After Him Chapter 9

Learning Emma was still alive dropped a boulder into Jameson's dead world.

Wild joy and searing pain intertwined, nearly tearing him apart.

He drove back to that southern coastal town. He rented a tiny room at the town's only family-run inn, spending each day like any ordinary tourist, silently watching fishing boats return to the harbor, walking slowly along the stone streets, restraining himself—not daring to make inquiries rashly, even less daring to approach easily, terrified of startling away his lost-and-found treasure again.

On the third evening, on the seawall encircling the small island, he saw that soul-carved silhouette.

Emma wore a plain linen dress, sea breeze lifting her hem and hair.

She sat on the edge of the breakwater hugging her knees, quietly gazing at the horizon dyed golden-red by the setting sun, her figure so slight she seemed a bird that might fly away at any moment.

Jameson's heart was instantly gripped by an invisible hand, nearly leaping from his chest.

Rush over, hold her tight, confess, beg... all these impulses crashed against his reason like a tsunami.

But he ultimately just staggered back several steps, hiding himself behind a massive rock, greedily yet carefully gazing at her across that heartbreaking distance.

She'd gotten much thinner. Her profile in the sunset was even softer, yet carried an indelible detachment.

She just sat there, eyes calmly watching the sea, until dusk deepened. Only then did she slowly rise and walk back along the path toward town.

Jameson followed from afar, maintaining a distance she wouldn't notice, watching her enter an old house with a small courtyard, watching that window light up with warm lamplight, then go dark amid the sound of waves.

Like a stubborn sentinel, he stood outside her house all night until dawn broke, then dragged his stiff body back to the inn.

After that, he became an invisible "shadow" in this island town.

Every day at fixed times, he'd appear where she might pass, watching her from afar.

Watching her carry a small basket to market to buy fresh seafood and vegetables.

Watching her walk into the town's tiny library with a few books, staying all afternoon.

Watching her go to the animal rescue shelter at town's edge, patiently feeding and cleaning up after abandoned cats and dogs.

Her life was simple, frugal, even somewhat plain, but Jameson could clearly feel a faint breath called "life" gradually returning to her body.

For him now, this was fate's greatest mercy, a grace he hadn't dared even hope for.

Yet human hearts are ultimately greedy.

Day after day of watching, far from extinguishing the flames in his heart, only ignited deeper longing.

He was no longer satisfied just watching from afar. He yearned to hear her voice, even just one word. Yearned for her to look at him once, even with hatred.

He carefully planned an "chance encounter."

Wednesday afternoon was when Emma regularly went to market for fruit.

Jameson arrived early at her usual vendor, pretending to examine oranges while his heart hammered like a drum in his chest, palms drenched in cold sweat.

When Emma's figure appeared at the stall, when she bent slightly, focused on selecting those golden fruits, Jameson took a deep breath, as if gathering all the courage of his life, and spoke softly:

"Em—"

Just one syllable. He couldn't even finish her name.

Emma's head jerked up.

The instant their eyes met, what little color the sea breeze had brought to her face vanished completely, leaving her pale as paper. Her pupils contracted and dilated violently. What reflected in them wasn't him as a person, but extreme terror—as if she'd seen a demon crawled up from hell!

"Clang—" The plump oranges she'd just selected fell to the ground, rolling everywhere.

Like struck by an invisible whip, she staggered backward, her breathing suddenly rapid and chaotic, chest heaving violently, her whole body trembling uncontrollably.

The next second, almost instinctively, using every ounce of strength, she whirled around and like a bird startled by gunfire, fled desperately into the market's bustling crowd, running frantically, wanting only to escape—escape this source of nightmares!

"Emma!"

Jameson instinctively stepped forward, his outstretched hand frozen in midair, but the undiluted fear and disgust in her backward glance nailed him to the spot.

That look was more wounding than the world's sharpest blade, instantly shattering all his courage and hope.

His appearance to her had never been a reunion, but the beginning of a new nightmare.