Regrets After the Split: Does It Matter

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The day I sign the divorce papers, I book a train ticket back to my hometown.

With just my phone, passport, and a nearly empty bank card, that are all I have left after all these years.

The butler calls to remind me there are still some of my things left behind.

“Just throw them away; I don’t want them.” I tell him.

“But Master Aaron is asking for his mom…” He hesitates.

“He’ll have a new mom soon, the one he’s been dreaming about.”

My son looks just like his dad, and of course, he loves the same woman his dad loves.

I used to feel sad, wondering why that person couldn’t be me.

But now I’ve over it. If there’s no love, then so be it. It’s whatever.

Before the train leaves, I say one last thing into the phone.

“Tell Aaron not to worry; I’ll never disturb him again for the rest of my life.”

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After saying that, I hang up and switch my SIM card.

From this moment on, this city and I are done for good.

Sitting next to me is a little girl about Aaron’s age, wide–eyed and

ing me War

I used to love kids, but now, nothing interests me anymore.

The girl is quiet throughout the journey, while her parent blare on the

phone, cursing and shouting without a care in the world.

So, I put on my headphones and close my eyes to take a nap.

I don’t know how much time has passed when someone gently tugs at my sleeve.

I open my eyes to see her.

The little girl presses her lips together: “Miss, my mommy’s gone. Can you help me find her?”

The aisle seat on the bench is currently vacant.

I don’t know what happened, so I immediately call for the attendant and the police officer on board.

After a round of questioning, they discover that the girl’s mom has gotten off at the previous stop.

Before leaving, she has kept looking back anxiously, as if afraid the

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little girl would follow her.

In other words, the girl is abandoned.

The car is full of noise, with passengers gossiping loudly, saying her mom is heartless and how pitiful the girl is.

The little girl remains quiet in her seat, not crying or fussing. Her big eyes blink at me, then she opens her mouth, saying she wants to go home with me instead of going to a children’s welfare institution.

To spare her feelings, I think for a moment and show my passport to the officer, leaving my home address and contact details.

So when I get off the train, aside from my phone, passport, and a nearly empty bank card,

I’m also taking in a child.

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