Chapter 17

“He’s not okay,” I replied coldly. “He died three years ago.”

The phone slipped from Jackson’s hands, clattering to the floor. The screen flickered before reviving. He looked as if he might collapse. “Dead? Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“How do you think I feel?” I retorted. “Has anyone in your family ever cared about him?”

Jackson trembled, too ashamed to meet my gaze. I recalled meeting his parents and cautiously inquiring about siblings. They’d dismissed the question with a wave: “No.” Jackson himself had said, “There used to be one, but you can consider him dead.” When I pressed further, he’d slammed a bowl down, warning, “We don’t speak of him in this family.” He’d resented Joseph for escaping, for becoming the new target of their neglect.

“Save your crocodile tears,” I said. “Do you really think he ended up in the Nyara Republic by choice? It’s all because of your family.” Jackson abruptly ended the call.

A few days later, his parents appeared at my door, saying Jackson had disappeared. They explained how he’d returned home that day and gone on a rampage, destroying everything. He’d blamed them for the tragedies, saying that if they hadn’t forced Joseph to leave, he would never have gone to the Nyara Republic, never met me, never died. Everything was connected, he’d said, inextricably. He’d confessed that his repressed emotions had led him to mistakenly believe he’d fallen for Sara, causing him to miss his chance with me.

Nothing could be undone. Jackson subsequently quit his hospital job and vanished.

“Zoey! How can you blame us?” his parents pleaded. “We just wanted our son to make more money. We told him to stay at the hospital, but he wouldn’t listen. Now look what’s happened—he’s gone! Isn’t this all his own doing? How could Jackson be angry with us? We’re his parents!”

“Please, help us bring him back! We’ve already lost one son; we can’t lose another!”

I couldn’t bear it any longer. I hurled my phone down. “Get out!” I screamed. “You don’t deserve to be parents!”

Devastated, I returned to the familiar forest. I sat beneath a large tree, watching sunlight filter through the leaves as I hugged my knees.

Though the Nyara Republic had yielded only a brief encounter, I imagined how suffocated Joseph must have felt in that household. He’d initially listed his partner as his emergency contact with Médecins Sans Frontières, but later changed it to me. He never wanted his family to know about his struggles. Despite his dysfunctional family, he’d become an incredibly kind, gentle, and selfless person.

The thought filled my heart with overwhelming sadness.

Suddenly, a gust of wind rustled the trees, and something fell, striking my forehead. I picked it up—a dog tag. Aid workers in conflict zones often carry them for identification. I assumed it belonged to a soldier, but upon closer inspection, I saw “Joseph” engraved on its surface.

My heart stopped. I traced the name, unable to believe it. How could this be? Why would Joseph’s tag be here?

Chapter 18