At my husband's funeral, everyone tried to comfort me, telling me not to be sad. But I wasn't sad. After the funeral, I worked five straight days of overtime. Reeking of the office, my mother-in-law forced me to go home and rest. She told me I had to look forward. Of course I had to look forward. I even had blind dates to go on. 1 It was my first time attending a funeral, and the main character was Liam Hayes. It felt incredibly weird. I chose the photo myself. A normally serious man, pushing his nose up to make a silly, ugly face. It was one of the very few photos where he was goofing off. I thought my mother-in-law would blame me, and that relatives and friends would say I was disrespecting the deceased, but no one seemed upset. They approached me carefully, their eyes darting away, afraid to make eye contact. So annoying. I turned my head, smiled at my husband lying in the casket, and said, "Hey, nobody told me funerals were like this?" So novel. "My condolences, Sarah," my sister-in-law said, patting my shoulder. "My brother wouldn't want you to be this heartbroken." I found it funny. I earnestly searched my mind for any trace of emotion and shook my head. "I'm not heartbroken." She sighed. "Don't be like this. It... it makes me hurt for you." My mother-in-law also pressed my shoulders, urging me to go rest on the side. "Mom, I'm not tired," I said, spinning around in front of her. "Look, I'm full of energy. I could wrestle a bear." I almost felt like this was just a normal banquet, it was just a pity I had to stand and couldn't go down and eat. I saw the coral grouper earlier. That's my favorite fish. I'll definitely pack a few in plastic bags later. Oh, and the mixed salad. I heard the chef here is amazing at cold dishes, so I specifically ordered it. Grumble... My stomach growled. I rubbed my stomach and giggled foolishly. Under everyone's sympathetic gaze, I stood for 28 hours straight, not feeling sleepy at all. Unfortunately, by the time dawn broke and the crematorium staff arrived, I still hadn't had time to eat from that banquet table. No other reason than there were too many trivial things to deal with. I complained to the casket, "This is too much trouble. Good thing you'll only bother me with this once. Hmph." I chose the most expensive urn for Liam, and even put his favorite cologne inside. It was a custom-made cologne he bought casually on the street—a light, woody scent. Liam used it for many years. He said the scent was like him, gently seeping into the fabric. I didn't understand what he meant. I just felt that even if he wore the most disgusting smell, I would still love it. What can I say? The filter of true love is strong; it even affects your sense of smell. The lid closed, and the fragrance faded. I calmly handled the final arrangements and hurried home to change clothes. I smelled terrible, so I took a long, hot bath. My boss called. "Sarah, your husband just passed. Don't rush back to work. I'm giving you a few days off." But corporate slaves don't deserve rest. When I showed up at the office for overtime, my coworker, Linda, shivered. "Sarah, are you okay? Didn't your husband..." I was very impatient. I'd been explaining to people non-stop these past few days that my husband died. How could this coworker forget again?! I stared intently at my computer, typing out a proposal. "Mr. Peterson is coming over in two days. If I don't keep an eye on this, everyone's year-end bonus is going to vanish." She let out a weird yelp and ran out holding her coffee. My boss pressed down on my shoulder. "Don't rush. The work is never-ending. You had a family tragedy; you need to take a couple of days off..." "Sigh, I'm fine. I've got plenty of energy." I ran my fingers through my hair, continuously editing the proposal. He sighed, and the office returned to silence. 2 The office was dead silent. The sound of my typing grew louder and louder. It felt like there was a fire in my chest, and I didn't know how to let it out. I wanted to slack off and look at my phone for a bit. I swiped to a funny video and wanted to share it, but suddenly remembered I had no one to share it with. I pondered for a moment, then took Liam's phone out of my pocket and texted myself: "Wifey, wifey, why aren't you home yet?" I replied: "Be good, the project bonus is twenty grand! Once I get the bonus, I'll take you on a trip to Hawaii." Much better. I put down the phone and kept typing. At 2:30 AM, I sent a text to Mr. Peterson. [Mr. Peterson, when are you available to come over and discuss the contract?] I waited ten minutes. The phone was as quiet as a mouse. I couldn't help but call him. Mr. Peterson replied, his voice heavy with sleep, "I've had some family matters recently. Let's talk in a couple of days, okay? It's so late, Sarah, aren't you tired?" Family matters? Could his family matters be bigger than Sarah's family matters? I poked at my phone, furious. My husband died, and even I wasn't as busy as him. But I couldn't complain to a client. Since he didn't have time, I continued to refine the proposal, typing out every minor detail I could think of, and even preparing five or six backup plans. I hadn't slept for almost a week, but my energy was still high. The city night was silent. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window holding my coffee, looking down at the entire city. In the dark office, the faint glow from the computer screen illuminated my face. I looked at my reflection in the glass. I just passed my thirtieth birthday, and I didn't look much older. After pulling so many all-nighters, my face hadn't sagged, and my dark circles weren't that bad. I marveled at myself—I truly had the innate physique of a corporate workhorse. My phone alarm went off, reminding me it was time to take my folic acid. Liam and I had been doing well in our careers recently, so we started preparing for pregnancy, getting everything ready to welcome a new life. Expressionless, I tossed the folic acid into the trash can. My chest twitched with pain, but I still wasn't sad. Birth, aging, sickness, and death are just parts of the human experience. The office lights flicked on. My mother-in-law and my boss walked in from outside. "Sarah, I've asked your boss for a month of leave. You are going home to rest right now, and the company won't let you back in." My mother-in-law cracked her knuckles. "Don't make me call some people to drag you back." "Don't worry, Sarah," my boss assured me. "This project with Mr. Peterson is your hard work. When the contract is signed, the commission goes to you. The team has already reached a consensus." I was too familiar with their expressions—pure sympathy. I wanted to explain that I really wasn't sad, but after opening my mouth a few times, I finally nodded in agreement. I grabbed my car keys, ready to drive home, but my mother-in-law snatched them away. "How long has it been since you slept? Letting you drive—do you want to kill me?" My mother-in-law had kids early; she was only 55 now. Her hair wasn't entirely white, and her well-maintained face had very few wrinkles. She was a doctor. Every day her hair was meticulously combed, and she rarely smiled. When I first met her, I was quite anxious. It was Liam who comforted me. "My mom is a great person, she just has a sharp tongue but a soft heart. Once you figure out her temper, you'll be fine." Then he immediately told his mom to be nicer to me, saying I wasn't one of the interns in her department. She sat behind the steering wheel, her back straight, her glasses reflecting the streetlights. "Go home and get a good sleep. What needs to pass, will pass." Her eyes were slightly red. The moment she looked down, she seemed utterly exhausted. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes had deepened at some point, revealing her age. "It's all over. He passed without pain, that's a good thing too." I took a deep breath, staring at the safety charm hanging from the rearview mirror. 3 I slept for less than five hours. When I woke up, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by something heavy—sour, tight, and a little painful. It scared me enough to go to the hospital for a check-up. Sinus arrhythmia. Nothing major. The doctor told me to stop staying up late. I originally wanted to go to the company, but remembering I had a month-long vacation, I suddenly felt lost. For the past few years, Liam and I rarely rested. We often complained about not having enough alone time, our lives filled to the brim with work. The week before the accident, we worked like crazy to take our annual leave early and go somewhere for a couple of days. Liam still had a half-finished itinerary on his phone. Thinking of this, I pulled out my laptop and finished the itinerary. Even after finishing it, I still felt hyperactive. The events of the past few days looped in my mind like a carousel. I touched my chest, feeling like I must be sick. Otherwise, why didn't I know how to be sad? I looked in the mirror, trying to squeeze out a tear, but only managed an ugly, forced smile. My mom called to comfort me, subtly hinting that I shouldn't remain a widow forever. I laughed and retorted, "What era is this? Does a woman still have to stay chaste after her husband dies?" I tossed my instant noodles onto the coffee table, turned around, and bought a premium membership on a dating site. The steam from the beef noodle soup clouded my eyes. Suddenly, the usually mild noodles tasted incredibly spicy today. I chugged the noodle broth and coughed violently from the spice. 4 Liam and I fell in love naturally; I had never been on a blind date before. The first time felt quite novel. On TV, blind dates always happened in cafes, so I arranged to meet the guy at a cafe near my house. The man who showed up was middle-aged. Not bald, not ugly, and dressed appropriately. Compared to my pajamas and slippers, his suit and tie were excessively formal. I frowned, looking him up and down. He just rubbed me the wrong way. "My situation is all in the profile. I'm 35, divorced, no kids, an executive at a multinational company, making $300k a year..." So this is what a blind date is like. I rested my chin on my hand, looking amused. "Mr. Miller, you look decent enough. Are you interested in getting double eyelid surgery? I prefer men with monolids or hidden double eyelids. I don't have many demands; once we're together, just get the surgery done." He froze. He looked me up and down. "Are you sick in the head?" I felt very offended. We just met, how could he just open his mouth and insult me? He also felt offended. He stood up and left without even paying for his coffee. Cheapskate. 5 Liam's eyes were beautiful. When he looked down at people, it always gave the illusion of deep affection. I always thought he had monolids until we got together and I realized they were hidden double eyelids. When we were intimate, my favorite thing to do was touch his eyelids. I knew exactly where the scar on the corner of his eye was. This guy wasn't cooperative; he wasn't my type. Liam and I used to come to this cafe all the time. On our rare days off, we would sit at this window seat. He would look at his laptop, I would read a book. Occasionally, our eyes would meet, we'd share a knowing smile, and then go back to doing our own thing. This place was like our secret base, full of memories. "Hey, I brought a stranger here," I muttered to myself, touching the glass. When paying, I complained to the barista, "The coffee today has no flavor. Make it stronger next time." Lately, I couldn't taste anything. This black coffee tasted just like water. If Liam were still here, he'd probably make a huge fuss and take me to the hospital, afraid I had caught some weird disease. I couldn't help but smile. Once, I got a paper cut. He was so terrified he took me to the hospital to get it bandaged. The doctor complained, "There's not even any blood. If you had waited a bit longer, it would have healed itself." I teased him about it for days. He was still self-righteous about it: "What if you got tetanus? Wouldn't that be worse?" Walking home, I went to the ground floor to buy cologne like usual, only to find the perfume shop had become a nail salon. The layout of the perfume shop was still there, and the air still carried a faint fragrance, but the owner was nowhere to be found. I asked the nail technicians for the previous owner's contact info, but they didn't know. The familiar scent was fading, and a sense of panic gripped my heart.
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