Chapter 25
The guests whispers rose like a tide:
How do they have the nerve to show up? Do they think everyone’s forgotten what they did to Jordan?
They were so biased and hurt her so much, now they’re crawling back because she’s surful, trying to guilt trip her.”
“Where’s security? They should be removed immediately!”
Emmett started forward, but Jordan gently placed her hand over his.
She straightened her back and walked to the entrance, bathed in winter sunlight.
“When you pushed me into the abyss, you should have anticipated this day would come,” she said calmly, her eyes showing no affection for the pair. Turning away, she heard her mother’s heart wrenching cries but never faltered in her steps.
“We’ve admitted our mistakes? Why are you so heartless? We’re bound by blood!”
“We even confronted Maxwell Stone for you! We helped you get revenge! Why won’t you forgive us? We were right all along–you ARE ungrateful! I should have drowned you the moment you were born!”
Instantly, police officers appeared and silenced them, nodding respectfully to the couple.
“Mr. Calloway, Miss Hayes, these troublemakers are being charged with harassinent. We’ll remove them now.”
Their whimpering was quickly drowned by celebratory cheers as everyone tactfully ignored the incident, offering congratulations instead.
At the back of the crowd, Maxwell Stone stood beneath a sycamore tree outside the hall, wearing a faded military uniform.
He watched the radiant bride inside, remembering a little girl with pigtails who had once pressed a good–luck charm into his palm, saying “Stay safe, Max.”
The wind stirred fallen leaves around his feet. He raised his hand in a military salute, ultimately choosing not to approach, disappearing into the dusk.
After marriage, Jordan’s creative inspiration flowed abundantly.
Her works appeared in prestigious literary journals, and royalty checks arrived steadily.
Emmett continued teaching at the university, accompanying her on rural research trips during school breaks.
They lived in a small apartment building–cramped but homey. Whenever Jordan worked late into the night, Emmett would quietly prepare strong coffee and place golden–toasted bread slices beside her.
Meanwhile, after Jordan’s wedding, Maxwell had requested a transfer to the remote border. He couldn’t bear to remain in places filled with memories.
The desert winds quickly weathered his once–sharp features, his back gradually stooping beneath his camouflage uniform.
Comrades often saw him staring at a good–luck charm he wore–the one Jordan had gotten him from a temple fair when she was ten. The red string had faded, the paper yellowed and brittle–the only memento of Jordan he had kept.
In the deep autumn of 1988, Jordan received a package from the border region. The delivery man looked at her hesitantly before finally sighing deeply.
“Colonel Stone sacrificed his life defending our country… These are items he entrusted to his comrades to send to you before his death.”
“My condolences.”
She trembled as she accepted it. Inside the yellowed envelope were several unsent letters and the faded charm.
The handwriting on the letters was blurred by water stains. The final page read: “Jordan, I dare not ask your forgiveness these years, only hope that
you are well…”
14:46
My Womb? No! My Pen is My Weapon Now!
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བདགས། འདུ
The equined hry Moth, but tears fall find.
All she had experienced in his previsis life seemed to flash before her eyes. Now, the man who had caused her so much pain was gone, their final encounter ending se ignominiously.
Teardrops fell onto the charm. Jordan enddenly remembered her childhood–Maxwell carrying her on hit back to watch open air movies. She wondered when exactly the brother who had protected and cared for her had let his heart stray.
Emmett gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, embracing her shoulders. “It’s all in th
Ourside, the first snow fell, seemingly covering all grievances.
- OW.
Three months later, Jordan wrote in the preface of her new book: “Life may contain suffering, but it will eventually dissipate, transforming into the light that illuminates our path forward.”
The following spring, her publisher held a book launch.
In the crowd, two shabbily dressed figures lingered outside the venue.
Her parents, separated by glass, watched their radiant daughter on stage, their eyes filled with regret, tears blurring their vision.
Meanwhile, Jordan held Emmett’s hand, answering reporters‘ questions. Outside, magnolias bloomed magnificently, the spring breeze carrying the scent of hope.
Years later, in a border martyrs‘ cemetery, a simple gravestone regularly received bunches of wild azaleas.
Some said they were sent by a writer each year, though only the spring breeze knew the reason why.
In a small courtyard in the city, Jordan and Emmett sat under a grape trellis, looking through yellowed old photographs.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, highlighting the wrinkles at the corners of their eyes–peaceful days, a stable present.
14:46
My Womb? No! My Pen is My Weapon Now!
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