stray

Chapter 13: Homecoming

The exhaustion hit me harder with each step. My legs felt like lead, and I was drenched from the rain. The cold had settled into my bones, and the darkness played tricks on my mind. I lost my way three times, wandering aimlessly through the maze of unfamiliar streets. Each wrong turn felt like a step further from home, a small defeat that gnawed at my already fading energy.

But I kept going, fueled by the thought of finally reaching the familiar streets of Kowloon City. After what felt like an eternity, I stumbled upon a direction I recognized—a faint glimmer of hope in the endless night. I forced my tired legs to move, step after step, until the worn-out buildings of my neighborhood came into view.

Relief washed over me as I approached my home, the weight of the long night finally lifting. I knocked on the door, my knuckles tapping weakly against the wood. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and then the door creaked open.

My uncle, Xin Chen, stood there, his expression as unreadable as ever. He didn't say anything—just looked at me with those steady eyes, as if he had been expecting me all along. No welcome, no reprimand, just that blank look that made me wonder what he was thinking.

I stepped inside, my body aching with every movement. The warmth of the house wrapped around me, a stark contrast to the cold rain outside. I was home.

Part 2: Silent Shadows

Inside the house, the air felt heavy, like a storm waiting to break. The rest of the family sat around the table, but there was an unusual stillness in the room. my aunt, my grandmother—they all stared at me with silent, hollow eyes. My mother was the only one not present. I ignored the uneasy feeling building in my chest and told them, forcing a smile, "I brought a cake for my birthday. I'll tell you everything that happened... let me just wake Mom up."

Before I could take a step towards her room, my uncle Xin Chen stopped me, his hand firm on my shoulder. "Don't wake her," he said, his voice low but steady. "She just took her medicine. Let's start eating. You must be hungry."

His words didn't sit right with me, but I pushed the thought aside. I was exhausted, cold, and just wanted this day to end on some note of normalcy. So, I sat down at the table, trying to shake off the strange tension in the air. I waited, my heart pounding with anticipation. I thought, any second now, someone would say it. They would remember.

But as the minutes dragged on, no one did. The silence was unbearable, but I couldn't bring myself to break it. The words "Happy Birthday" never came. Instead, we ate in an unsettling quiet, the only sound being the clinking of forks against plates. Each bite felt heavier than the last, my excitement from earlier turning into an ache I couldn't explain. I wanted to ask, to say something, but the weight of the silence crushed my words before they could form.

After the meal, I set aside a slice of cake for Mom. She loved sweet things, and I couldn't wait to share this small joy with her. As I carefully wrapped the portion, I felt a glimmer of the happiness I'd imagined, hoping to wake her up with a smile.

But then, Uncle Xin Chen's voice cut through the quiet like a blade, cold and without warning. "No need to set it aside," he said, his eyes hardening. "Not for those who are no longer with us."

I froze. The words didn't make sense. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, struggling to keep control as a knot formed in my throat. "How?"

My uncle didn't look away, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Your mother... she took her life a few hours after you left."

The world seemed to collapse around me. The air was suddenly too thick, too suffocating. I stood there, staring at him, my mind refusing to register the words he'd just said. I waited for him to take it back, to say it was some sick mistake, but the room remained silent, his words hanging in the air like an unbearable weight.

My heart screamed, but no sound escaped me. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The cake in my hands felt meaningless, heavy. I wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something, but all I could do was stand there, hollow and empty, staring at my uncle. Tears threatened to spill over, but I swallowed them down, my hands trembling as I clenched the knife in my hand.

How could this be real? How could she be gone? Just like that, without a word, without a goodbye? My mind raced, trying to replay every last moment with her, trying to find the signs I missed. How could I have left her alone? The guilt clawed at my insides, tearing at me with every second that passed.

But I remained still. Emotionless. I couldn't break, not in front of them. So I stood there, my soul shattered into a thousand pieces, trapped in my own silent agony.

Part 3: Final Moments

Uncle Xin Chen broke the suffocating silence again, his voice steady, though the weight of his words crushed me further. "I'm gathering the neighbors to arrange your mother's cremation. So, spend as much time as you can with her before we start."

The finality of it all hit me like a wave of ice-cold water. I nodded, my throat too tight to speak, and walked towards her room. My legs felt like lead, each step heavier than the last, my mind swirling with thoughts I couldn't grasp. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Not today, not ever.

I pushed the door open slowly, the creak of the hinges louder than ever in the oppressive quiet. She was there, lying peacefully as if she were simply asleep. But the stillness in the room told me otherwise. The air was thick with a sorrow I could almost taste. I moved closer, my breath shaky as I sat down beside her, staring at her face, still so familiar and yet so distant.

I wanted to reach out, to hold her, but my hands trembled too much. Instead, I sat there, tears blurring my vision as I stared at the woman who had given everything for me. My mind was flooded with memories of her – her laughter, her warmth, her voice. And then, like an echo from the past, her words came back to me, words she had spoken so many times:

*"Li Wei, my son, dreams are the light that guides us. But remember, sometimes, fulfilling the dreams of those you love can be the most profound dream of all."*

I hadn't understood them then. I thought it was just another piece of advice she gave to guide me through life. But sitting there, next to her still form, I finally understood what she meant. She had carried my dreams, even as hers faded away. Every sacrifice she made, every time she put herself second, it was all for me.

The realization cut deep, and I felt a sob rise in my throat, but I swallowed it down, refusing to break. She had given me everything, and I had been so consumed by my own dreams, my own desires, that I hadn't seen her pain, her exhaustion. I hadn't been there for her when she needed me most.

The guilt was overwhelming, but as I sat there, I made a silent promise to her. I would carry her memory with me, and I would live not just for myself, but for her too. Her dreams would live on through me, and I would make sure her sacrifices weren't in vain.

I leaned in closer, my voice barely a whisper as I spoke, "I'm sorry, Mom. I should've seen you... I should've been here." Tears finally fell, and I let them. "But I promise... I'll make you proud."

The room remained silent, but in that stillness, I felt her presence, a warmth that had always been there, guiding me. And for a brief moment, I could almost hear her voice again, comforting me, telling me that it was okay.

As I sat beside her, holding onto the last moments I would ever have with her, I knew that nothing would ever be the same. But I would carry her with me, in every step, every breath, every dream I chased from this day forward.