Jasmine glanced at me. "Derek had a hard life before. He doesn't really understand car etiquette. Don't hold it against him…"
I shook my head. "It's just a seat. Not important."
Neither was Jasmine—not anymore.
After dropping our son and Tommy at school, Jasmine drove toward the cemetery.
Just as we were about to arrive, Derek clutched his chest. "It hurts—really bad."
Jasmine pulled over immediately. "What do we do? Can you hold on a little longer?"
Tears welled in his eyes. He bit his lip, feigning strength. "Yes. I can."
But her worried gaze was glued to him.
I spoke up, considerate as ever.
"Go with him to the doctor. I can walk the rest of the way."
I stepped out of the car.
It hesitated for a moment—then made a U-turn and sped away.
The corner of my mouth lifted in mockery.
Even though I'd expected it, there was still a faint sting deep down.
Kneeling in front of Mom's grave, I thought again about how, after Jasmine's parents died in an accident, Mom took her in. She didn't just give her food—she treated her the same as me, her biological son.
When I grew up, I still remember the day Mom died. The girl's eyes were clear; blushing, she swore to me: