In a small, quiet room filled with flowers close to the door, an office table sat in the center. At the table was a therapist a woman and a young man, barely in his thirties, wearing a black hoodie that covered most of his face. He sat in a chair close to the therapist, silent for a while, as the woman known as Dr. Wu finally broke the quiet.
Dr. Wu:
"Mr. Eran, how are you today?"
Her tone was calm but heavy.
Eran:
"I'm fine, I think I'm doing okay. I've been thinking straight for some days now."
Dr. Wu:
"Oh, that's good."
Eran:
"Thank you. When will I be coming back for another therapy?"
Dr. Wu:
"You don't need to come back. All you need is to take the drugs I prescribed, and remember your mental health is still not that good."
Eran stood up from where he was sitting and walked away. As he passed through the hallway of the therapy hospital, a few women were talking softly. He could hear them faintly.
"Isn't that Mr. Eran?" one of them whispered before she could finish saying his name.
Another woman cut her off, saying, "He's been coming here for a while. He has a mental issue. I heard his sister died… his twin sister."
The first woman gasped softly.
The other continued, "Didn't you know? His sister died in his hands. It was a car accident he was the one driving. That's why he's been like this. He's been seeing Dr. Wu for a while now, but he hasn't gotten better. At least that's what the doctor said."
The woman nodded slowly. "Oh… I see."
I stood for a moment near the entrance door before walking outside. I heard everything they said but I didn't care. It was my fault. I'll never be happy again. Even my family can't help me. Everything has been hard since that day.
Every time, the same voice in my head whispers:
It's your fault.
You did it.
You're the reason she died.
That guilt has haunted me for years. I couldn't get over it. So I decided to stay away from my family, from everyone. No one blames me, but I still feel it. The guilt. The pain. Because deep down, I know it was all my fault.
As I walked out of the therapy hospital, the cold air touched my face.
I walked for a while, standing near the roadside, trying to stop a taxi. But it was useless.
No one wanted to pick up a man in a black hoodie, soaked in rain, looking like a ghost who had lost his way.
So I walked.
To the corner of the street.
Trying to find my way again, like always.
Since the accident, I've lived my life like a worthless person.
I left my family's house. Left my home.
Rented a small, one-room apartment, hoping to rebuild what was left of my mind.
But it's hard. So hard.
Since that day, I can't even remember how or why she died.
All I know is that… she died on my wedding day.
I got married but I never saw my wife's face.
We were married, even registered… but the accident shattered everything.
Every night, I ask myself the same question:
Why did I survive?
Why was it me?
I walked on, getting close to the third street near my apartment.
As I turned the corner, I saw one of my neighbors Mrs. Gareth.
Her house stood next to an abandoned building, covered in bushes and tall grass.
Beside it, her home looked warm, alive like light beside a pile of garbage.
She smiled when she saw me, as she always did.
Mrs. Gareth was kind, friendly… but every kindness hides a question.
She always asked things I didn't want to answer.
And the more she asked, the fewer answers I had to give.
We spoke for a while.
Then I walked away.
My apartment stood at the end of the street half broken, the walls cracked, the ceiling barely holding up.
Inside, everything was old, filled with dust and silence.
I dropped my hoodie on the chair and sat there for a while.
Sometimes, I wonder why I'm still alive.
The guilt eats me every day.
The place I live looks like a dump a grave for things that once had life.
But I don't care.
I just want to forget.
Forget the past, the secret, the memories I buried behind me.
I wanted change. But the more I tried to heal, the more my mind fell apart.
When my sister died in the hospital, the whole family was there.
I remember sitting quietly, talking to no one.
After that day, I walked out of my old life.
I traded my coat, my watch, and even my phone for a sweater and a cheap pair of sneakers from a beggar who stood outside the store.
He looked at me strangely before agreeing.
Since then… that's how I've lived.
Now, my house is filled with nothing but garbage and silence.
The TV keeps playing static not a movie, just noise.
No signal. No connection.
I stood up, grabbed a bottle of water, washed my face, and put my hoodie back on.
Then I stepped outside, walking toward the nearby convenience store.
I didn't have any money.
Still, I went there just to feel a little normal.
The part-time clerk knew me already.
"Hey, Mr. Eran," he said. "Here again today? You want your usual cup noodles?"
I looked at him and smiled faintly.
"No… I just came to look," I said.
He didn't believe me.
He reached under the counter and handed me a cup of noodles anyway.
"Don't worry, it's on me."
I thanked him softly, stepped outside, and opened the cup as I walked.
The steam rose into the night air.
Then I saw it a black car parked by the corner.
A hand stretched out from the window, holding a card.
The writing on it said:
"Happy Anniversary."
I froze for a moment.
I knew that handwriting.
The man inside the car was one of my family's bodyguards.
He looked at me respectfully and said,
"Mr. Eran… it's been a year. Your family is hosting a memorial for your late sister. Your mother asked me to invite you."
I stared at him. Even the bodyguard looked cleaner than me.
I lowered my head, thanked him, and walked away.
The noodles were still warm in my hands.
But my heart felt cold.
As I walked down the street, I kept thinking should I go?
Should I face them again?
I knew they'd all be there.
Waiting. Watching.
Smiling with fake warmth.
That invitation… it wasn't just a card.
It was a chain.
A reminder that I could never escape the life that once destroyed me.