Chapter 7
After that rainy night, Arthur had indeed kept his promise–he would stay where I could find him.
He rented an apartment across the street from mine. Every
morning when I left for work, my peripheral vision always
caught a figure astanding on the corner; every evening after
work, he followed me from a distance–close enough to be seen,
far enough not to intrude.
I knew he was there.
But I never once turned back. Never once stopped.
Not deliberately–he had simply become background scenery in
my world, utterly irrelevant.
Over those two years, my life blossomed fully.
I became the youngest partner at the firm. I got my diving
certification, became fluent in Spanish, and spent weekends driving with friends to explore every corner of Mexico.
I had become the version of myself I once dreamed of.
Occasionally, returning home late from work, through the taxi window I’d see that light in the apartment across the street that never went out. I knew he was there, watching to make sure I
got home safely.
But I simply looked away, swiped my card, entered my building,
and continued with my life.
Until one day.
That morning I left for work as usual, my eyes glancing toward
the corner–the figure that had stood there for two years
without fail was gone for the first time.
My steps faltered briefly.
Then I continued normally to work.
Over the following week, the following month, that figure never
reappeared.
Occasionally I wondered for an instant where he’d gone, but only for an instant. My life was full enough not to need an
answer.
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Two years later, on Christmas Eve, I returned to New York.
This was my first time back since leaving. Two years was long enough–long enough that I could calmly set foot on this land without any emotional turbulence.
My sister Leah had sent countless messages in the family chat: ” Sis, when are you coming home?” The company’s North American operations also needed me to coordinate in person–it
was time.
Just as I walked out of arrivals, I saw Leah jumping and waving:
“Sis! Over here!”
me,
I smiled and walked over. She threw her arms around then pulled back to look me up and down:
“Wow, does Mexican sunshine really work miracles? You look younger than when you left!”
I laughed and ruffled her hair.
On the drive back to Manhattan, Leah chattered about all the
changes at home.
“Oh, by the way sis, did you know our firm landed a huge case
recently? The partner specifically asked me to participate–said it was for your sake! You’ve gotten so famous in Mexico these past two years. Everyone in the industry talks about you.”
I smiled, listening to her ramble.
Leah talked and talked, then suddenly her expression turned
subtle.
After a few seconds of silence, she spoke:
“Sis… have you heard about him?”
I knew “him” meant Arthur.
My expression didn’t change. I simply asked:
“What about him?”
Leah gripped the steering wheel tighter, her voice dropping:
“He… something happened. During that time you were in Mexico, he followed you home every night to make sure you got back safely, right? Well, one night on his way back, he ran into some local thugs. They surrounded him.”
She didn’t look at me, just stared at the road ahead.
“They were brutal… By the time someone found him and got
him to the hospital, his eyes… couldn’t be saved.”
“Bilateral blindness.”
She said those four words. The car fell silent.
“He can’t practice law anymore. He’s been convalescing at a care facility. He handed the firm over to David ages ago.”
I stared out the window at the rapidly retreating cityscape, silent for a long time.
I thought of that figure who had stood on the corner for two
years without fail.
thought of that light across the street that never went out.
I thought of that increasingly blurred figure running through
the rain in my rearview mirror.
My fingers curled slightly, then slowly relaxed.
The next afternoon, I stood at the entrance of the care facility.
I didn’t know why I’d come.
Perhaps I needed a formal period at the end of this sentence.
Perhaps I just wanted to see what that man–once too proud to be approached–had become.
A nurse led me to the back garden.
A man in a gray sweater sat in a wheelchair facing the bare trees in the distance, motionless.
Gauze covered his eyes. His frame had thinned beyond
recognition.
I approached. My footsteps made soft rustling sounds on the
fallen leaves.
I didn’t speak, just stood a few steps behind him.
The man in the wheelchair suddenly moved.
He tilted his head slightly, his gauze–covered eyes “looking”
toward me.
His lips moved, his voice hoarse and faint:
“Evelyn?”
I walked in front of him and crouched down, meeting his gauze-
covered eyes at eye level.
His face had thinned until his cheekbones protruded, and his temples were actually streaked with white. That man who had once been so confident, so commanding in court–now he was as fragile as a dead leaf.
My voice was soft but clear:
“Arthur.”
His eyes instantly reddened. Tears seeped from the edges of the gauze, soaking a small patch.
“You… you came.” His voice trembled. “I thought… I thought I’d
never hear your voice again in this lifetime.”
I looked at him without speaking.
“I know you don’t owe me anything.” He struggled to get the words out, each one seeming to be forced from his throat. “I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. I just… I just wanted to stay where you could see me. Even if you never turned back for the rest of your life.”
Then I spoke.
“Arthur, I forgive you.”
His shoulders shook violently.
“And I’ve forgiven that version of myself who waited so long.”
I stood up, looking at him one last time.
“I hope you can live well from now on. Not for me–for yourself.”
I turned to leave.
Behind me came his hoarse voice, trembling:
“Evelyn… I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say “wait.” Didn’t say “don’t go.”
Just said “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t turn back.
The moment I walked out of the care facility gates, I stopped.
Winter sunlight fell on me, cold and bright. I looked up at the
sky as two tears silently slid down my cheeks.
These weren’t tears of sorrow.
They were tears of finally being able to say goodbye.