Chapter 17
I hadn’t yet written about what happened afterward, so he didn’t know.
I replied coldly,
“He’s not okay.
“He died three years ago.”
The phone slipped from Jackson’s hands, crashing to the floor.
It took a moment for the screen to shake and return to life.
He was almost in a state of collapse.
“He died??
“Why didn’t I know?
“Why didn’t you tell me??!”
“How do you think I feel?” I retorted.
“After all these years, has anyone in your family ever cared about him?”
Jackson trembled violently, too guilty to meet my gaze.
The first time I met Jackson’s parents, I tentatively asked if he had any siblings.
They dismissed it with a wave, saying, “No.”
Jackson himself said, “There used to be one, but you can just consider him dead.”
When I asked what he meant, he suddenly slammed a bowl, warning me,
“This family doesn’t speak of him.”
He hated Joseph for escaping the family, for turning him into the new victim.
“Don’t shed crocodile tears. Do you really think he ended up here by choice?
“It’s all because of you guys.”
Jackson hastily ended the call.
A few days later, Jackson’s parents came to find me. They told me that Jackson had gone missing.
I learned that on that day, Jackson had rushed home and smashed everything in sight. He told his parents that all
Chapter 17
the disasters were their fault. If it hadn’t been for them forcing Joseph to leave, he wouldn’t have gone to Congo (Kinshasa), wouldn’t have met me, and wouldn’t have died. He said everything was intertwined, and there was no escape. He also confessed that because of his repressed emotions, he mistakenly believed he had fallen for the unconventional Sara and missed his chance with me.
All of it was unsolvable.
Afterward, Jackson quit his job at the hospital and vanished.
“Zoey! How can you blame us for this?” Jackson’s parents pleaded. “As parents, we just wanted our son to make more money. What’s wrong with that? We told him to stay at the hospital, but he refused. Look at what happened, he’s gone! Isn’t this all his own fault?”
“How could Jackson be mad at us over this? We’re his parents!”
“We’re begging you, please make him come back! We’ve already lost one son, we can’t lose another!”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw my phone down.
“Get out!” I shouted. “You don’t deserve to be parents!”
Feeling utterly miserable, I aimlessly wandered back to that same forest. I found a large tree to sit under, watching the dappled sunlight on the ground, hugging my knees tightly.
Although Congo (Kinshasa) had only given me one chance, I could imagine how repressed he must have been in that household. The emergency contact Joseph listed in the Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) organization was originally his partner, but later, it became me. He never wanted his family to know about the hardships he was facing. Despite coming from such a broken family, he grew into such a kind, gentle, and selfless
person.
Thinking about it, a wave of sorrow filled my heart.
Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through, and a hard object fell from the tree, hitting me on the forehead. I picked it up and found it was a dog tag. Many people working in war zones carry dog tags to be identified in case of an accident. I thought it must have been left behind by some soldier, but when I turned it over, I saw the name “Joseph” engraved
on it.
My heart skipped a beat. I kept running my fingers over the name in disbelief. How could it be? Why would Joseph’s dog tag be here?
