years. My hair was cut short, my skin tanned from years spent in the sun. After the fire, my voice had become raspy. To most people, I probably looked like a man. After a long silence, I raised my hands toward him. The bracelet he gave me when we were teenagers still clung to my wrist, now dull and tarnished with age, just like the memories we once shared—buried deep and covered in dust. Adam hesitated before pulling out the handcuffs and locking them around my wrists. Without a word, he grabbed me and began walking. His long strides made me stumble as he dragged me to where his car was parked. He threw open the passenger door and tossed me inside like luggage, slamming the door shut behind me. He got in the driver’s seat, started the car, and floored the gas pedal, kicking up a cloud of dust in our wake. Confused, I looked around. “Why are you alone? Don’t cops always work in pairs?” Adam’s face was tight with anger, the veins on his forehead bulging. He stayed silent for a long time before his voice, shaky, broke the quiet. “Adele, why did you kill him?” The mountains blurred past us, the light filtering through the trees casting shifting shadows across his face. I looked down at the bright metal of the handcuffs around my wrists, tears welling up. “Adam, it wasn’t supposed to be like this between us.” How did it come to this? One wrong step, and everything just kept going wrong. There was no turning back now.
I first met Adam in early April, during a cold and rainy day. That evening, Grandfather Wright had invited a few officials from Southview High School and the local education department to dinner. It was late by the time we were done. The streetlights were dim, and the air was chilly. The bus approached slowly through the mist. I folded up my umbrella and helped my elderly grandfather board the bus. The seats were full, and he couldn’t reach the handrails, so he held tightly onto me. He had always been a proud man, valuing reputation above all else. But that night, he’d swallowed his pride, humbling himself before others at the dinner, just so I could have a better shot at getting into school. The thought of it made my heart ache, and I felt tears prickling at my eyes. “Don’t cry. Take my seat.” A deep, raspy voice startled me. I looked up to see a thin young man in a black baseball cap. I couldn’t make out his eyes, but his nose and jawline were sharp and defined. He stood up, offering his seat, and I quickly helped Grandfather Wright sit down. I turned to thank the young man, but he had already disappeared into the crowd. About thirty minutes later, we arrived at the bus depot. The rain had picked up, transforming into a downpour. I held an umbrella in one hand and supported Grandfather with the other as we struggled through the wind and rain. “Need a hand?” The voice came again, and I looked up to see the same young man. He lifted the brim of his cap, revealing clear, kind eyes. “The rain’s too heavy. If you don’t mind, I can carry him the rest of the way,” he offered. It was him again. Surprised by the sudden offer, I quickly nodded. “Thank you, that’s very kind.” Without hesitation, he bent down and lifted Grandfather onto his back, his steps steady and calm. I held the umbrella as high as I could, tilting it to shield him from the rain. We reached our apartment building not long after. “Which floor do you live on?” he asked. “Fifth… but it’s fine. I can help him from here,” I said, embarrassed. Before I could finish my sentence, he was already climbing the stairs, still carrying Grandfather. When we reached our door, Grandfather insisted he stay for tea until the rain stopped, but the young man politely declined. “I just moved in too. I live on the fifth floor as well, so it’s no trouble at all,” he said. His firm refusal left no room for argument, and Grandfather eventually gave up trying to make him stay. But we wanted to at least know where he lived. “510,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. It was the apartment at the end of the hall. Later, I made some ginger tea and went to thank him. When I knocked, a middle-aged man opened the door. “Who are you looking for?” “Hello, sir. I’m looking for your son. He helped us earlier—” Before I could finish, the man snapped, “Son? I live alone. Are you crazy?” And with that, he slammed the door in my face. I was stunned. The mysterious young man never revealed where he really lived, leaving behind nothing but a good deed, vanishing into the rainy night like a stranger passing through. In this vast world, we crossed paths for just a moment. And who knows if we would ever meet again.
A month later, I was admitted to Southview High School. In class, I introduced myself, “Hi, my name is Adele Wright.” The room immediately filled with snickers. “Ha! Her accent’s so weird!” “She sounds so country.” The chatter grew louder. I glanced up and, in the crowd, I caught sight of a familiar face—Adam Collins. My heart skipped a beat. He crossed his arms, looking at me with indifference, as though he didn’t know me at all. I sat down, slinging my backpack off my shoulder. Growing up in a different part of the country, I had a thick accent, and I wasn’t strong in my basic knowledge. Every time I answered a question, the class would whisper and laugh behind my back. During one break, a boy mimicked my accent, adding exaggerated gestures, twisting his mouth, crossing his eyes, and flailing his arms. He said I looked like a fool who had come to town for medical treatment. The group erupted in laughter, thoroughly entertained—until a loud bang rang out. The boy toppled over, chair and all. At the same time, a chalkboard eraser flew through the air and smacked him square on the head. Adam stood nearby, hands in his pockets, looking down at the boy. He asked, “Is this fun for you?” “Adam Collins, you—!” The boy was half a foot shorter than Adam and didn’t dare retaliate. He stood there seething, setting his chair back up. When he saw the chalkboard eraser lying at his feet, he glared around the room, teeth clenched. “Who threw that at me?!” “It was me.” I stood up from the front of the class, meeting his gaze as I said, slowly and clearly, “From now on, every time you mock me, I’ll hit you.” He was stunned, not expecting me to fight back. When he recovered, he sneered, “You? You think you can beat me?” “I don’t have to win. But unless you kill me, I won’t stop.” Adam turned his head toward me, surprised, studying me with a thoughtful expression. The boy hesitated, unsure if fighting me would make him look weak, or if Adam’s presence was too intimidating. His face flushed with frustration, but in the end, he backed down and sat quietly. After that, no one mocked my accent again. That night, when I got home, I carefully wrote two words on my notebook: Adam Collins. What a strange twist of fate. Back then, I had no idea that this person, who seemed like a blessing in a hostile world, would become the reason I took steps down a path I could never return from.
At the end of the semester, my exam results weren’t great. I ranked somewhere in the lower middle. In the hospital, Grandfather gently stroked my hair and smiled, “Pleasant Grove’s schools aren’t as good as Southview’s. You started late, so it’s a wonder you did as well as you did.” His gaze grew distant as he spoke, lost in memory. With a long sigh, he said, “You were such a mischievous little girl. Climbing trees, crawling through fences, pulling on my beard when I napped, getting into trouble every other day! Your grandmother and I used to worry—wondering what you’d grow up to be. What man would ever want to marry you? But as you got older, you got softer, started caring about how you looked, even got shy when I scolded you. It hurt me so much to see you cry.” He paused and smiled again. “I keep remembering when you first learned to walk. You were always laughing, though we never knew what was so funny. You’d wobble around with your little round belly, falling every other step… and now, here you are, a grown woman. It feels like just yesterday you were that tiny baby.” His rough hand brushed my cheek as he squinted, trying to get a clearer look at me. His voice was raspy when he asked, “Adele, do you still blame your dad?” A lump formed in my throat. Grandfather had been growing more confused lately, mixing up the present with the past. He thought I was his daughter. “I don’t blame him. Not at all,” I said, burying my face into his chest. “Dad, I’m so glad I’m back with you.” That night, Grandfather passed away. On the day of the funeral, the sky was overcast and misty, the kind of weather that makes it hard to tell if it’s dawn or dusk. The cemetery was on a mountainside, with ancient trees looming in the fog. The path was muddy, and I led the way, carrying the urn, with my uncle and his family following behind. My little cousin, too young to grasp the gravity of the situation, came up beside me and asked, “Hey, is Grandpa really inside that box?” “Yeah.” “How did such a big person fit into such a small box?” My throat tightened, and I suddenly remembered Grandfather’s words: “You were just a tiny baby, and now you’re all grown up.” My chest felt heavy, like it was stuffed with cotton, and even though it was hard to breathe, I couldn’t stop the sadness from rising up inside me. My aunt hurried over and pulled my cousin away. “Don’t touch that! It’s bad luck!” My uncle’s face darkened. “What are you saying? That’s my dad!” “Well, you didn’t bother to show up when he was in the hospital. Now you act all loyal?” she snapped. “He should’ve been kept in the funeral home. But no, he insisted on being buried next to your mom, who’s been gone for so long she’s probably already been reincarnated! And here we are, spending all this money on a professor who clearly lost his mind in his old age. Oh, by the way, how much did we get in funeral donations?” “I haven’t counted yet.” “There was one envelope that felt thick. I bet it had a thousand bucks in it.” “No way. Funeral donations are supposed to be an odd number. Maybe it was a thousand and one…” I closed my eyes, trembling, clutching the urn tightly as a chill spread through my body.
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