When There Is Nothing Left But Love (Ashton And Scarlett)

“Ashton, I’m your wife. Don’t go thinking that you’re making life hard for me, because you’re not. We’ll both grow sick and die when we’re older—that’s just life, and I’m just doing what I promised when I married you.”

He gazed at me, his eyes swirling with emotion. After a long while, he finally let go of me.

The doctors said that Ashton could have some liquid food if he wanted. Cameron brought some soup over, and I fed it to him slowly, carefully blowing on every spoonful to make sure it wasn’t scalding hot.

He didn’t seem very hungry, but every time I brought the spoon to his mouth, he shot me a look and opened his mouth anyway.

Eventually, I managed to get him to finish half the bowl. Cameron sat quietly in a corner, watching us.

After I finished feeding the soup to Ashton, Cameron passed me another bowl of soup, her eyes swimming with bright tears.

She said, “You should have some yourself, too. Don’t go starving yourself just because you have to take care of Ashton.”

I looked up at her, seeing the look of sadness and heartache in her eyes. Almost subconsciously, I stretched out my hand for the bowl, before realizing that I still had Ashton’s unfinished bowl in the other hand.

The effects of the medication began to sink in just after the meal. Ashton finally gave in and fell asleep.

at me as I forced down a few spoons of the soup. When I put down the bowl, unwilling to eat anymore, she looked sorrowfully at me. “You need to eat more than that if you want to have enough energy to take care of

I supposed. I forced down another few spoons of the soup until I was

up to leave. She turned to me,

at her, feeling a little choked up. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “What was going through your mind back when you

of others, asserting that not knowing my birth parents didn’t make me worse off than

clinging on to their parents and acting cute, envy coursed through my veins. Afraid that they might notice, I never dared to let

body shaking with sobs. Evidently, my question saddened her

she could reply, I continued, “When I was in the third grade, I wrote a composition that won a prize. The title of the composition was ‘My Mother’. Grandma was very pleased and asked me to show her my writing, but I refused to do so. I even refused to show it to Macy, who went to school with me back

to be completely different from the mother I imagined you to be. When I was a child, I kept wondering how my mother looked like, because I had never seen her before. I thought she would be like Macy’s mother. Macy’s mother liked nagging at her—she used to stand by Macy’s bed and yell at her to wake up, sometimes until Macy got so annoyed that she yelled right back. I also thought my mother would be like my neighbor Wendy’s mother—she liked buying Wendy pretty dresses and accessories. I thought long and hard about how you would be like, but when you finally turned up, you were nothing like what I expected. You never

harder. She was so upset that she

I’m sorry. I was wrong, alright? Give me another chance. This time, I’ll

child. When I finally grew up, however, I realized that some people were better kept

bit of sunshine in our hearts no matter how dark the road ahead is. However, I couldn’t keep up that optimism all the time. Honestly, neither of you is to blame—the only thing you ever did

but neither were they good ones either. As parents, they had done me a great deal of wrong, but they had also done some right

me, and my parents weren’t the heartless monsters I had made them out