"Last night, I had the strangest dream. Everything felt oddly familiar.Who is she? And what kind of life did she live?"—Mike, Island Journal, Page 249
Under the soft lamp light, Jane gently turned the next page of the letter.Its edges were wrinkled and brittle—saltwater had soaked deep into the fibers.
"This part's barely legible…" she murmured, her fingertip gliding over the faded ink and torn paper.
She paused for several seconds, as if confirming a phrase, then read aloud:
"That night, we made plans to run away—to escape to his hometown in the mountains.He said we'd be gone before sunrise.My heart beat so fast I thought it might explode…"
Mike sat by the window, leaning against the wooden frame, staring out toward the distant horizon.Only the way his fingers unconsciously rubbed the mouth of his beer bottle betrayed the tension beneath his stillness.
Jane continued:
"He led me to the back gate of the garden,but when he saw my father's men catching up to us, he stopped.He looked at me—And then he turned and ran."
Her voice cut off suddenly, as if caught in the throat.
George frowned. "He just ran off like that?"
Jane nodded, her voice low, like she was afraid of waking something.
"She didn't write his name. Just 'that coward'—and even that she crossed out herself."
Then came a softer line:
"Mother, he said he would take responsibility… that he would give me a future.I was such a fool to believe him."
Mike closed his eyes, his breath faltering for a moment.
Jane turned to the final paragraph of the letter. Her voice slowed.
She held her hand above the page for a beat, as if that line carried too much weight to be read without a pause.Sweat glistened on her brow under the humid island heat.
"I didn't cry. I didn't scream.I just stood there, waiting for the sky to fall.And when it did, I knew—my life had ended long before."
The room went completely still. Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath.
Jane folded the letter along its original creases, delicately, like placing a sleeping soul back into its shell.
"This isn't a letter," she whispered. "It's a goodbye no one ever heard."
That night, Mike dreamed.
He found himself back in the garden.
Moonlight bathed the trees in scattered shadows. In the fragmented dreamscape, he was no longer himself—he was that young man, running through the garden path cloaked in darkness.
Up ahead stood a girl, her pale green robe fluttering, her eyes both frightened and firm.
Together, they reached the edge of the courtyard.A small wooden gate creaked open—beyond it, wild grass and the freedom of night.
But then a voice thundered across the distance.
"You defiled my daughter's honor! I'll never forgive you!"
The boy froze.
The girl—Mei—tightened her grip on his hand."Ah Shun, I'm not afraid as long as you're with me," she said. "We can make it out together."
But he stepped back—once, then again—retreating into the shadows.
He didn't say a word.
He turned and ran.
She stood there in disbelief, her eyes wide, frozen.
She called his name. Chased after him, stumbled, and fell.
And he—the man she gave her life to—never looked back.
Her sobs grew muffled, distant—as if soaked through water.The sorrow pressed down like waves, and Mike felt himself drowning.
He tried to shout, but no sound came. His chest locked up with pressure.
He ran after that vanishing figure, fingers just about to grasp the edge of that worn shirt—
But it slipped through.
And then, he fell.Down, down, into a bottomless dark.
He jolted awake, drenched in sweat, her cries still ringing in his ears.
At dawn, the sea breeze was damp with salt.
Mike stood barefoot in the sand, his eyes shadowed with thought.
Jane walked out of the house with a cup of coffee.
"Did you sleep okay?" she asked.
Mike didn't turn. He just shook his head.
"Bad dream?"
He said nothing, and she didn't press.
She handed him the coffee and stood beside him, both of them watching the tide pull back and forth.
"I've been thinking," she said softly."Don't you think… maybe this letter wasn't really meant for her mother?"
Mike turned his head, looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
"There are things she never got to say to him.Maybe this letter—this was the only time she ever said them, even if he never heard it."
Mike looked down into his cup. The surface of the coffee rippled slightly, like the surface of memory.
He saw the yellowed letter.
He saw the girl crying in the dream.
Since that mission in Iraq—when his entire unit was wiped out and he returned home only to learn that his wife and three-year-old daughter had died in a car crash—Mike had known: some pain never heals.
In that moment, his soul died with them.Like their ashes scattered on foreign soil, a part of him never came home.
He stopped returning calls. Stopped talking to anyone.He sealed his heart like a tomb, never letting anyone close again.
He thought he had long since gone numb—thought even dreams no longer reached him.
But now, that girl's face kept returning.
Her voice pushed at the frozen sea inside him, cracking its surface.
He said quietly, "When you're done translating the letter… I want to go to China."
Jane looked up, surprised.
"China? For this letter?"
He glanced toward the porch, where George sat chewing a piece of dry bread and raising his mug like a salute.
"You can go," George said. "But promise me you won't disappear this time.Wherever you go, I'm coming with you."
Mike chuckled. "You don't have a job anymore? Or a home to go back to?"
George's ever-joking face suddenly grew still.
"I… didn't tell you. The day before you called, I signed my divorce papers.Rachel said she's in love with someone else."
Mike softened.
"I'm sorry, George. I haven't even asked how you've been all these years."
George shrugged. "I'm good. Honestly.I kinda missed being single.Who knows—maybe China's got my second wife waiting."
Mike smiled faintly, but his gaze lingered on the white strands at George's temples.
Time passes.They weren't young anymore.
A gust of wind lifted the worn curtain by the window.Morning sunlight spilled softly into the room.
Jane set down her mug and forced a crooked smile.
"Jeez. Bit early for all this soul-baring, don't you think?"
She glanced at Mike, then George, her eyes flashing with something too tired to name.
"A smooth life? That's overrated.It's the storms that make us real."
She stretched her arms, waved casually, and turned toward the sea.
"Well, I'm off for a swim.Catch you boys later."
Her figure slipped into the rising light, footsteps light against the sand.
She didn't look back.
But as she walked away, her heart tightened.If not for that war, they might all have lived different lives.