Chapter 1
It had been seven years after my husband died in a mountain climbing accident in the Alps, and I still hadn’t broken the habit of chatting with him every single day on w******p.
I’d also long grown used to never getting a single reply back.
This New Year’s Eve, my Alzheimer’s-stricken mother-in-law wandered off again. I was running a 40-degree fever, but I still searched for her until deep into the night.
When I finally dragged my fever-weakened body home, I found I'd left the door unlocked. Every last bit of cash and anything valuable we'd had left was stolen, clean gone.
After I got my mother-in-law settled and calmed down into bed, I sank down amid all the broken, tossed-apart mess and pulled out my phone.
I typed a message.
Willow: Maxwell Sanders, how dare you leave me here all alone?
The long-silent chat box with his name on it suddenly pinged alive with a new message.
Maxwell Sanders: What do you want with my dad?
My heart completely stopped. Chills shot up my spine, and every hair on my body stood straight on end.
Willow: Who is this?
The 'Someone is typing...' notification popped up, then vanished again.
No reply came.
The next day, I typed and sent a message back to the person on the other end of the chat.
Willow: Your mom passed. We're laying her to rest in three days.
*****
After the initial numbness faded, countless possibilities flashed through my mind. I searched frantically online and posted for help on forums.
"My deceased husband's w******p suddenly replied. What does this mean? Can inactive accounts be reassigned to someone else?"
People online said it was impossible. As long as the phone plan remained active, the account would not be deleted.
A: [A mountain accident in the Alps? Was his body ever found? What if your husband never actually died? Maybe he started a new family somewhere else and even had children.]
B: [The person above makes a good point. That's honestly terrifying.]
C: [If you told him his mother had died, he'd definitely come back.]
Three days later, a black SUV stopped outside the cemetery gates, and a man stepped out.
I would never mistake that figure. It was Maxwell Sanders.
I clenched my teeth tightly, my entire body trembling uncontrollably.
After he walked farther away, I secretly attached a GPS tracker beneath the vehicle.
Five hours later, the signal finally stopped moving.
I followed it there and found an upscale residential neighborhood filled with luxury villas.
I loved flowers, and Maxwell had once promised me that someday he would buy us a villa with a small garden.
I used to joke and ask if we'd finally move in by the time we turned eighty.
He laughed and said he'd give me a discount and make it happen by forty.
Then he seriously wrote me an IOU.
Today, Maxwell Sanders owes
Willow Delaney one villa, to be repaid in sixteen years
As of today, there were still three years remaining.
I stood outside too long, and eventually a security guard approached me, asking what I needed and who I was looking for.
Snapping back to reality, I took a deep breath and pulled out a photo. "I'm looking for this car."
He clearly recognized it. His expression instantly became guarded, and he was about to speak when Maxwell Sanders and his family of three rode out from inside the neighborhood on road bikes.
They were all wearing matching family outfits.
The woman suddenly stopped, blinking as if something had flown into her eye.
Maxwell immediately threw his bike onto the ground and hurried over nervously to check on her, gently blowing into her eye. Then he kissed her hard.
The woman lightly smacked him with a playful smile. "What are you doing? People are watching."
"So what if they are? Kissing my wife isn't illegal."
The little girl burst into cheerful laughter.
"Look at Mr. Sanders and Mrs. Sanders. They've been married for seven years, but they're still like a couple in the honeymoon phase."
"Mrs. Sanders had a child, but her figure hasn't changed at all. She still looks like a young girl. Forget men, even I can't help looking at her twice."
Two dog walkers passed by me while chatting quietly between themselves.
The Maxwell Sanders, who had supposedly died seven years ago, abandoning both his wife and elderly mother, had now become a husband and started an entirely new life.
Then what did all my years of agonizing longing amount to? What did it mean that I worked multiple jobs every day, taking care of his mother with Alzheimer's disease and fulfilling his responsibilities in his place?
My eyes reddened as I walked forward and stood directly in the middle of the road.
Maxwell slammed on the brakes, shock filling his eyes.
I smiled faintly "Long time no see, Mr. Sanders."
