One Last Litany

The woman on the bed still wasn't responding, but my son Adam was already used to it. He carefully placed the cracker by the pillow, then devoured his own half.

He touched his stomach… He was still hungry.

My son subconsciously glanced at the uneaten piece of cracker, then walked into the kitchen and drank a large bowl of cold water from a cup, as if he had done it many times.

My soul floated in the air, my heart aching as I watched this scene.

Was this still my dear, beloved Adam? My baby boy, who would cry if dinner was even a little late?

How could he have become like this when I had only been gone for three days?

The phone screen suddenly lit up, revealing the family photo used as its wallpaper. It had been taken in a cozy room—Casper Hawthorne still had his arm around me and our son, the two of them laughing at the camera while I was still asleep.

Their similar faces showed the same cheerfulness.

That day, when I was still sleeping, Casper had brought our son in, tiptoeing and whispering, "Adam, Mommy is sleeping in again, should we wake her up together?"

Our son had nodded, smiling mischievously. "Okay, Daddy."

Casper had raised his eyebrows and then took out a delicate feather pen from behind his back. Then, he had gently placed it on the tip of my nose. He tickled me once… Twice… until I couldn't help but sneeze. I sat up angrily and grabbed a pillow, wanting to smack him with a hit.

"Casper Hawthorne!" I had yelled.

Casper pulled our son in front of him as if asking for help. "Adam! Quick! Help Daddy stop Mommy!"

A chaotic and playful scene had then unfolded.

The warm scene sparked a memory in my son. He looked at the feather in the picture with wonder, his eyes shining brightly. "Is that how Daddy used to wake up sleepy Mommy?"

He put down the phone and hurried to the bedside. "Mommy, I know how to wake you up now. I'm going back to our old home to get the feather!"

Watching my son walk out so determinedly, I was stunned for a moment, subconsciously wanting to pick up the shoes on the floor and put them on for him. Alas, my outstretched hand passed through the air without resistance.

That was… Yeah. I forgot.

I was already dead. I couldn't take care of my dear boy anymore.

Leaving the house, I followed my son to the Hawthorne family residence.

It was New Year's Eve today, and the streets were filled with the scent of fireworks. The mood around us was lively, filled with the joyous sounds of family gatherings.

In front of the magnificent residence, a tall, handsome man was having a snowball fight in the yard with a girl who was only six years old. A woman was also standing at the side, her eyes filled with satisfaction. The man's gentle voice could be heard from time to time, "Slow down, don't fall."

What a harmonious scene.

My son saw this scene through the fence, blinked his eyes, and felt somewhat sad. He and Casper would frequently have snowball fights on New Year's Eve in the past, too.

He raised his eyes to wipe away the tears on his face and then tiptoed to press the doorbell.

Soon, someone came to open the door.

It wasn't Casper, it was Sydney. Sydney Edwards.

Sydney's smile vanished instantly when she saw my son, her expression replaced by a look of deep suspicion. "Why are you here?"