Chapter 89: I forgot.
>Mallory
"Big sis, look!" I called out, my voice bubbling with small giggles before I could stop them.
I crouched down near the edge of the road, my knees brushing against the rough ground. A small, worn cardboard box sat there like it had been forgotten by the world. It shook a little. Soft scratching sounds came from inside, barely loud enough to hear.
Carefully, I leaned closer and peeked in.
Two tiny eyes stared back at me.
A small white kitten poked its head out of the box and let out a weak, high-pitched sound.
"Meow!"
I gasped, my heart jumping. The kitten’s fur was supposed to be white, but it was stained brown from dirt and dust, clinging to its tiny body. Still, it was cute. So cute it made my chest feel tight.
"Mal!"
I flinched.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to wander off the street on your own?" a woman scolded as she hurried over. "You know how much of a worry wart Trisha can be."
She sounded annoyed, but there was something gentle underneath her words. I looked up at her, ready to pout or argue—but I couldn’t see her face. No matter how hard I tried, it was blurry, like it was covered by fog.
All I could remember was her shape, standing tall over me. She looks to be someone only a few years older than me, wearing a simple yellow cardigan, a white inner and a long brown skirt, her brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail.
I don’t recognize her but I remember the feeling.
The warmth. Safe. Like everything was okay as long as she was there.
I didn’t know why, but my chest was filled with a soft, fuzzy comfort. Whoever she was, I know she was someone important to me.
I slowly opened my eyes when I felt small hands gently cupping my face. The warmth of them pulled me out of the dream, piece by piece.
The first thing I saw was my son.
He was leaning over me with a warm, sleepy smile, his messy bed hair sticking up in every direction. The morning light behind him made his eyes shine, and for a moment, I just stared, letting myself fully wake up.
"Good morning, sweetheart," I murmured, my voice rough and hoarse from sleep.
He answered me with soft giggles before he wiggled closer and laid beside me, his small arms wrapping around my chest as he snuggled in.
I cuddled him back, one arm settling around his small back as I shut my eyes again. He shifted closer, his forehead pressing lightly against my collarbone. His breathing was slow and warm against my skin.
The events from last night replayed on my mind as many times than I meant it, it kept replaying that I couldn’t sleep.
That was why I had stayed up so late, staring at the dark ceiling while the room remained quiet. I had kept turning the same thoughts over, trying to remember when I had started considering things I never would have before.
Opening up to someone hadn’t been part of the plan.
People change, I supposed. That included me.
The dream came back in pieces. The cardboard box. The small road that seems to belong to a rural area. The voice calling out.
The name Trisha surfaced again. I knew it belonged to my mother, yet nothing else followed. The place it happened were unclear. I cannot picture anything. Just fragments that refused to connect.
I shifted slightly, and stared at the wall across the room. I tried to remember if I had ever been that close to someone when I was a kid, the kind of closeness that felt natural because all I remember was the abuse.
I can’t even remember what my mother looked like anymore. No matter how long I tried, there was nothing there to recall. We never had shared moments, I had no memories to work from.
I reached for my phone on the small study table beside the bed and tapped the screen, the light making me squint.
It was almost eight in the morning.
I carefully loosened my hold on my son, guiding him away from the hug. He let out a small sound of protest but didn’t resist.
"Should we go down and eat breakfast?" I asked sweetly.
He nodded a few times right away, a cheerful smile spreading across his face as he slid off the bed.
"Anne, what’s for breakfast?" I called out before we even reached the kitchen, Asher holding tightly at the hem of my shirt, the faint clinking of utensils already echoing from the kitchen.
But when I stepped inside, it wasn’t Anne I saw.
My husband stood by the stove, carefully sliding a fried rice omelette from the pan onto a plate. He moved slowly, focused, making sure it didn’t fall apart. Once he was done, he set the pan down in the sink and turned toward us.
"Good morning, honey!" he greeted, smiling warmly, his entire face shining as it the sun itself decided to rise inside the house this morning.
I almost choked on my saliva at the sudden sweetness.
It wasn’t like he had never been sweet before, but that smile and the endearment felt different. For a brief moment, it felt like we were actually a real husband and wife.
My cheeks grew warm, but I looked away before he could notice.
"You made breakfast?" I asked as I helped Asher climb onto one of the stools by the counter.
"Well?" he said, pouting slightly. "Would you rather eat Anne’s cooking than mine?"
He crossed his arms, then glanced at me with narrowed eyes. "I don’t like that she’s only been here for a week and she’s already taking my place."
I chuckled softly. He was chattier than usual this morning.
"Of course not," I replied, taking the spoon and fork he handed to me. "I would eat your cooking every day if I could, but that would be greedy, wouldn’t it?"
"Well, you’re my wife," he said easily, taking a bite of his own food. "You can be greedy all you want. Have you forgotten who your husband is and the lengths he was willing to go for you?"
I only chuckled in response. I mean who else is lucky enough to eat a food made by one and only Venzrich Archeval?
And there wasn’t much I could say to a man who had offered his company as a settlement fee.
Not that it would ever really happen. Without him, the company would fail, and if that happened, the entire country P’s economy would take a hit too big to ignore.
"By the way," he said casually between bites, "have you already prepared everything for my son’s school tomorrow? If not, I’ll have Noel do it for you."
I paused mid-movement.
The spoon stopped just before my mouth as his words sank in. A sudden realization hit me, and I felt my face go pale.
"What do you mean?" I asked, needing to be sure I heard him right.
"Hm?" He looked at me, confused. "I thought tomorrow’s his first day. It was marked on your calendar. Vale confirmed it to me yesterday."
He pointed toward the small calendar stuck to the refrigerator door.
My mouth fell open.
"I forgot."
