Elliot really left.
A few days later, I see his news on the entertainment section.
On a luxury cruise ship in Dubai, his long-sleeved cotton shirt is half-open, revealing his well-built and attractive chest and abdomen muscles. Standing across from him is a group of bikini-clad beauties waiting for him to choose.
The paparazzi captured him and mocked his pickiness, saying that he had a frowning expression the whole time, and only took one of the girls back to a luxury hotel in the evening.
He is living a life of indulgence in the Arabian Gulf, while I am back to the life of a single mother in the Mediterranean, following a routine every day.
Except for one thing.
Prof. Enzo is falling in love.
When I hear this news, I am both surprised and happy: "Will you two spend Christmas together?"
Prof. Enzo pushes his glasses and feels a bit embarrassed, "We've only known each other for a short time, so probably not."
Prof. Enzo met that girl one day while having breakfast at a coffee shop. She is French and works in luxury goods design in Paris, coincidentally visiting Italy.
It was just an ordinary morning in Florence, but that girl was a lively and beautiful surprise. They had endless conversations.
Prof. Enzo says, "But she is very young, about the same age as you."
He pauses, "I'm getting older and older instead. "
I've heard him mention his age more than once. Prof. Enzo has always felt lost and even inferior due to the uncontrollable passage of time. I know there's a bit of my own reason behind it.
"Prof, when love comes, it doesn't calculate your age in advance."
Sometimes, we have to believe in the gifts of fate.
I'm truly happy that Prof. Enzo is luckier than me.
And Prof. Enzo even asks me, "Macy, do you know you have a surprising stubbornness?"
"Huh?"
"We've known each other for so long, and you've always called me Prof. I've never met anyone as stubborn as you before."
I feel like I might have made Prof. Enzo uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, it's just that..."
Just that... I can't explain it either.
Prof. Enzo lets out a sigh of relief and pats my shoulder.
Perhaps, for a long time now, we have transitioned from a potential romantic relationship to a companionship that transcends age, closer to friendship and family but far from romantic love.
Before going to Sicily for Christmas, Prof. Enzo threw me a question, "Macy, it's been six years. You should think about whether you've truly become happy."
I am stunned for quite a while.
Finally, the Christmas vacation came. I drive Oliver to Dolomiti for skiing.
Oliver happened to see skiing on TV and became very interested. He has asked me many times when I will take him skiing.
I used to say he was too young, but this year is the first time I bring him.
We set off from Florence and after a five-hour drive, we enter the snow-covered town. We first check into the hotel, then I help Oliver change into his ski suit with a cute SpongeBob print.
As soon as Oliver sees the vast snowy slopes outside, he gets excited and drags his skis, wanting to go out.
I hold his arm, "I've arranged a coach for you."
Soon, the coach approaches from a distance. Wearing an all-black ski suit, he has a good physique, looking very professional.
He is going to teach four kids and starts by lining them up and explaining safety precautions.
When he reaches Oliver, he crouches down and tightens Oliver's boots, checks the bindings again, and then inspects the ski goggles on his face.
Oliver says softly, "Coach, if I'm clumsy and learn slowly, you can't scold me, okay?"
"Thinking about getting scolded before even starting to learn?" The coach chuckles at Oliver's remark. "Lower your stance and find your balance first."
"Mom! Look at me!"
An hour later, Oliver wobbles on his skis and shouts at me.
He stops elegantly with his ski poles. I was about to praise him when I see Oliver lose balance, fall, and roll down the icy slope toward the safety line.
The coach is teaching the other kids in the group and only reacts upon hearing the noise from behind. He throws away his ski poles and accelerates towards Oliver.
But it's too late.
A few seconds later, Oliver's back slammed against the safety net. The accumulated snow on the cedar trees behind him shakes and falls onto his head.
"O, Oliver..." I stand up from the bench below the ski slope and rush over as fast as I can.
"Can you get up? Are you hurt?" I ask, trembling.
"It hurts," Oliver says, crying.
"Where does it hurt? Your back, waist, or buttocks?"
He continues crying but can't clearly express where it hurts.
The ambulance arrives quickly, and two medical personnel get out of the vehicle and place Oliver on a stretcher.
At the emergency center, the doctor examined Oliver's injury and diagnosed a thigh bone fracture, requiring surgery within 48 hours.
"What is the patient's blood type? In case of major bleeding during the surgery, we may need to get blood from the blood bank."
"Type O." I cover Oliver's ears with my hands so he won't get more scared as the doctor informs me.
The doctor nods and instructs the nurse to take Oliver for tests and preoperative preparations.
After a few needles are inserted into Oliver's arm, he sobs in the ward and asks, "Mom, I feel so uncomfortable."
I hold back my tears and extend my pinky finger for him to hold tightly, comforting him, "It's okay, we're already in the hospital. You won't feel uncomfortable soon... The doctor will let you take a nap, and when you wake up, you'll be fine... Oliver, I'm sorry, Mom didn't protect you well..."
The doctor suddenly interrupts me and walks quickly into the room.
"Ms. Macy."
His expression is serious, and my heart instinctively quickens. "What's wrong?"
It's only at this moment that I learned a thunderbolt-like piece of news.
Oliver's blood type is not "O type" but a rare Mumbai blood type, which is always mistakenly identified as "O type" in routine blood tests, also known as "pseudo O type" blood.
In Europe, the probability of Mumbai blood type appearing is only one in a million.
"Isn't it available in the blood bank?" I grab the doctor's hand with a wild idea.
The doctor shakes his head, "In this situation, we can only consider two options. First, cross-matching blood. However, there is a risk of adverse reactions."
"What about the second option?"
"Mumbai blood type can be inherited, so the child's parents can participate in the blood test."
Outside, the snowstorm rages while the room is heated. I take out my phone and dial the number, my fingertips icy cold.
The flight from Dubai to Italy takes six and a half hours nonstop.
But after five hours, Elliot has already appeared in the snowy mountains.
He came by private plane.
My blood type doesn't match, so I wait for him in the hospital corridor.
When we meet, neither of us speaks. We just nod hastily, and then Elliot enters the laboratory.
He stayed inside for five minutes.
Those might be the longest five minutes of my life.
I want to lean against the glass window to see what's happening inside, but my trembling legs won't cooperate.
While I'm struggling, the door opens.
"I can give Oliver a blood transfusion," Elliot says.
Maybe I've been mentally stretched for too long, but in this moment, I fail to understand what he's saying.
"I can give Oliver a blood transfusion," Elliot repeats.
He looks at me seriously, and his gaze turns into tangible blades, cutting through my messy hair and the pale face in the mirror.
Operating room entrance.
Above, a red light indicating "surgery in progress" lights up. Oliver lies inside, and Elliot and I, as his parents, sit side by side on the benches outside, waiting.
Life is truly absurd.
Just a few days ago, I lied to Elliot that Oliver wasn't his child.
With Elliot's personality, I bite my lip in silence, thinking that he would surely get angry, and then I would meet a terrible end.
After all, he detests lies the most.
And another reality is—after finding out that Elliot is his son, will he try to take custody of Oliver away from me?
With his wealth, he can afford the world's best lawyers.
Moreover, it's because of my negligence that Oliver got injured.
I am not a good mother.
Just as my mind is filled with jumbled thoughts, Elliot silently gets up and walks to the end of the corridor. I watch his figure, momentarily stunned, and then lower my head.
But he quickly returned; he went to the vending machine to get something.
A piece of chocolate is put into my mouth, He says, "You look pale. Now is when Oliver needs you the most. Don't break down."
As the chocolate melts and sticks between my teeth, I nod gently at him.
Then, my vision suddenly blurs.
I suddenly realize that life is not only absurd but also full of twists and turns. Just as Elliot has disappointed me time and time again in life, but this time, he is the one who has reignited my hope.