Mr. Badass ✔

05 Who's cooking fish?

Gemma's POV.

I never expected to meet Mary's family in this lifetime.

Before the cornea transplant surgery, the nurse told me about Mary's story. She was in a car accident on a snowy night, and by the time the ambulance arrived, she was already dead, crushed like a piece of paper in the flattened car.

I couldn't imagine that scene. Human bodies are thick with fat and bones are so hard—how much force would it take to crush a person like that?

The pain in her final moments must have been unimaginable.

That's when I couldn't help but ask for Mary's name. Technically, the identities of donors and recipients are supposed to remain confidential, but Mary's name was so common that the nurse told me.

Later, I also learned that Mary was around my age.

By the time I had the surgery, I had already been in New York for a while, and I hadn't told my parents about everything that had happened to me.

But what about Mary's parents? Their daughter died. Maybe just the day before, she was calling out "Mom" and "Dad," and the next day she was lying in a morgue, her body so shattered that even the mortician couldn't piece her back together.

So I thought, the cornea transplanted into my eye must be the only thing left of their daughter in this world.

I asked the nurse to convey to them that I would be happy to meet them if they wanted to.

But Mary's parents refused. They were still alive and had to find a way to keep going. After suffering such a great trauma, people instinctively try to block out everything related to it, so I later heard they had left the United States.

I never expected them to suddenly appear.

"We don't mean any harm," the man looks at me and explaines, "We're actually planning to adopt a child and start a new life. But before that, we want to know how Mary is doing—especially Mary's mother."

I press my lips together and look at the woman in the car, hiding her face with long hair. Then I look at the man in front of me. He must be a good father because his smile is warm, radiating a sense of kindness. Yet when he mentions Mary, there is still a faint sadness in his eyes.

The man seems to worry I won't believe him, so he takes out his wallet and shows me his driver's license and work ID. "I'll leave my driver's license with you. Would you join us for dinner?"

I look down at his ID. Prof. Ramos. A university professor.

"So Mary's full name is Mary Ramos?" I ask.

He hesitates for a moment, then smiles. "Yes."

I hand back the ID to Mr. Ramos and smile, "I'd be happy to have dinner with you."

Mrs. Ramos is sitting in the passenger seat. From the moment I walk over to the car until I stand beside it, she hasn't looked directly at me. Mr. Ramos taps on the car window, and she finally glances out, her expression cold and somewhat reserved.

"Mrs. Ramos," I call to her with a smile.

She remains stiff, nodding slightly before looking straight ahead again. But I can see a brief glimmer of tears in her eyes. Because a part of her daughter is inside me, it's a mother's instinct.

I open the back door and get in, but I can't help thinking that Mary must be a beautiful girl because both her parents have such well-defined features, like works of art.

At a red light, my eyes meet Mrs. Ramos's in the rearview mirror. I smile, and she once again coldly looks away.

"What would you like to eat?" Mr. Ramos starts the car and asks cheerfully.