After I lost consciousness, I had a dream.

In the dream, it was the day before Alf got sick. Mavis had come to ask for a few days off because her grandson was ill. As a mother myself, I understood her situation. It just so happened that Ethan’s workload at the company was light during those days. When Mavis requested leave, Ethan assured her that he’d stay home and take good care of us.

Though Ethan was the company’s boss, he was exceptionally good at taking care of people. When Mia was born, he had learned everything from the nurse during my postpartum period—how to prepare formula, how to do baby exercises, how to change diapers… He was much better at it than I was.

So when Mavis left that day, I didn’t feel the slightest discomfort. I slept in the master bedroom with Alf, while Ethan played with Mia in the living room. When they got tired, he’d go to the kitchen to make us something to eat. As a father, he was impeccable.

I remember that evening, after feeding Alf, I sat happily with Mia at the dining table. His cooking wasn’t particularly good, but Mia ate it with such enthusiasm, saying she wanted to eat his meals forever. Ethan gently patted her head and promised he would cook for our precious daughter for the rest of his life.

But little did we know then that Mia’s “forever” would be so tragically short.

After dinner, I was still recovering from postpartum fatigue and went to bed early. Sometime later, in a half-asleep state, I saw Ethan quietly tiptoeing into the room to change his clothes. I sat up and asked, “It’s so late, where are you going?”

“There’s an issue at the office, and I need to go back. Mia’s already asleep, so don’t worry. I’ll be back soon,” Ethan explained as he hurriedly grabbed his suit jacket and rushed out the door.

I noticed he had mismatched his socks in his haste, thinking it must be something urgent at the company, so I didn’t stop him.

But how could I have known that my moment of understanding would lead to a lifetime of sorrow...