Chapter 217
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“Cedrick, are you alright?
Feeling unwell?” Maricela asked with concern from the other end.
“Fine. I’m heading to the office later.”
He lay back down.
Maricela chatted with him about random things before hanging up.
Then Cedrick noticed the driver hadn’t accepted the payment.
He’d transferred the money after adding the driver as a friend, but it got refunded.
The driver was called Brother Fatty.
He messaged: Brother Fatty, take the payment!
Brother Fatty replied by voice: Nah man, can’t do that!
Cedrick sent another transfer: Take it, Brother Fatty. What you said today was worth paying for wisdom.
Brother Fatty: Ah, us ordinary folks don’t fuss over such things! Payment or not, meeting you was fate!
Oh right, happy birthday.
Brother Pang ultimately didn’t take the money.
Cedrick, who’d planned to go to the office, now leaned back lazily, reluctant to get up. He scrolled through Brother Pang’s Instagram, glimpsing the most ordinary, mundane moments of an average life.
Snapshots of what the wife cooked today, what mischief the kids got into, the family dog tearing up the house again, or days off spent showing off cooking skills at home…
A plain yet real existence, captured in simple words, radiating the warmth of everyday life–yet somehow it made his eyes sting.
In every photo, people were laughing, their eyes sparkling with genuine joy.
He couldn’t help commenting under Brother Pang’s cooking post: “Looking good, bro. That looks delicious.”
After posting, he moved on. A while later, a red notification popped up on Instagram. He tapped it to find Brother Pang’s reply: “You’re welcome to visit anytime.”
He chuckled quietly to himself and shook his head.
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Impossible.
How could he, Cedrick, visit the home of a complete stranger–an ordinary Uber driver?
Still in pajamas, he’d been propped against the headboard. Soon, he slid down to half–recline. Before long, a heavy lethargy settled over him, draining any desire to head to the office.
Their wedding photo hung on the wall nearby.
Taken by the photographer on their wedding day.
It suddenly struck him–Lucille had wanted proper wedding portraits. She’d mentioned it several times, but he’d al- ways brushed her off: “Too busy now. We’ll do it later.”
Gradually, she stopped bringing it up.
He’d forgotten all about it.
Later, Lucille chose one photo from the wedding, enlarged it, and had it framed here. She’d waited for him to come home, giddy with excitement, pulling him over to ask if this spot was good, if the photo looked nice…
Back then, he’d just mumbled a few words before heading to the shower.
He’d even seen the light fading from her eyes but walked away without looking back…
His head grew heavier. He set his phone down. It felt like he’d never truly relaxed–always tense and busy since childhood. Not once had he lazed in bed like this.
Whatever. He was on leave anyway. One day off wouldn’t hurt.
He drifted into a deep, heavy sleep.
When he woke, the room was pitch black. His mind blanked momentarily, leaving him disoriented–unsure of where he was or what time it could be.
His head throbbed with a dull, crushing weight. His whole body felt icy, as if trapped in a freezer.
Something’s wrong…
Wasn’t it summer?
Groping for the blanket, he pulled it over himself, miserable. His throat burned like fire. He needed water. Pushing himself up sent the room spinning, his skull splitting with pain.
He collapsed back onto the pillows.
Now he understood–he was sick. His thoughts swam in a feverish haze.
Instinctively, he fumbled for his phone, still plugged in. Yanking the charger, he dialed Lucille’s number by habit. A robotic voice answered: “The number you have dialed is switched off.”
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