Starting Over, Standing Tall - Chapter 8

“Noah’s been devastated since that woman’s death. Should we tell him? Besides, Sarah’s involvement in his mother’s death was a misunderstanding.”

“Noah has wronged her all these years. Those two children.”

“Don’t say it. Let it be. I never liked Sarah anyway. She seemed obedient but wasn’t a home buddy at all.”

“She was always out and about even after marriage scandalous. A woman like that isn’t suitable to be our daughter-in-law. It’s a good thing she didn’t take Billy away. Otherwise, I’d have a fit.”

The Shu and Song families were old friends.

Noah and I were childhood sweethearts and had agreed to marry when we came of age.

But everything changed when my parents died in a plane crash and my sister fell into depression, eventually taking her own life by jumping into the sea.

The traumatic loss of my family left me with PTSD and I became dependent on medication.

On the anniversary of their deaths, my mental state worsened and I tried to jump into the sea.

Someone dove in to save me and in a tragic turn, Noah’s mother mistook it for Noah himself who had jumped in.

I was saved but she drowned.

14-year-old Noah came home from school, found me shaking and crying by the sea, clutching his mother’s lifeless arm.

“Mrs. Song, wake up.”

Noah believed I had killed his mother.

He hated me.

His father had died when he was young, and Noah had poured all his love onto his mother.

When she died because of me, it shattered him.

Noah began showing signs of avoidant attachment disorder.

He constantly tested my love, pushing me away while seeking validation.

For 9 years of our marriage, he had affairs with women in the entertainment industry.

When he grew tired of that, he moved on to the art world, even getting intimate with female teachers in the dance studio, all while I remained by his side, unwavering.

My constant presence was the only thing that reassured him that he was loved.

Yet, every time I thought about his mother’s death and his emotional wounds, I felt a gnawing guilt.

I had always accommodated Noah, treating him like a patient, forgetting that I, too, was struggling with my own emotional scars.

On April Fool’s Day, Noah fabricated news of his plane crashing into the sea just to test my sincerity.

He knew the sea was my trauma, and hearing about the supposed crash brought my PTSD back to the surface.

I couldn’t control myself and went to the sea as though seeking closure.

Noah and his friends watched from the shore, assuming I was trying to end my life for him.

But the truth was, I had stopped loving Noah long ago.

When the truth came to light, Noah’s fists clenched, his knuckles turning white.

“How could this be? I’ve wronged Sarah all these years. Back then, I thought she jumped into the sea because she couldn’t handle it. But she had PTSD. What have I done?”

His grandmother’s words rang in his ears.

“The body is fake. Sarah may not be dead. I have to go and see.”

Noah walked toward the cemetery, his heart pounding.

From afar, he saw a familiar figure standing in front of the tombstone.