondary. Through college, I juggled studies and survival; I couldn’t recall a single moment when I’d been allowed to simply be a child.

I lowered my head. “Maybe so… but I’m grown now. I can’t act like a child anymore. To laugh when I want, cry when I want…”

Before I could finish, a sudden jolt shot through my ribs. I yelped in surprise and spun around. Joseph had poked my side, wearing an impish grin. “Says who?”

I tried to dodge, but he caught me. It was as if he’d found some hidden switch—I couldn’t stop giggling, no matter how hard I tried. The laughter burst out of me like air from a balloon.

“Stop! No more! It tickles! Hahaha… please!” I struggled to escape but found myself cornered. Tears of laughter streamed down my face. “Have mercy, Dr. Joseph! Let me go!”

He flashed a mischievous smile and reached out again. I curled into a defensive ball, bracing myself, but the expected tickle didn’t come. Cautiously peeking up, I saw his open palm extended toward me. In it lay a piece of candy.

“Here’s a treat for the little one,” he said with a gentle smile.

I stared at him, speechless. Unwrapping the candy, I popped it in my mouth. It wasn’t particularly good—artificial fruit flavor, overly sweet. But it made my eyes burn.

Joseph crouched down, pulled me to my feet, and wrapped me in his arms.

“Go ahead and cry,” he whispered. “It’s alright. I know it hurts.”

The warmth and strength of his embrace crumbled my final defenses. How long had it been since I felt understood, cherished? So long that I’d convinced myself I didn’t deserve it. Yet here, in a distant land across the world, he comforted me with a piece of candy, as if I were still that little girl.

In that moment, the tears I’d held back since I was five years old finally broke free, twenty years of pain pouring out at once. He kept patting my back gently, letting his shirt absorb my tears. At some point—I’m not sure when—I cried myself to sleep in his arms.

From then on, Joseph and I began dating.