Tonight, as I was preparing to take my pills before bed, he saw me again.
Recalling how he threw away my pills the night before, I held my breath.
He walked up to me and brought the water to my face: [Drink it.]
His voice was unusually gentle, as if I hadn't gone through an abortion yesterday.
We were still a couple on the brink of welcoming a new life.
I pushed his hand away and put the pills back in the box.
His brow furrowed slightly, and his voice was soft: [What's the matter?]
I shook my head and looked at him: [There's no need for you to be so gentle with me. Just treat me like you did yesterday.]
He got frustrated, pulled at his hair twice, then, with closed eyes, said through pursed lips: [Ranran, let's not talk about that for now, wait until you've calmed down, and we...]
[I don't regret it.]
He appeared calm, but the flash of viciousness in his eyes was like a knife.
He loved children so much.
He often took me to the orphanage where he used to volunteer.