I locked myself up.

I forced myself to forget Emma's painful tears that day. Her expression was so broken.

Just like when she woke up after losing her child to a miscarriage three years ago.

It was early autumn when that happened. Thought coldness might be normal during that time, I felt the chill crawled up and spread to all over my body. It caused me to dream every night, dreaming of Emma.

A few days later, I received a call from Jack.

“If you want to know the truth about three years ago, come to Sunset Funeral Home.”

The phone call had been abrupt and disjointed, but I couldn’t shake off the growing unease.

The truth? What truth could there have been?

Emma had loved Hudson. Even if I had forced her to marry me, her heart would still have belonged to Hudson.

She would have gone so far as to endanger the lives of our child and my mother, all for the sake of revenge against me.

That chill of dread had spread through my entire body again, making me tremble uncontrollably.

I couldn’t restrain myself. I had stumbled and run to my car, speeding all the way, but it had still been too late.

The incinerator at the crematorium had already been activated and the flames had danced across Jack’s sorrowful face.

“Emmy is gone.”

His words struck like a needle, piercing my heart and causing my legs to buckle. I had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing.

I must have looked a sight at that moment—neither crying nor smiling.

Doubts in my heart grew larger with the mounting anxiety and I could only open my mouth, trembling.

“Gone? Gone where? Where else could she go?”

His gaze silently shifted to the burning incinerator. The crackling and hissing noises inside constantly jangled my nerves.

Could he be implying that Emmy was in there?

That was impossible!

Absolutely impossible!

I went frantic, lunging at him and grabbing his collar tightly.

“Jack, I don’t have time for your games. Get Emma out here! Now!”

His face remained eerily calm, unnervingly so.

“She’s already dead. Late-stage cancer. There's no saving her.”

I let out a cold laugh.

“Late-stage cancer? What late-stage cancer? The day you picked her up from the hospital, you kept telling the doctor it was just her stomach ulcer problem! You must be lying to me!”

She had been perfectly fine just five days ago—how could she have suddenly died?

I felt all my strength drain away in an instant, my entire body wracked with a crushing pain that felt like countless needles were being pulled out and driven in.

Tears finally fell uncontrollably after he handed me a pile of Emmy's medical reports.

“Oliver, I don’t want to lie to you. Just look for yourself.”

Shaking, I took the stack of medical records, as thick as a pile of overdue paperwork and began to read each page carefully.

“Late-stage liver cancer, late-stage liver cancer, late-stage liver cancer…”

These words repeated relentlessly, burning into my eyes.

“This can’t be… How could this happen?”

I didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it. I lost all my strength and collapsed to the floor.

Jack carefully pulled out a yellowed notebook from his bag and handed it to me.

“Oliver, I found this diary among Emmy's belongings. It might hold the truth about what happened three years ago.”

“But the choice to know the truth is up to you.”

He extended the diary towards me, but I hesitated to take it.

The truth? What truth?

What if the truth was entirely my fault, if she spent her last moments resenting me for destroying the life she might have been happy with?

What then?

I could no longer distinguish what it was that I really wanted to know.

My hands hung at my sides for a long moment, but I finally gathered the courage to take the old, worn diary.

I flipped through a few pages in haste and the handwriting was unmistakably Emmy's.

Tears had already filled my eyes and as I looked at the familiar words, they kept dripping onto the pages.

I drove to the bridal store and stayed until it closed, deep into the night. I watched as a shadowy figure sneaked up to the second floor, searching for something.

The flickering flame of a lighter danced in front of the figure. As I got a closer look, I realized it was Luna.

Just as she was about to set the wedding dress on fire, I turned on all the lights. The harsh glare of the fluorescent bulbs illuminated her panic, making it all too clear.

Luna quickly put away the lighter and asked in surprise. “Oliver, why are you here? What are you doing?”

What she didn’t know was that this store was mine. I had opened it three years ago, for Emmy.

A few days ago, the store manager told me that Luna had been hanging around the area, acting suspiciously but never coming inside.

So I intentionally left a window open tonight, lying in wait for her to make her move.

“If I hadn’t been here, how would I have known you wanted to burn this wedding dress?”

It was the wedding dress I had designed for Emmy three years ago, adorned with rhinestones that sparkled like the ocean on the day we first met.

Gleaming, dazzling.

Luna stammered, unable to form a coherent response.

My anger erupted uncontrollably. I lunged at her, gripping her throat and forcing her down to the ground.

“It was you, spreading rumors about me being with you, photoshopping pictures and posting them online to make Emmy believe it.”

“It was you, bribing the nanny to give Emmy sleeping pills and using the opportunity to steal her phone card and contact Hudson.”

“It was you, encouraging Hudson to come to Nightfall, conspiring with the nanny to kill my son and my mother!”

“So it was all you! Everything was because of you!”

Tears streamed down my face as I roared, my grip tightening with every word.

Luna’s neck veins bulged and her limbs flailed desperately, seeking any chance to breathe. Her hands clawed at my face wildly, sharp nails cutting into my skin.

With rage burning in my eyes, I tightened my grip, like a demon escaped from hell.

Her face flushed a furious, deep red and her eyes began to swell with angry veins. Yet, even as she was gasping for breath, she managed to speak in a broken voice.

“You… if you don’t like… me… why… did you… still kiss me…”

When her breath finally stopped, I yanked my hands away in shock.

All the absurdities, all the tragedies—it was all because of me.

It was my fear of truly facing my love for her that had caused all this.

Trapped in the role of a sibling, unable to escape, I stubbornly destroyed everyone around me.

If I had walked toward her that day with determination, if I hadn't deliberately ignored her because of a single kiss….

Would everything have turned out differently?

I deeply regret lying to Luna that day when she came to the store, telling her it was my wife.

All because of my childish desire for revenge.

What was Emmy really thinking when she sincerely congratulated me?

I picked up Luna’s discarded lighter, set the wedding dress ablaze and sat down in tears, opening Emmy’s diary.

“I loved Oliver for thirteen years; I can’t forget him.”

“So I let him hold me tight while drunk, not pushing him away that night. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”

“I became the most loathsome intruder in their love story, shattering his bond with Luna and betraying the innocent Hudson.”

“So all their revenge against me is what I deserve. It’s the best punishment for me and I have no right to blame them.”

“But why did Angela have to die? Why did it have to cost the lives of my child and their grandmother?”

“It’s so painful…”

“I don’t deserve to live.”

I was sobbing uncontrollably.

My trembling hands turned through the pages of her increasingly disjointed and scrawled notes.

Every page was filled with her self-loathing and hatred.

Only on the second-to-last page did she write:

“God, do I really not deserve to live?”

Tears blurred my vision as the flames grew, consuming everything around me.

I turned to the last page of the diary.

Apart from a few torn scraps, it was empty.

What did Emmy write in the end?

I figured I’d soon find out when I could ask her in person, after death.

Jack's Epilogue:

I first met Emma when I was ten years old.

After my parents passed away, I had no choice but to live with my aunt. But my aunt’s financial situation was dire; she simply couldn’t afford to take care of me. We endured those impoverished days, day by day.

Then, a welfare organization reached out to me. They told me that a generous benefactor had donated money to support my education.

Her name was Emma Enders.

I was overjoyed, envisioning her as a kindly aunt or a benevolent elderly lady. Every time she sent a donation, she always included a note:

“Keep going, Jackie. Take good care of yourself.”

It was the kind of caring only a true elder could express.

A few times, I considered calling her to let her know I had just scored first in my class again.

But the welfare organization said they didn’t have her phone number and couldn’t get in touch with her.

But the donations continued to arrive on time each month.

I thought, if she didn’t want to take my calls, I would wait until I was older and find her myself. That was how I ended up in Nightfall.

I never expected that the mysterious benefactor would turn out to be a girl close to my own age.

By then, she appeared completely frail, on the brink of death. She dragged her weakened body from one organization to another.

After some inquiries, I discovered that she was looking for a hospice caregiver.

I thought, this might be my only chance to repay her.

So, after twelve years, I finally stood before her.

“Hello, I’m Jack Hamilton, the hospice caregiver you requested.”

After Oliver set himself on fire, I took away Emmy's ashes. But I didn’t keep the promise to scatter them in the sea right away.

Instead, I traveled across the country with her ashes. I wanted her to see more of the world's beauty, so I selfishly kept her by my side.

We watched sunsets together and greeted sunrises side by side.

Over the course of a year, we traveled everywhere, from mountains and rivers to lakes and seas, with Emmy’s presence making the journey complete.

I brought her back to Pearl Shore Isle, the place where she was born and raised, yet filled with countless regrets.

On a clear, windless morning, I took her ashes to the seaside.

“Emmy, I’m sorry I’m late. I’m taking you home.”

I raised my hand and the salty sea breeze whisked away the last traces of her presence from my fingertips, like a delicate veil drifting out of reach.

It soared towards freedom.

A hooded figure stood at a distance, tears streaming down his face, afraid to approach.

His face, hidden beneath the hood, was scarred from burns, his eyes both murky and clear.

I looked up and forced a pained smile, choosing to ignore him.

A raindrop the size of a bean fell from the sky, seeming to land right in my eye.

Then came another gentle drizzle.

The small boat moored at the seaside dock rocked in the wind and rain, its thick ropes creaking against the wooden piles.

I stretched out my hand to catch the cool rain.

I remembered the scrawled, crooked words she had left me at the end of her diary:

“Jackie, the rain won’t last forever. Live well.”