Bright always wished that it had been him who had perished that fateful night, sparing his mother from the relentless agony of her ordeal.
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A serene and meaningful ambiance enveloped the upscale restaurant nestled in a corner of the city.
Fragrant, flickering candles adorned a beautifully set wooden table. Bright sat there, dressed in his finest attire, radiating unusual anticipation on his 18th birthday.
As Clayton sat across from him, quietly savoring the restaurant's special evening meal, there was an air of somberness in the room.
The flickering candlelight cast shadows on their faces, emphasizing the gravity of the occasion.
Bright knew that his father despised this ritual. He merely went through the motions because it was his late wife's final wish before she passed away while giving birth to Bright.
What Clayton didn't know, however, was that Bright shared in his father's distaste for this tradition.
He detested his own birthdays to the extent that he hadn't told a soul.
Not even to Emma, the young woman who had been occupying his thoughts recently, was aware of this deep-seated aversion.
Bright's aversion to his own birthday stemmed from the painful reminder that he, in a way, was the cause of his mother's untimely death.
His birth had ushered in not joy, but an endless well of sorrow, not only for his father but for himself as well.
He secretly harbored a wish for something different, something that defied the cruel hand of fate.
Bright always wished that it had been him who had perished that fateful night, sparing his mother from the relentless agony of her ordeal.
Instead, it had been his mother who succumbed to the intense bleeding, the infection, the high fever, and the relentless exhaustion of three grueling days and nights of labor.
The burden of this tragic truth weighed heavily on his heart, making every birthday a bitter reminder of the irreplaceable loss he had caused.
Bright carried the burden of knowing that he hadn't just been the cause of his mother's death; he had also subjected her to prolonged suffering. The memory of her pain haunted him, tormenting him on every birthday.
As the fine dining establishment enveloped them in its quiet elegance, Bright couldn't escape the relentless memory of his mother's pain.
It haunted him like a ghost, the memory of her prolonged suffering tormenting him on every birthday, an unshakable reminder of the cost of his existence.
In his mind's eye, he could still see the lines of anguish etched on his mother's face, contorted in agony during those never-ending hours of labor.
Yet, the weight on Bright's conscience extended beyond his mother's tragic fate.
He was acutely aware that his birth had inadvertently shaped his father into the stoic figure who now sat across from him, lost in the abyss of grief and loss.
People used to say that before his wife's death, Clayton had been a different man altogether. He had been a friendly, smiling figure in the community, the kind of person who could light up a room with his warmth.
But the loss of his soulmate had cast a shadow over Clayton's once-bright demeanor, leaving him a somber and distant version of himself.
The love story that unfolded between Bright's parents had all the elements of a classic romance: tender moments, shared dreams, and a deep, unbreakable connection.
Yet, it was also a tale marked by profound sadness.
The bond that had once held them together was severed abruptly, leaving them to navigate the rest of their lives without the one person who had completed their souls.
This wasn't just the absence of a partner; it was the absence of the one they had envisioned growing old with, the one who had shared their laughter and their tears.
As Bright reflected on their story, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of warmth and sorrow. Their love was a reminder that true connections could transcend time and circumstance, but it was also a stark illustration of the harsh reality of life—sometimes, even the most beautiful love stories were marred by the pain of separation. It was a bittersweet testament to the enduring impact of love, even in the face of loss.
Bright had once made an earnest effort to be the cheerful child his father needed, especially after the loss of his mother.
He thought that by being a source of joy and positivity, he could fill the void left by her absence. However, his attempts to bring smiles and laughter back to his father's life were met with a cold response.
The rejection stung, and as time passed, Bright's determination began to wane. It was as if he had thrown his hopes into a bottomless pit, receiving nothing in return.
The effort to be a bright spot in his father's world started to feel like an uphill battle he couldn't win. Slowly, the vibrant and cheerful Bright began to fade, replaced by a more subdued version of himself.
At this moment, the two of them sat in the upscale restaurant, their interactions as cold as the ice in their glasses.
The soft jazz music in the background provided a stark contrast to the emotional distance that had settled between them.
The restaurant was a far cry from the bustling market where Bright had first encountered Emma and her friends.
As he cut into his steak with mechanical precision, Bright couldn't help but let his thoughts drift back to Emma.
Her face and the infectious energy she exuded came to mind, creating a stark contrast to the current atmosphere.
It was as if Emma had been a force of life itself, radiating vitality and enthusiasm in every interaction.
He smiled to himself, reminiscing about the young girl who seemed to embody the very essence of life.
Her presence had breathed color and vibrancy into his world, a stark contrast to the monochrome existence he now shared with his father.