Chapter 115: Repeated Acts of Forgetting

A month later, Yonalette and Evette had grown accustomed to their nocturnal outings. Together, beneath the Tower of London, they savored cream-laden trifles, and before the “Little Cucumber” at 30 St. Mary Axe, they discussed the peculiar shapes of buildings. Their conversations ranged from the distinctions among Christianity, Catholicism, and Orthodoxy to the doctor couple who had visited the orphanage that day. Anything could become their topic. Yonalette and Evette resembled a mother and daughter bound by friendship.

“Evette, why did you get divorced?” Yonalette suddenly asked as they walked side by side.

“Do you know what marriage is?” Evette’s voice carried a faint sorrow.

“No, I don’t.” Over the past month, their talks had given Yonalette a rudimentary understanding of the world. She knew that many things were far more complex than they appeared. Thus, her answer to the same question had changed after a month.

“If a boy loves a girl, and that girl loves the boy in return, then love forms the foundation of marriage. But love alone isn’t enough to sustain a marriage.”

“What else is needed?”

“Many things. Among them, responsibility is the most crucial. Yonalette, if someday you find yourself in love, always remember that a fleeting passion cannot uphold the word ‘marriage.’ Do you like candy?” Evette stopped walking. She didn’t look at Yonalette but gazed instead at the river flowing under the cover of night.

“Yes, I love watermelon-flavored hard candy the most.” Yonalette was not confused by the sudden question. From past experience, she guessed that Evette intended to explain a new concept through metaphor.

“Love is like fruit candy. You like it because of its flavor, but if you keep eating the same taste, one day you will grow weary of its monotony.”

“Did you divorce because you grew tired of it?” Yonalette lifted her head to meet Evette’s eyes.

“Yes.” Evette’s gaze drifted past Yonalette.

“After your divorce, did you find something that interested you?”

“No.”

“So, that night you left the orphanage to search for something meaningful to you?”

“Yes.”

“Evette, are you afraid of loneliness?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then hold my hand.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid of loneliness too. But whenever I think of you, my heart fills with hope for the future. If you ever feel lonely, try thinking of me—we are the very best of friends.”

Yonalette’s hand was not taken; instead, Evette pulled her into a tight embrace. “Sometimes I think, if only you were my child.”

“You were married before, so you had your own child, right?” Yonalette stroked Evette’s hair gently. She felt that caressing was a way to express love, just as Evette often touched her.

“Yes.” Evette’s voice held a trace of helpless sigh.

“Did you lose him?”

“No, but I rarely see him.”

“Because of the divorce? Did the orphanage take your child after you divorced?”

“No. He lives with his father—the man I married.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a useless mother. I...” Evette’s voice faltered.

Yonalette hugged Evette tenderly. She keenly sensed that this woman, who could easily be her own mother, was caught in the whirlpool of sorrow.

“If you want me to be your child, then please marry soon. I’ll be waiting for you at the orphanage.”

Evette wanted to cry out loud but held back. “I’m not a good mother.”

“That’s okay. I’m different from the children at the orphanage; perhaps I’m not a good child either.” Yonalette’s voice was like a gentle breeze brushing against Evette’s heart. She lifted her head and kissed Evette’s forehead.

If everything continued to unfold with such tenderness, perhaps the world would gain a genuine mother and daughter.

On a quiet afternoon, Evette answered a call that felt like a stone cast into a lake.

“Evette.” The voice, both unfamiliar and familiar, made Evette instantly recognize who was on the other end.

“Is there something wrong, Warren?” She felt a flicker of fear. This man never called without reason. His passionless, stagnant nature was precisely why she had divorced him. A foreboding cloud settled over her heart.

“Lucas is ill.” His voice tore through the silence like a tearing tablecloth.

“What’s wrong with him?” As a mother, panic surged within Evette.

“The follow-up treatment requires a huge sum. I’ve borrowed all I can. I hope you can help too.”

“How much more?”

“At least two hundred thousand.”

When the call ended, Evette sat dazed on a bench, her mind in turmoil. She had barely any savings left. After transferring the little money she had to her ex-husband’s account, she stared blankly.

“Mom.” Those were the first words the little boy ever spoke in this world—a tender, warm address.

“Mom, why are you angry? Did Dad make you angry?”

“Mom, why did you go out? Did I do something wrong?”

“Mom, living with us—is it very painful for you?”

“Mom, if only you could love me like a nun would.”

She never truly loved that man. It was youthful ignorance that led her to marry and bear a child. Facing the wrong man, all she gained from that marriage was endless pain.

She once resented the child, thinking he was not a gift but a creature who harmed her body and shattered her life. More than once, she wondered if she had never been pregnant, would she have avoided marrying that man and escaping such torment?

But as she grew older, she realized she was merely a mother venting her inner turmoil on her child. She was not a good mother. The guilt within her sprouted like wild thorns. Eventually, she decided to become a nun, a form of atonement, as she no longer dared to look at her son.

When Evette saw the boy through the visitation window, his appearance somewhat changed, a wave of guilt surged in her heart. Lucas, in the times without your mother’s company, are you safe and well?

“I need a lot of money.” A deep voice spoke.

Evette turned to see a disheveled man, sweat-stained clothes dried on his thin face. After many years, she saw Warren Griffin again—her former husband—now lifeless, worn, and lost like a vagabond.

“Are you still a drummer?” Evette’s voice was devoid of emotion.

After a long silence, Warren answered, “Yes.”

“Did you succeed?” Evette asked a question whose answer she already knew, her heart burning with resentment. She wanted to tear open the man’s wounds with that question.

Warren did not reply. Perhaps he sensed the vengeful tone, or perhaps he no longer cared. “There’s only a week—at most a week. Every day that passes lowers the chance of a successful surgery.”

“I’ll find a way,” Evette said deliberately. Then the two parents in the corridor fell into silence, just as they had the night they signed their divorce papers years ago.

Evette left the hospital. She glanced back at the red cross painted above the entrance, then closed her eyes and offered the most devout prayer of her life: If You truly watch over me, please show me the way.

“Is this Leonie? This is Evette... Thank you, I believe he will recover.” Evette hung up the phone, overwhelmed by helplessness. She had tried every method, but the sum remained far out of reach.

The church launched a fundraising campaign, but few responded. Everyone struggled in life; no one had spare kindness. Too many were afflicted, and her prayers waited in a long queue before God.

“Evette, may I come in?” Yonalette’s soft voice sounded.

“Of course.” Evette forced a smile, but Yonalette stared straight into her eyes.

“Evette, why didn’t you come to see me last night?”

“Sorry.”

“Were you upset?”

“No...” Evette did not want the little girl to know of such helpless matters, but before she could finish, Yonalette interrupted.

“Evette, haven’t you forgotten? The essential things can be seen with the heart.” Yonalette embraced Evette, sensing her pain clearly.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but remember, we are always friends. If you want me, I will always come.” Yonalette kissed Evette’s cheek and then walked away.

Only after Yonalette’s figure vanished did Evette bite her lip and quietly weep.

Walking down the corridor, Yonalette watched children her age chasing and playing below. She stretched out her hand to feel the sunlight upon her pale skin.

In truth, Yonalette’s visit was not only to ask why Evette had not come the previous night. She had something more important to say.

That morning, an elderly woman came to the orphanage seeking to adopt a child. Sister Freja had the children form a choir to sing for the woman. Yonalette keenly sensed the woman’s gaze lingering on her. At noon, Sister Freja accompanied the woman to see her.

“My little angel, would you like to live with me? You could be my granddaughter. I would love you like Sister Freja loves you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to be your child. I want to be Sister Evette’s child.”

Sister Freja and the elderly woman laughed together. Yonalette did not understand why. Was wishing to be someone’s child something to be mocked? Then why were those who wanted to become parents not laughed at?

“She’s such a lovely child.”

“Mrs. Asgar, she’s always been so.”

Although Sister Freja and the woman eventually left her room, Yonalette felt uneasy. She decided to find Evette and explain everything.

But upon seeing the sorrow in Evette’s eyes, she forgot her purpose. So sensitive, looking into those saddened eyes, she felt a strange urge to cry.

As night fell, the absence of Sister Evette throughout the day drew attention.

“Sister Evette, may I come in?” Sister Freja stood at the door.

“Please.”

“I brought some bread.”

“Thank you.”

“How much is still needed for the surgery?”

“Fifty thousand. Could you help me a little more?” Evette’s eyes brightened.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do more. God watches over us. Everything will unfold according to His will. He loves His lambs and is always with us. All will turn out well.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you know the child Yonalette?” After a moment of silence, Sister Freja spoke again.

“What’s wrong with her?” Evette looked up at Sister Freja.

“Don’t worry, nothing bad. An elderly woman named Mrs. Asgar Adams wants to adopt a child from our orphanage. She likes Yonalette very much. Today I went with her to see Yonalette, but the child seems very attached to you. I think you should talk to her. Growing up in a proper family is far better than in an orphanage.”

“Did she refuse adoption because of me?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps she sees you as her mother, but we both know that being adopted is the better choice for her.”

Sister Freja sighed, looking at the silent Evette. “I see every child here as my own, just like you. But sometimes, I have to make choices—choices that are better for the children. We cannot give them a real home. Please think carefully.”

That night, Evette did not go to their usual meeting place with Yonalette. She lay in bed, her gaze lost in the darkness. No one knew what she was thinking.

A sudden knock came at her door. Sister Freja entered with a hint of joy on her face. “God bless. I spoke with Mrs. Asgar about your son. She said she is willing to pay the remaining surgery fees.”

“Really?” Evette found it hard to believe.

“Yes, but you have to persuade Yonalette. She truly loves that child.”

“I will.” Evette paused, then nodded.