In the early morning, Sabrina sat by the window, holding a cup of coffee still steaming in her hands. Sunlight filtered through the glass, scattering across the table in shifting patterns of light and shadow, yet her mind was anything but calm.
Clara's words from a few days ago lingered like fine threads winding quietly around her thoughts—"a bond from a past life…" The phrase echoed again and again.
She sat at the dining table with a pencil in hand, sketching the scene from her dream—the interior of a train carriage. A man with gray, softly curled hair, reading in silence. A young woman, smiling gently…
"Who are these two in your drawing?" William asked, pointing at the sketch.
Sabrina froze for a moment, the coffee in her hand trembling slightly. She lowered her gaze to the drawing, and the image of that train returned—the carriage where Hongmei had first met Michael. The light, the air, the subtle quickening of the heartbeat… as if a seam in time had been gently pulled open.
"Maybe someone I saw in a dream," she said softly.
Outside, the wind brushed through the leaves with a faint rustling sound. Suddenly, Sabrina felt that the scene in the carriage was some kind of metaphor—time folding in on itself, the past and the present brushing lightly against each other along parallel lines.
She looked at William and thought to herself: whether in dreams or in reality, the bonds between family—the care, the protection, the love—always find a way to cross time and illuminate one another.
In that moment, Sabrina felt a strange sense of peace—like a train in a dream passing through mist, or like her breath quietly aligning with Lihua's in that other world. Between dream and reality, an invisible yet undeniable thread seemed to connect them.
⸻
Sunlight streamed through the window, falling gently onto the clean, orderly dining table.
Maria moved about in the kitchen. Steamed eggs were topped with finely chopped tomatoes, and a slice of whole wheat bread sat on the side. Hongmei didn't have much of an appetite, but she made an effort to eat a little.
After breakfast, Maria took her by the hand into the bathroom, helped her wash up, change clothes, and then gently supported her downstairs for a slow walk along the path. The weather outside was especially bright, the air filled with the scent of grass and flowers. In good spirits, Hongmei bent down to pick up a few fallen leaves, thinking about teaching Clara some simple crafts at home over the weekend.
At noon, the kitchen filled with the fragrance of coconut milk and spices. Maria brought out a dish of coconut curry shrimp, finely chopped for easier eating, along with bitter melon scrambled with eggs and a small portion of rice. Hongmei's appetite was better this time; she ate quite a bit.
After lunch, she lay back in bed, closing her eyes slightly, feeling the warmth of sunlight filtering softly through the curtains.
In the afternoon, Clara returned from school. Hongmei sat up and patiently taught her Chinese, stroke by stroke, pausing occasionally to help her practice pronunciation. When Clara spoke with Maria, her strong Filipino accent made Hongmei laugh.
⸻
By evening, the light in the house gradually dimmed.
Clara ran into the bedroom and turned on the bedside lamp and the floor lamp one by one—she knew her mother liked the room bright. From the kitchen came the sound of utensils clinking; Maria was preparing a fragrant pot of adobo, pork slowly simmered in soy sauce and vinegar, along with shredded carrots stir-fried with spinach and a bowl of sour fish soup.
At dinner, everyone sat around the table. Michael and Clara whispered to each other, occasionally bursting into laughter. The aroma of the soup filled the room, and Hongmei felt a long-forgotten sense of happiness and contentment.
Before going to bed, she called her sister Lihua.
On the other end, hearing her sister's lighter tone, Lihua felt her mood brighten instantly. The sky outside was a clear blue, the sunlight especially vivid. After the call, Lihua leaned back in her chair, gently closed her eyes, and let herself settle into the moment.
Right now, this was enough.
⸻
After days of rain, the sky had finally cleared.
Sabrina was preparing her dress for the evening concert and casually picked out a jacket in a matching tone for William. The two outfits complemented each other perfectly. Just as she finished hanging them up, William walked over and asked if she could go to the concert with someone else—he planned to visit his brother that evening.
That morning, his brother had called. Their father's dementia had worsened. Just last week, he had gotten lost twice and had to be brought home by the police. Yesterday, he had even tried to scoop water from the toilet with a cup to give to a thirsty child—fortunately, his mother had stopped him in time.
The situation was not optimistic. They needed to sit down and discuss what to do next.
After William finished, Sabrina asked if he needed her to come along. He shook his head. "Not today. Another time."
In the past, during holidays, she would drive with William to his brother's home in Connecticut to visit his parents. They all lived together. But every time, the family spoke rapid Cantonese, and Sabrina couldn't understand a word. She would sit there awkwardly, alone.
Gradually, she stopped going to family gatherings, and William never showed the slightest dissatisfaction. He had never placed expectations on her when it came to his family, unwilling to burden her with pressure or obligation.
⸻
Sabrina then sent Vivian a message, asking if she was free to attend the concert together.
Soon after, Vivian called back. She was at an exhibition with Clara. Vivian said that after the small VIP event they had attended together last time, Clara had been deeply impressed by Sabrina—she felt an inexplicable familiarity, a sense of closeness, and had been hoping to see her again.
Vivian already had plans for the evening, so she asked if Sabrina would be willing to go to the concert with Clara instead.
⸻
After the concert, Sabrina returned home. William was not back yet.
Sitting on the sofa, her mind kept returning to what Clara had said on the way home—that she felt like someone from her past life.
The words lingered like an invisible thread, binding Sabrina and Clara, past and present, tightly together.
There was something familiar in Sabrina's presence that stirred Clara's childhood memories—the elegant scent of jasmine. Hermès 24 Faubourg, her mother's favorite perfume, now seemed to reappear on Sabrina.
All these coincidences intertwined, leaving her with a sense of quiet astonishment. Clara's curiosity, the shared fragrance, those fleeting moments of déjà vu…
Her words echoed softly in Sabrina's mind.
In that hazy drift of thoughts, Sabrina leaned back against the sofa, closed her eyes, and slowly sank into a gentle drowsiness. It felt as though the entire world had fallen silent, leaving only memories flowing softly through the air.
⸻
Haitao returned home from work and, during dinner, told Lihua that next month he would once again travel to Tibet as part of a medical aid team.
The week before, Lihua had received a call from Michael. Hongmei's condition had begun to worsen—her vision was deteriorating, and one eye could barely see. When they spoke on the phone, Hongmei's speech had already become slightly slurred.
After that call, Lihua spent several days in a state of anxiety and distraction. She even forgot to pick up the children a few times. Her life felt as though it was slipping beyond her control.
What troubled her even more was that her mother, on the way home after dropping the children off at daycare, had been knocked down by a bicycle. Fortunately, there were no fractures, only a strained back—but she was now unable to move easily and couldn't come help for the time being.
The burden of caring for the children fell almost entirely on Lihua.
Haitao had just been promoted to department head, and Lihua felt it would be inappropriate to ask him to give up this mission. As she wrestled with her thoughts, Tingting suddenly asked,
"Tomorrow is the parent meeting—will Dad go, or will you?"