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She’d reply: “I heard Beckham is drowning in regret now. He drinks at home every day.”
When she said it, she spoke with barely concealed glee.
“Anna had the baby-it’s a boy, and Beckham is still taking care of her.”
“It looks like the two of them have really ended up together…”
When she said that, her tone became even more indignant.
I smiled, assuring Claire that I was no longer concerned about what had happened to him. Whether he was happy or unhappy, it didn’t matter to me anymore.
Not long after, I died.
In my final moments, I only allowed Maxwell to stay by my side.
“Maxwell, do you like me?” I enquired, lying weakly on the hospital bed.
He snorted. “Who would like you? Don’t flatter yourself.”
I chuckled softly. “Good. Don’t like me, Maxwell. I’m about to die.”
His eyes turned red, and he snapped, “Don’t say things like that, Athena!”
His tone was harsh, but his hand, which was hanging by his side, trembled.
I looked at him seriously and said, “Okay, I won’t say it anymore, but you shouldn’t love me.”
I looked at him without blinking.
I noticed his eyes turn even redder, tears welling up, and he turned away, refusing to look at me.
I quietly closed my eyes.
I heard him start crying, no longer holding back.
I felt him gently shake me, but my eyelids felt like lead.
I couldn’t open them, and my consciousness was fading away.
I died.
They say that before people die, their lives flash before them like a movie reel.
But, before I died, I had no memories of Beckham.
All I could see was Maxwell’s tear-stained face as he desperately shook my body, fumbling to press the call button by the bed and shouting for the doctor.
His tears fell steadily on my hair.
The doctors and nurses rushed inside.
I watched as they attempted to revive me with a defibrillator.
After a while, they left the operating room, removed their masks, and shook their heads at Maxwell.
His six-foot frame appeared to collapse inward as he hunched over and sobbed quietly.
It felt like someone had twisted a knife in my heart, but as a soul, I shed no tears.
I watched Maxwell silently for a long time.
Eventually, he stood up and made plans for my final goodbye.
He honoured my wishes by cremating me and applying for a sea burial.
He lifted his hand, scattering my ashes into the wind, and I became one with the sea.
The scene changed, and I spotted Beckham again.
His hair was messed up, and his clothes were wrinkled and dishevelled.
Empty bottles were scattered in front of him, and he held a photo of me, saying, “I’m sorry,” over and over.
Then I saw Anna, who appeared exhausted and frumpy.
She shuffled in her slippers, her hair carelessly tied up.
When she saw Beckham clutching my photo while drunk and slurring his words, she slapped him twice.
“Athena is dead, and you’re still clinging to her picture every day?”
A mocking smile twisted her lips. “When she was alive, you didn’t treat her well. Now that she’s gone, who are you trying to fool with this act of devotion?”
Beckham stared at her, dazed and silent, without bothering to defend himself.
Anna’s frustration erupted into a scream.
I shook my head, wondering why I had to witness this even after death.
But I couldn’t deny that I felt strangely satisfied.
My soul gradually faded until I saw Maxwell again.
I touched his face and whispered softly, “You have to live well.”
He closed his eyes, a single tear glinting as it fell down his cheek. The breeze caught his hair, and he leaned into it, as if trying to cling to a fleeting moment. However, in the end, he was unable to grasp the wind.