Irish was a little frightened, and she got up to open the door and found that it was Daisy.
"Mr. Dover told me to deliver you a meal." Daisy shook the box in her hand, exquisite and very delicate. It was takeout, but she had thought she had come to visit her with two boxes of gifts.
"He was afraid that you would lose your appetite and specially ordered for you in the Neo-classic restaurant," Daisy added When she entered the room.
Irish looked at the beautifully packed box and sighed gently. "The arrangement is too extravagant."
She knew the Neo-classic restaurant and had the privilege of going to it once. The word "Privilege" was used because the restaurant was only allowing people to enter after a special booking process, and nine out of ten diners at the restaurant were diplomats or multinational executives, and ordinary people may not have heard of it. The location of the restaurant was not too far from her uncle's house.
Even if someone gets to the door, they can't see any signs, and there are 1940s cars parked in front of the door all year round. When she entered the courtyard once, she noticed all the people who came were full of a strong political atmosphere.
Listening to the dinners, the sofas were from Lincoln's house, and the sofas were very old. At that time, the waiter had told her that many politically influential people had all sat in that position.
The Neo-classic meant NEW capitalist, and the status of the chef should not be underestimated. They were the chefs of the former dignitaries. Their taste varied from person to person, but Irish thought it was not bad.
She naturally understood the truth that good American food was often hidden in unknown places. But the restaurant only accepted credit cards because the price was high.
The dishes were put neatly by Daisy. Irish did not know how Joseph did it without reservation, and it was not difficult for him to do so. She asked Daisy to sit down and eat together with her, but Daisy shook her head and said, "I still have to go back to the company. I have a meeting to attend."
Irish felt sorry, but Daisy smiled and said nothing, comforted, and quickly left.
The phone was shaking in her pocket at the time of the meal.
Irish took out a look, and it was a message from Joseph. "Do you have a meal"
She assumed he was at the meeting by this time, and it wasn't convenient for him to call her. He has spared time to ask her.
Irish felt warm, wanting to send back a message to him, but she withdrew her attempt; instead, she sent a voice message to him, "I'm eating, it's very delicious."
And then she received a message from, "That's good to hear from you."
Irish looked at these words, and her eyes were tearful.
At night, Irish lay on the bed, dumbfounded, looking at the headlamp for a long time.
The silence inside the room was greater than that in Midtown Manhattan.
It was so quiet that she panicked. She looked at her cell phone, thinking that Joseph should still be at the company. She looked at the screen, but there were only previous text messages and no more news. She felt a little lost and helpless for a while.
She'd like to call him and tell him, 'Mr. Dover, will you come back with me? I'm in a panic.'
But she resisted.
Until that time, he hadn't come back. She was afraid he was in a lot of trouble.
Depressed, she took a diary from the satchel. It was left by Henry Lake.
She opened it and looked at the powerful handwriting, reminiscing about what he looked like when he wrote these words. The cruelest thing in the world was being alone.
Those who love each other are separated from each other, and the nostalgia of words has become the most painful punishment.
Irish turned to the last few pages, and on the pages, the feeling expressed by Henry was pleasant: Rachael is still so beautiful as I first saw her. I know she forgave me, so every night, she comes to my dream. Oh, no, it's more like a reality. As long as I open my eyes, I can see her sitting beside me, smiling at me. I've put her in my arms, and she's in my chest, and her long hair, like satin, clean and soft. My breath was her faint scent, and she said to me, "Henry, we can always be together." The woman I love, please wait for me.
Irish looked at it with sadness and closed the diary. She realized that hate-filled someone's heart when they were betrayed, and they loved that person seriously, and an unreleased feeling of expectation added more pain. She once hated Henry, but when the night was quiet, only she knew exactly how much she wanted her father's love.
The time he had gone, who could replace her pain of losing a loved one?
She thought of her uncle.
In fact, her uncle was the only person she had. He seemed to be happy and easygoing, but anyone could see that he was such a rough man, but he always put her Aunt first in his mind. Not as much as any other man, he did not say vengeance in the face of her father's betrayal, and he always was honest and a good husband to her Aunt. She read the clearest truth from her uncle, simplicity is a blessing.
But such a good man, why would he suffer such a thing?
She began not to believe in the cycle of heaven. If there was a God, why not those who were evil suffer?
She cried as painful emotions filled her head.
****
After being extremely tired, she could only rest.
Irish slept soundly.
She almost had no dream, and she was too tired.
She felt itchy on her forehead like someone was kissing her.
She took her hand to scratch the itching forehead, and she murmured and turned over.
Someone made a light laugh sound, and she heard it.
Then, the kiss, along the bridge of her nose, gently fell on her lips.
The feeling of being disturbed was bad, and the sleeping Irish turned over again as a protest.
But the man's big hand caressed her patiently, and he said in a pleasant voice. "Where's your original birth certificate?"
Original birth certificate?
Irish's sleeping mind was foggy, she hummed and ignored his words.
"Irish..." A deep voice was calling her.
She opened her eyes, but half-asleep, her pupils were still blurred.
"Where's your original birth certificate?" The man smiled lightly.
"Cabinet." She said casually and fell asleep again.
There was a sound of footsteps leaving.
Then, Irish began to dream, dream that someone comes in to rummage through her original birth certificate. He was a stranger, she shouted at him, "Why are you stealing my birth certificate?"
Without talking, the man picked up the certificate and ran away.
She chased after him and shouted, "You are a thief, why did you steal my original birth certificate? Can you give it back to me and I'll give you money?"
And the shouting woke her up. The sunshine was in the room, and it was warm gold.
It was dawn, and she was completely awake.
Wait, did someone really ask about her original birth certificate near her ear? Why did she feel it was like a dream and also a reality?
This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢