When My Hands Were Ruined

The delivery driver handed me a stiff cardboard envelope. "Joshua Wood, sign here, please. It's from the visa center."

My hand tightened around the pen, and for a second, it trembled. In my previous life, I had only glanced at this envelope. By that very night, it was gone, along with my passport.

I tore the house apart looking for them, sweating so badly that I could barely think. My mom's eyes were red from crying as she said, "It's my fault. I should've kept them somewhere safe."

Then, the fire came.

After that, I never had another chance to find them.

This time, after signing for the envelope, I held it tightly against my chest.

"You got it?" My mother stepped out of the kitchen with flour still on her hands. The moment she saw the passport, her eyes lit up. "Let me see."

I closed the passport. "I put it away."

She froze for a second, then smiled. "I just want to take a look. It's not like I've never seen your documents before."

I did not move. The smile on her face slowly stiffened.

"Joshua, who are you so worried about?"

That tone was painfully familiar. Soft, with just enough hurt and disappointment woven into it.

In my previous life, that tone got me every time.

The moment she asked something like that, I would start explaining. I would hand whatever I was holding straight to her, terrified she would think I did not trust her or that I was not close enough to her anymore.

Not this time.

I slipped the passport into the inner pocket of my sheet-music case and fastened the security clasp. "It's an important document. I should manage it myself."

My mother's eyes quickly turned red. "So now that you're going abroad, you think I'm too ignorant to even touch your things?"

Our neighbor Hannah Tomlinson came over from next door with a bowl of freshly washed cherries in her hands. She had clearly heard everything, because the moment she walked in, her expression darkened.

"Joshua, she just wants to see your passport. What's the big deal? Why won't you let her look at it?"

My mother lowered her head, her voice trembling. "Forget it. He's grown up. He has his own world now. I'm just a burden to him."

Hannah immediately turned to me. "Joshua, you can't treat your mother like this. She raised you all by herself. You know better than anyone how hard she's worked all these years."

I looked at both of them.

"I know my mom has worked hard. But working hard doesn't mean she gets to keep my passport for me."

Hannah stared at me, clearly caught off guard.

My mother lifted her eyes. For the briefest instant, something unsettling flashed through them, quick as a needle. Then, she started crying again.

"Joshua, I'm not trying to control you. I'm just scared. You're going so far away. You don't even know the language that well. What if you get sick? What if someone scams you?"

"I'm 22," I said.

Her head snapped up. "What does being 22 have to do with anything? You could be 82, and you'd still be my son!"

Her voice suddenly rose, and all the emotions she had been holding back for years burst out at once.

"Your father died young. I gave up almost everything to raise you all these years. And now that you're grown up and have a life of your own, you're just going to leave whenever you want? Did you ever stop to think about what I'm supposed to do?"

I lowered my eyes. I had heard those words my entire previous life. Every single time, I let her win.

However, this time, I only asked one question, "You want me to stay?"

My mother froze. The water in the kitchen continued to drip. Her lips moved, but in the end, she slipped back into that same helpless, pitiful expression. "I'm not that selfish. I just can't bear to see you go."

I smiled. "Good. I'm leaving tomorrow."