Chapter 4
Jonathan should have felt relieved.
But these past few days, he was unusually silent, his gaze vacant, and even during executive meetings at the company, he seemed distracted.
Even Warren could tell something was wrong.
He said carefully, "Mr. Herring, you haven't been yourself lately. Maybe you should cancel some of your plans and take a break? I can book your flight and hotel if you want."
Jonathan stared at his computer screen, his fingers tapping the desk absentmindedly.
He was silent for a long moment before finally speaking. "Cancel the meetings this afternoon and tomorrow."
Warren nodded. "Sure, where would you like to go? I'll arrange it right away."
"The cemetery," Jonathan replied flatly.
Warren was taken aback.
He was curious why Jonathan wanted to go to the cemetery. Was he going to visit Emily's grave?
But when Emily disappeared back then, nobody knew where she went.
They never even found her body, so there possibly couldn't be a gravestone for her.
That afternoon, Warren followed Jonathan to a cemetery on the outskirts of the city.
Jonathan was dressed in all black, carrying a paper bag in his hand.
His steps were quiet, as if he were afraid of disturbing something.
It wasn't until Jonathan stopped in front of a gravestone that Warren caught sight of the name carved into it.
It read: Emily Fuller.
Warren's heart suddenly sank.
The gravestone looked new, and the area around it was spotless. Someone clearly came by to clean it regularly.
But Warren knew there were no Emily's ashes beneath. Only a few of her old clothes had been buried there.
Jonathan knelt down and gently wiped the photo on the gravestone.
His touch was so tender that it was as if he were caressing the face of someone he loved.
A sudden ache hit me, sharp and bitter.
He truly loved her.
Even when there was nothing left of her at all, he still bought a plot just to give her a proper burial.
But my ashes were knocked over by his own hand, leaving not a single trace behind.
Jonathan dropped all pretense, grabbing two bottles of hard liquor from the paper bag with careless ease.
He sat down next to the gravestone, twisted open a bottle, and took a long swig straight from it.
The liquor scorched his throat, and he frowned as he forced it down.
As he leaned against the gravestone, the confusion and sorrow in his eyes seemed to deepen.
"Emily, I'm here to see you," Jonathan murmured.
The wind blew softly, rustling the leaves, as if they were answering him.
He kept drinking, speaking quietly to the gravestone between sips.
His tone was casual, like he was just chatting, but at the same time, letting all his feelings spill out.
"Are you doing okay over there? God, I miss you so much," Jonathan murmured.
Warren stood off to the side, his chest aching with a dull pain.
Jonathan drank more and more recklessly, leaning against the cold gravestone, muttering to himself without pause.
His cheeks flushed, and his gaze grew hazy.
By the end, he was nearly sprawled over the stone, his fingers idly scratching at its edge.
He sobbed, "Emily... I finally got my revenge, but why... why am I not happy at all?"
His voice cracked, and he finally couldn't hold back anymore. He buried his face in the crook of his arm, his shoulders trembling as he cried.
Warren stood there, stunned, watching him. It felt like an invisible hand was crushing his heart.
Jonathan was in so much pain, but I couldn't do a thing to help.
The air around Jonathan was thick with the smell of booze. Warren spotted him from afar, clearly wasted.
He hurried over, asking in a cautious voice, "Mr. Herring, are you alright? Do you need me to take you home?"
Jonathan didn't respond. He shook his head and then nodded, lost in a drunken haze.
Warren had no choice but to half-carry, half-support him back to the car.
Jonathan slumped in the back seat, his breathing heavy.
His eyes were half-closed, and he was slurring something incoherent.
Warren leaned in, trying to catch what he was saying.
Then, I froze.
Jonathan was calling out the name, Melody.
He was calling my name.
I stayed by Jonathan's bedside all night.
I watched as his brows knitted together in drunken sleep, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol.
No matter how long I looked, it never felt like enough.
Jonathan was out cold from his hangover the whole day, and when he finally woke up, his head felt like it was splitting open.
He staggered up, accidentally kicking over the box he'd brought home from school.
My stuff scattered across the floor with a loud clatter.
He scowled, grumbling under his breath as he crouched down to start picking it all up.
But as he picked up a notebook, he spotted a letter hidden underneath.
The envelope was yellowed, its edges frayed.
But the recipient's name was written clearly, Melody Reed.
I froze.
I'd never seen this letter before.
Jonathan stared at the envelope, his brow furrowed, his fingers absentmindedly running over the familiar handwriting.
He hesitated for a moment and then finally opened it.
The moment he unfolded the letter, his eyes widened in shock.
He recognized that handwriting instantly. It belonged to Emily.