Chapter 8

After that day, David and Erika never returned to the retreat center.

Days at the facility passed slowly—rehabilitation in the morning, medication at noon, and helping out in the greenhouse in the afternoon.

A year later, I took a trip back home, wanting to visit the orphanage where I had grown up. The director had aged considerably.

Her eyes instantly welled with tears the moment she saw me. "It's so good to see you again."

I offered a soft smile.

The orphanage had undergone a renovation. Inside the classroom for deaf and hard-of-hearing children, the equipment was brand new, and the walls were decorated with colorful drawings made by the kids.

"Erika donated all of this," explained the director.

I paused in surprise, and she continued, "She comes by every week to teach the children how to read lips and practice their pronunciation. She even learned Sign Language. Her health still isn't great, but she always arrives early."

Through the window, I saw Erika sitting inside the classroom. She had lost a lot of weight, and her hair was cut short.

Holding a deaf little girl in her lap, she patiently demonstrated mouth shapes. When the girl struggled and burst into tears of frustration, Erika would gently lean down to wipe them away.

"Don't rush, sweetheart. Take your time."

I stood outside the window, watching for a long time. As if sensing something, Erika suddenly looked up. Through the glass, her eyes locked onto mine.

She went rigid, tears flooding her eyes, but she didn't run out after me. She simply stood in place, slowly signing to me. "I'm sorry."

I understood and nodded lightly. Then I turned around and walked away.

The news about David came from the orphanage director as well. He had bought the old building next to the orphanage and converted it into a rehabilitation center for hearing-impaired children, naming it "Hazel's Voice".

The director mentioned that he came by almost every month, sometimes staying for an entire day. He would sit silently in the back row of the classroom, watching the children practice listening to sounds.

Later that afternoon, I caught sight of him in the backyard. He was far quieter than he used to be. Dressed in a black overcoat, he held an old hearing aid in his hand—the same one I used to wear years ago.

He stood beneath an oak tree, staring down at the hearing aid, lost in thought. I didn't walk over, and he never noticed me.

At dusk, as the director walked me to the front gate, I noticed a photograph on the small bulletin board near the entrance.

In the picture, David and Erika stood among a group of smiling children, positioned far apart from one another.

"They never got together after all," the director explained. "David has stayed on his own this whole time, and Erika has remained single, too."

I paused, and the director let out a soft sigh. "They say it's better this way."

I looked down and let out a quiet laugh.

People were truly strange. Once upon a time, they loved each other behind my back. Later, when they were finally free to be together, neither dared to take a step forward.

If Erika had just been upfront with me and admitted she loved David... If David had told me directly that I wasn't the one he loved...

Maybe I would have cried; maybe I would have been heartbroken. But I would have stepped aside. I never wanted to trap anyone by my side.

But life didn't offer "what-ifs."

I lost a child. Erika lost the right to love someone openly and honorably. And David lost the girl whose eyes used to shine only for him.

None of us had won.

Before leaving the orphanage, I visited the grave they had set for me. It stood on the hill behind the property, bearing my name and a line of words.

"Peace, smooth paths, and everlasting blessings."

The handwriting belonged to David.

In front of the headstone lay a bouquet of sunflowers and a small card from Erika.

The words on it read, "Hazel, I taught one of the kids to say 'thank you' today."

I squatted down, staring at the items for a long time. In the end, I tucked the card back under the flowers instead of taking it.

The Hazel Pratt they missed was dead. And the version of me alive today had a new name, a new hearing aid, and a new life.

...

I moved back overseas and opened a small flower shop near the retreat center.

On bright, sunny days, I would sit out front and soak in the warmth.

Sometimes, children who were hard of hearing came by to buy flowers, and I would speak to them slowly, writing things down on a pad if they couldn't catch my words.

When spring arrived, I received a letter from the orphanage director. Inside was a photograph showing David standing by the doors of the rehab center and Erika sitting surrounded by children.

They both looked a little older and a lot more peaceful.

On the back of the photo, the director had written: [They're both doing fine, but they miss you dearly.]

I slid the photo into a drawer and didn't write back.

Outside the window, flowers were in full bloom. I touched my belly; the pain was gone now.

"Baby, I am living a good life now," I whispered into the air.

A breeze rustled the wind chime in the doorway. I looked up as golden sunlight washed over the flower shop.

From now on, I no longer had to sacrifice my happiness for anyone.