Chapter 9: Chapter Nine: Happy Birthday

Randolph Wallace's visit surprised me, yet it was also within reason. After all these years of his obsession, how could he let me go so easily?

This week of peaceful life was nothing but a brief illusion before the storm. I had known this from the start, so I followed everything Stan Wallace said, neither seeing nor hearing, letting the problems lie there, and trying to enjoy as much of this tranquility as possible.

But what needs to be faced will eventually come.

I slowly took off my slippers and placed them aside, tiptoed to the sofa, grabbed my phone, and returned to my room, even my breathing was kept low, afraid that the devil sixteen floors below would catch a whiff of my presence.

After gently closing the door, I installed an old SIM card. The screen of the phone gradually lit up, showing that the unread message counts for two Whatsapp contacts had reached 99+, one from my mother, the other from my stepfather.

Opening my mother's Whatsapp, I scrolled from bottom to top, and as the dates approached the day I left, it was like witnessing someone slowly going mad.

[Gloria, Mom loves you, please come home, okay?]

[Please come back, for Mom's sake.]

As time moved forward, her tone became increasingly sharp and piercing, until the final texts and voice messages were filled with rage and screams.

[Your life is mine, Gloria Kit, get back here!]

[If you don't care about my life or death, your father won't rest in peace, he will hate you, and so will I!!]

I numbly swiped through, stubbornly reading every message, whether text or voice, even if they cut like knives and arrows, leaving me wounded all over.

After finishing the last message, I finally confirmed that the loving and caring mother I once knew was gone. At that moment, I couldn't tell if I felt more sorrow or grief.

I didn't read my stepfather's messages. Knowing my mother's stance, his threats meant nothing to me, and his pleas only made me feel disgusted.

Clutching the phone tightly in my hand, the edges digging into my flesh, I buried my head between my curled legs and sobbed quietly, feeling suffocated and breathless, as if a heavy stone was pressing down on my heart, making my insides feel crushed.

I couldn't think rationally.

Darkness enveloped me, and this time, I didn't want to hide. I hoped it would swallow me whole, as quickly as possible.

In my self-abandonment, I found a twisted sense of relief. If I died now, before my mother, would my father not blame me?

Suddenly, the phone vibrated in my hand, probably because too many messages had just popped up, and some were delayed in appearing.

I gasped, first blinded by the bright light, then through blurry vision, I saw the words.

It was from Stan Wallace, sent just a minute before midnight—Happy Birthday.

Afraid I might have misread, I rubbed my eyes hard with my sleeve, and in the gradually clearing vision, I confirmed it was indeed Stan Wallace.

I always thought Stan Wallace didn't know my birthday, or if he did, he wouldn't pay much attention to it, treating it like any ordinary Monday, rushing through without notice or celebration. It had been like that for the past two years.

Staring blankly at the simple four words, I lost track of time. I sniffled, wiped away my tears with my sleeve, and stopped crying.

The intense crying had left my hands trembling, and it took several attempts to turn off the phone and replace the SIM card with the new one Stan Wallace gave me.

After washing my face, I tiptoed to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Randolph Wallace was no longer in sight in the neighborhood, but I wasn't sure if he was still lurking in some dark corner. So, I stood by the window for nearly an hour before changing into a newly bought sports outfit, putting on a mask and a hat, and heading out.

Randolph Wallace works at a trading company, earning a regular salary for most of his life, with limited free time. I had noted that over the past three years, he almost always went to work on weekends, returning home very late, which were the rare days I felt a bit at ease.

Today was Saturday, and I guessed he had used his evening break to come here, not staying long to avoid being noticed by Stan Wallace.

And tomorrow, Sunday, he would have the same evening break, and he would come again.

As a resident, I first checked the visitor log at the security office, but didn't see Randolph Wallace's name; he might have used an alias.

I then asked the property management to review the surveillance footage from 5 PM to 7 PM.

The video showed that Randolph Wallace entered the building around 6:10 PM, following another resident. The security assumed he was a friend and didn't question him.

He stayed in the neighborhood for an hour and thirteen minutes before leaving. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before he found me.

I pointed to the man on the screen and told the property management, “Please keep an eye on this person. I suspect he is stalking me.”

Whether true or not, as a resident's feedback, the property management would take it seriously, though it couldn't guarantee absolute safety, it would at least reduce the risk.

Next, I went to a nearby mall and bought a fruit knife.

When choosing a knife, I hesitated for a long time, ultimately selecting the smallest one. This way, even in a crisis, it would serve as protection without causing serious harm to Stan Wallace's father.

After doing all this, I went back to rest. Before sleeping, I reviewed Randolph Wallace's work schedule in my mind and set alarms on my phone for the times he might show up.

I then sent a Whatsapp message to Stan Wallace using the new number. He was now the only contact in my Whatsapp, easy to find.

[Brother, I'm going to have hotpot with classmates at J City tomorrow. We planned this before graduation, at that famous Chinese restaurant. There are four of us, two girls and two boys.]

[I won't stay long, and I’ll take a taxi home after dinner. Don't worry.]

It was almost midnight when I sent the message. Normally, Stan Wallace would be asleep by this time, so I didn't expect a reply. Just as I was about to sleep, my phone vibrated.

Stan Wallace: Okay, got it.

I stared at the message for a while, surprised that Stan Wallace didn't find me annoying or say that I didn't need to tell him these things.

I replied with a "Okay" emoji and went to sleep.