I smiled bitterly, floating in midair.
Timothea, I was afraid you wouldn’t get your wish. After all, I died on the operating table five years ago, donating my bone marrow for you.
——
Every time Timothea came home feeling down, she’d shut herself away in her study.
She’d vent her anger on the punctured wedding photo before her.
“Bond, where the hell have you been hiding? Why haven’t you come out to see me yet?!”
She muttered hoarsely and looked at the face in the wedding photo, “I went to the press conference today. I’m rich beyond your imagination. Why... haven’t you come back to me yet? Right. You know what? If you come back, I won’t let you go!”
She had already opened the wine cabinet and drunk herself to death.
The knife in her hand slashed at the wedding photo again and again.
From a distance, the photo was already riddled with holes.
Only my face, with its bright smile, showed no sign of damage.
In Timothea’s words: “I’m afraid I’ll forget Bond’s appearance. I won’t recognize him when I meet him in the future and I won’t forget his betrayal.”
Timothea had always hated me. She wished she could see me in front of her and strangle me to death.